Page 99 of Love Wells Kept

Without changing pace or letting up on pressure, Jackson presses his fingers into the flesh over my hips and keeps pumping into me. And my orgasm rolls through me in contractions of the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt.

I come so hard, it’s as if I’m the one who doesn’t remember what it’s like to be fucked and I’m experiencing it for the first time.

His eyes are dark with desire, face glistening with sweat. I wrap myself around his body, tipping my head back so he can lick his way up my neck. He buries his face there in the crook, and as the warmth of his cum fills my core, the sound of him murmuring “Kit” against my skin with nothing but adoration and love fills my heart.

We kiss and his hand gently strokes my back as we ease back down. And we stay there, with his cock fully seated inside me, flirting with the very real chance we’ll be caught after being the furthest thing from quiet.

I roll my neck, glancing up at the stars, then back at him—my sun. Without him, I’m not sure how long I’d survive.

I whisper, “Over and over, you’ve stayed. Thank you.”

He tilts his head, expression laced with confusion.

“I begged you to stay—on the floor of the barn and in the hospital and when you were talking about how it would be easier if…I’m just so happy you’re here. You’re with me and we’re making memories again.”

He rubs slow circles on my lower back. “This is the best type of memory to make. Let’s do this a million more times. Where else do you want to have sex?”

I smile and kiss him. “Home. I want to have sex with you at home, in our bed.”

“Boo. Boring,” he teases. Then, “Kidding. I can’t wait to have sex with you in our bed—and everywhere else in our house.”

“I can’t wait, either.”

I snuggle into his embrace, relishing the thickness of him inside me and the raw emotion as he holds me tight to his pounding chest.

“Also, I’m happy you gave me a reason to want to stay,” he says softly.

My eyes close at his words, and I feel a familiar droplet of something—pool water or tear, I’m not quite sure—run down my face and drip from my chin.

He leans his cheek against my hair and adds, “I’d do anything for you, Kate.”

Kate

Exhausted, heart brimming with love, and with a tender soreness between my legs, I reach across the car to run the backs of my knuckles over Jackson’s short beard. He leans into the touch, twisting to give my fingers a quick kiss as they go by.

Rather than trying to squeeze in one last trip to the hot springs before leaving this morning, we opted to stay tangled up in bed, having languid sex bookended by more of Jackson’s questions. He said his favorite color these days is the specific green shade in the center of my hazel irises, and insisted we need a trip to the beach before either of us can genuinely declare we prefer mountains. We kissed and touched and laughed, and I spent the entire time utterly in awe of him.

Reaching the end of the dirt road, we turn into the small town where Jackson bought the flowers. And I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I did then, but it turns out I somehow love this man more and more each day.

“Looks like a market of some kind there,” Jackson says, nodding toward a quaint park space crowded with vendors under pop-up tents. People are milling about in the midday sun, sipping giant plastic cups filled with what appears to be lemonade, and letting their kids run wild in an open field and on a massive colorful playground. “We should stop. See what they have.”

“Well…” To be honest, I want to get home…but that damn excitement flickering on his face has me pulling into the parking lot before I can tell him no.

Jackson squints against the sun, and I hold out my sunglasses when we step out of the car. With a snort, he shakes his head and reaches for my hand. After so many years together, his touch was something I took for granted. The way our hands naturally slipped together when we were out in public, the loose hold around my waist he’d opt for sometimes.

I’ll never take it for granted again.

I squeeze his fingers, bringing my other hand up to hold his firm bicep as we meander through the small crowd. The wafting scents of coffee and cut flowers and the earthiness of freshly picked produce dance around us, pulling my attention in a million different directions.

We stop for a taste test of local honey, followed by his incredibly sticky lips pressing to my forehead, then lips. And I want to really kiss him, but the damn smile on my mouth won’t budge.

“Come on, handsome,” I say, sticky and sweet, against his lips. “I smell espresso and it’s calling my name.”

“I was thinking the same about those lemonades everyone’s walking around with.”

Naturally, the two vendors are on opposite ends of the row of white and blue pop-up tents. I give him a gentle tap on the butt—one he reciprocates—and say, “Let’s split up and meet back here?”

After a short peck, I watch him walk away. Fully checking out his ass as he goes. I’m allowed to do that again without feeling like a creep, and like I said, I’m not taking anything for granted.