The hard length of his cock took its place.
He leaned his hands on either side of her, staring into her eyes as he pushed into her body. An inch, and another inch. Slow and yet inescapable. Her only option for movement was to arch her back, but all that did was press her tighter against him as he buried himself fully. Filling her.
Loving her.
Jaxi cupped a hand to his face. “Blake.”
He grinned. “Promised I’d take you on a pool table sometime.”
Then he did. The sweet, gentle, fulfilling connection turned down-right dirty. Blake’s big hands gripped her hips like iron as his hips sped up. Thrusting hard, pulling back. Driving her toward the heavens again.
It was still lovemaking, but this was perfect and dirty and perfect and hard and just…perfect.
It didn’t matter how many times they’d come together before; this time was special because it was a promise fulfilled. It was special because it was the same promise he’d fulfilled every time since their very first time.
Love. Dirty, hot sex, but always love.
He fucked into her. Jaxi dug her heels into his butt, loving how intensely she and Blake burned, loving every bit about giving to him.
She spiraled, scratching his back without meaning to. Then she buried her face against him and fought to contain her scream.
He made a noise that sounded painful, followed by the most satisfied moan ever.
The two of them stayed there, locked in position, Blake’s legs shaking nearly as hard as Jaxi’s. Their chests heaved, but their expressions were all satisfaction and smiles as they stared into each other’s faces.
Blake leaned down and offered a kiss. “That was a wonderful dance.”
She had to agree.
27
As the summer progressed, Dana collected each precious moment and tucked it into her brand-new set of memories.
The collection the Coleman family was putting together had given her a chance to revisit all of the best moments of her high school years, followed by the time dating Ben, and then marriage.
She refused to let the later sadness erase the seasons of good they had enjoyed. She wouldn’t have wanted the brothers to have wiped Ben from their childhood reminiscing or from the stories that had been shared about when they had raised this barn and who had been involved in building that shelter. Ben’s hand had touched many things in a positive way, and that’s the part she wanted to honour.
But seeing Mark’s earnest blue eyes and his firm smile across the table as she shared a coffee with him was a new sweetness washing away years of pain.
As he took her by the hand and they went horseback riding together, or walked beside the river, or joined the children for a picnic dinner, Dana found her feet growing more comfortable on this new path.
He picked her up a few days into August, absolutely giddy as he drove her to the building site to witness the timber frame being lifted into position over the foundation.
Mark had done some building of his own, creating a level platform on the highest ridge to the south side of the future house. Today he put two lawn chairs on it, with a small table to the side and a cooler tucked under a blanket.
“Looks decadent,” Dana said with a laugh.
He grinned, opened his mouth and then closed it, looking thoughtful. “I have to be careful what I say.” He met her eyes and winked. “I want to share this moment with you. It’s a very special moment, for many reasons—and I’ll stop there.”
He didn’t have to say more because Dana could read the words on his face. He wanted her to witness the home he was building going up. The home he wanted them to share.
The home she was very much beginning to want as well.
What she did was give him a hug and a quick kiss before settling in one of the chairs. “It’s very exciting. I’m glad to be here with you.”
It was fascinating to watch the crew fit the long, sturdy pieces into each other one at a time flat on the ground. Then they attached a chain to the topmost point and used a crane to lever the entire wall up at one time, wooden beams rising toward the robin’s-egg-blue sky.
A week later the house had framed-in walls and a finished roof, beautiful pine boards shining overhead as Dana stood in what would be the living room and stared upward. “This is happening so fast.”
Mark stepped behind her, his arms gentle but possessive as he curled them around her. “You think?”
She turned, sliding against him and lifting her face for his kiss.
Every time they got together, they told stories. What Mark had done while he’d been gone. What Dana was the proudest of accomplishing over the years.
They touched on joys, and even slipped into sharing sorrows. And maybe that was when Dana began to realize—
Began to acknowledge—
She caught herself staring out the window when he wasn’t around, gazing into the distance as if that would help her push past the final bit of worry and admit, at least to herself, that she was falling in love.
They went up to the house often, to enjoy picnics on the floor in what would be the kitchen someday. To dance to music playing on Mark’s phone in the living room. Lawn chairs were placed on the porch once it was framed in—a perfect location to watch the sunset over the Rocky Mountains as the day ended, and it would be late, but neither of them wanted to stop talking.
Neither of them wanted the days to truly end.
Tonight he’d moved his chair close enough that their fingers were tangled, hanging between them. Off in the distance, the sound of a hawk’s cry rippled over the air.
Mark hummed, soft and low. “Every time he heard that, Dave used to say, ‘Hold on to your hat,’ and then he’d duck down as if he were hiding.”
“You’ve mentioned him before,” Dana said. “Friend of yours from university, right? Where is he now?”
Mark hesitated. “He passed away about eight years ago.”
His sadness was so sharp. Dana laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known.” He adjusted position, sliding his chair closer to hers so he could rest their joined hands on his thigh. “He was a good friend for many years. We met at university then taught in the same school for over twenty years. He got cancer. It took him pretty quickly.”
It struck her then that all of them had lives traced with loss. Mark, her, her children. So many of them in the Coleman family. “You must’ve really missed him.”
“Still do,” he admitted. “I suppose the silver lining, if you want to call it that, was the six months he had at the end were full of one hundred percent live life to the fullest attitude. I quit my job, and between his chemo sessions, we took an extended road trip all over Western Canada.” He smiled, sad amusement in that gentle curve. “We went into every small-town museum we could find. Gave most of them a thrill to have Dave willing to let them talk about grain elevators and train routes and what all for hours on end.”
“I’m glad you got to do that with him.”
“Me too. That’s when I switched to driving a truck. I needed a change.”
Night was falling, and in the midst of the quiet, something changed. Dana wanted to listen to Mark talk for hours, and the truth sank in deep.
He must have felt it too.