When we pull back from the kiss, I settle my forehead to hers. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For just wanting me.”
She blinks, then slowly, the smile that curves her lips steals every bit of my breath away.
I kiss her one more time, then lower her to the bed. I grab a condom, slip it on, then join her there, covering her once more. I rise to my knees, take my cock in one hand, then notch it at her entrance.
I start to enter her, straining not to push into her completely. She might not be a virgin, but she is definitely as tight as one, and I don’t want to hurt her.
As if she can read my mind, she says, “Niall, I need you inside of me. You won’t hurt me.”
I draw back just a bit, then thrust all the way inside of her. Her moan is loud and long as her muscles clamp down hard on my dick. Fuck, that feels good. I take her hips in my hands and start to ride her. I am so fucking close, but I want to make sure she has at least one more orgasm.
Soon, her muscles tighten around me, and she’s coming again. My fingers dig into her flesh as I continue to drive in and out of her. I can’t hold back and lose myself in her, coming as I shout her name.
Moments later, I fall on her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rolling us over the mattress, and we almost fall off. She giggles as she snuggles closer. This full-size bed is definitely not big enough for me.
“Sorry, but getting this mattress in here was hard enough.”
I kiss her head. “No worries.”
After a while, I get up to toss the condom, then join her back under the covers. As I drift off to sleep, I realize that my life would be perfect if I ended every night like this.
The following day, I’m up early. We’re set to fly out of Charlottesville at around eight. It’s a private flight, but I know we have a tight schedule. So, as I sit on Blossom’s unmade bed, I watch her slip into her jeans.
“We didn’t use a condom the last time.”
She sighs. “Yeah, but you said you’re clean, and I am on the pill. And clean.”
The smile she gives me doesn’t reach her eyes, and I grab her before she can rush away. I tug on her hand until she sits on my lap. “I’ll call every day. Ten weeks isn’t that long.”
“I know.”
I cup her face and kiss her. “I wish you could come over when we go to France.”
“So do I, but I can’t leave. Too many things booked.”
I nod, giving her another long, lingering kiss. We walk downstairs, and a few people are already at work. They all stare at us, but Blossom waves her hand at them to get back to work.
“Be safe,” she says. I lean down and give her another kiss, this one sweet and definitely not as erotic as I would like to make it. After a long hug, I leave her, feeling as if I had lost something precious. I know that in the grand scheme of things, putting a pause on our relationship is okay, but I feel as if I should have said more.
I’m driving south on 29 before seeing the turn-off to the old Meyer house. I stop by it and sit there idling. I don’t have time for this, but when you get a crazy idea, you just have to follow it. I take a pic of the realtor sign and then start back on my way.
I just hope she’s okay if I buy her dream home for her because I want to spend the rest of my life with her there. And I want to give her all those babies she wants. And if she doesn’t agree at first, that’s okay. I’ve never given up on any of my other dreams, and I am definitely not giving up on this one without a fight.
EIGHT
BLOSSOM
I’m depressed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy most of the day, but at night, I go back up to my full-size bed, the one that barely fit Niall the night he spent in it, and I just want to cry.
It’s insane that we only spent six days together, but I feel like I’ve lost a part of me. It’s been a month since he’s been gone, and I’ve been dragging my tukis around.
I cried for like five minutes when I found out they sold the old Meyer place. I know it was stupid to get that upset, but it just doesn’t seem fair. I had been saving up for that place, biding my time, and someone stole it from me.
“You need to go lay down, boss. You do not look good,” Francie says. I don’t acknowledge it for a couple of reasons. First, this is about the third time in the last hour she’s said that. Second, I don’t want to go upstairs and be lonely.
So, I keep working.
It’s not that Niall and I don’t talk every day. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find much time. He’s in Germany this week and the time difference, plus my insane hours, makes it almost impossible.
I’ve done my best to ignore the tabloids and stay off social media. There was all kinds of speculation about Niall hooking back up with some Swedish supermodel he dated. Abby assured me it wasn’t true, even though I didn’t ask her.
Suddenly, the pastry bag I was using is ripped out of my hands.
“Go upstairs,” Francie orders, pointing to the ceiling.
“I can work.”
“You’ve been staring at nothing for five minutes. You need rest.”
“I do not.”
“You look like hell.”
I do, but I refuse to admit it. “I do not.”
“You do. Doesn’t she, Jeff?”
Poor Jeff. He’s only seventeen, has a slight crush on Francie, and is turning about five shades of red.
“Uh, my dad always says making comments on a woman’s appearance is never a good thing.”
“Smart boy,” I say with a triumphant smile. It’s then that I see dots in front of my eyes, and the bakery is spinning out of control.
“Dammit,” Francie says, stepping up beside me and wrapping one arm around me. “You might be sick. You do not want to get the rest of us sick, now do you?”
I hate that she’s right, and from the look on her face, she’s going to make me say it out loud. “Dammit. You’re right.”
“Please tell me someone got that recorded.”
No one says anything, but I have a sneaking suspicion that someone did record it.
“Stuff it.”
“That was weak, Jones. Really weak. Let’s get you upstairs, and Jeff is going to get you a cup of the magnificent chicken noodle soup I made.”
“I forgot to eat lunch.”
“As usual, and if you’re coming down with something, it’s no wonder you’re feeling like this.”
She gets me settled on my couch just as Jeff knocks on the door. “I brought you some bread too.”
“Thanks, Jeff.”
He flushes. The poor boy gets embarrassed when any woman pays attention to him.
“That’s good, Jeff. Now go on,” Francie says.
The door shuts behind him, and I shake my head.
“You need to be nicer to him. He has a big crush on you.”
“If I’m nice, he will have even more fantasies, then we’ll have a situation like we did with that George guy who used to come in here.”
That George guy was some tech genius with a chip on his shoulder, and he thought he could buy Francie. It did not go well for him.
Francie helps get me set up with soup, then she pulls over one of my dining room chairs and sits down.