Now that I’ve gone back to letting things come naturally, my relationship with her means only what it should, and no more: that we’re really good at blowing each other’s minds in the sack.
I lay another kiss on her neck and inhale her soft perfume. Most of the traces of it have faded, but it’s there. I hum against her skin and kiss her again before pulling out and dealing with the condom.
I walk back to my cabin bedroom from the attached bathroom to find her lying there, sheet pulled to her chest, eyes on me.
“That smile is what keeps me working hard, Princess.” I climb into bed next to her.
“Well, you trying so hard is what keeps me coming back.” She rolls over and hugs my rib cage.
I gently stroke her arm. I suck in a breath and almost ask if things are good with her brother, but it’s better not to sail those choppy waters.
I reroute with “Work good?”
“Yeah...” Sounds like there’s more to come, but after a second or two, she exhales without saying more. I wonder if she was going to but decided those waters were choppy for her as well.
Getting used to our new arrangement is taking some doing.
“It never would’ve worked,” she blurts.
Assuming she means us, I say nothing. I’m not turning over what could’ve or would’ve been. That’s a dangerous road down which lies regret. I don’t do regret.
“Me cooking for Grand Lark, I mean.”
Right. That.
“I like the office work. I call vendors, and book guests, and answer customer service emails. Ordering the supplies is fun. Oh! And today I shopped for new wall hangings for some of the cabins. It was like playing house.”
I continue stroking her arm and absolutely do not think about how she might also be “playing house” with me.
“Glad to hear it.”
“About the quesadillas recipe...” She leans on an elbow, eyes wary as she watches for my reaction. “It’s my gift to you, Dax. Don’t put my name on it. Don’t pay me for it. Please. Take it. I want you to have it.”
If that didn’t sound like the final nail in the “us” coffin, I’m not sure what would. How about that? We made it. Not many flings are this successful—where everyone walks away with what they want.
I swipe her cheek with my thumb, then drag that thumb around to her chin. I study her beauty in the fading light from the windows, memorizing the way her nose slopes and the freckles that dot her cheekbones.
Truth? I’m not sure I’m getting what I want. She’s given me no choice but to graciously accept, so that’s what I do.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says.
She looks away first. I move my hand down her bare back and, because I can’t resist, around to cup her breast. I slide the pad of my thumb across her nipple and watch as she shivers in response.
“What are your big plans for the rest of your stay?” she asks. “I only ask as a dedicated customer service provider of Grand Lark.”
Cute.
“Tomorrow I’m going to hike to that spot we were going to hike to before we were rained out.” Rained out and rerouted to a birthday dinner for her dad where I nearly beat the shit out of her brother.
“You’ll love that area.” She traces circles over my chest and averts her gaze. “If you need a tour guide, I know a girl who would go with you. And she’ll pack a homemade lunch.”
“Throw in sex on the picnic blanket, babe, and you have yourself a deal.”
“Really?” She beams.
“It’s your fling.” I want her to enjoy every second of it.
“I’d love to show you around. I can categorize that as part of my job and take a little extra time off to do it.”
“Not the sex part. I think that’s illegal.”
“I think sex this good should be illegal, Mr. Vaughn.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Have you ever considered offering a moonlight escort service for female clientele back home?”
I slide my palms over her ass and pull her on top of me. All my favorite parts of her are now touching all my favorite parts of me.
“You think I could have a backup career?” I squeeze her supple cheeks with both hands.
“I know you could.” She arches one eyebrow before she kisses me.
After a lot of tongue, complete with roaming hands, we find our way back to what we’re best at: Me wringing orgasms out of her, and her giving them to me in return.
WEDNESDAY
Becca
I’m sure you want to lecture me right about now, but I know what I’m doing. I know how to have sex and not let it cloud my judgment. I know how to keep the man I’m sleeping with out of my every waking thought.
Usually.
Today feels different.
Dax and I are going on a hike. I’ll be outside, surrounded by glorious mountains, soaking up the sun, and sweating out my demons. Not in the way I’ve been sweating them out lately—beneath the two hundred pounds of muscle that is Dax Vaughn. Nope, I’m going to clear my head the old-fashioned way.
With exercise.
I wear the outfit I’d planned on before the rain delay—short, frayed pale blue shorts that ride quite high on my thighs, Timberland hiking boots and sturdy socks, and a white tank top with a red-and-black plaid shirt tied in a knot at my waist. Beneath my “lumberjill” outfit I’m wearing the naughtiest underwear I own.
Dax picks me up at the main building, since the hiking area is closer to Grand Lark’s home office. I know it sounds dumb to drive to where you’re going to hike, but there’s no way to get there from his cabin without sliding down a ninety-degree hill face.
His Jeep turns into the parking lot, where I wait under the overhang. The top’s off. The doors are off. A ball cap shields his eyes. He does that one-handed circle thing with the steering wheel to straighten the tires. My pulse flutters at the side of my throat.
I ignore it.
Of course he’s going to make my heart flutter. I’m looking forward to fantastic food, fantastic sex, and a welcome break from work. Whose heart wouldn’t flutter?
Toting our lunch in a soft-sided cooler, I hop into the passenger seat. From underneath a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses, Dax gives me a swoony grin.
“How long we got?” He takes the cooler from my hands and places it behind the seat.
“I took an extended lunch, so I don’t have to be back for two hours. Ish.”
“Ish, huh?” He reverses out of the lot as I buckle in.
“You know me. I like to leave an opening.”
“Yeah, Princess. I know that about you.”
He has been nothing but supportive for days. Which I’m all for. I think. A nagging voice in the back of my brain speaks up whenever he’s super compliant. I’m trying to ignore it.
I direct him to the entrance to the woods, and after bumping along a path clearly marked NO TRESPASSING (Tad posted that sign—the land is his), we come to a stop and park in the sun.
“This it?” Dax grabs the cooler.
“I can carry it.”
“My ass.” He steps out of the vehicle, pulls on a backpack and then slides the cooler’s strap over one broad shoulder.