He doesn’t respond to what I’ve asked, so I turn away and step into the dining room. Heading toward the small alcove under the stairs, I’m stopped once again by his fingers on my arm. Jess spins me, and my back presses against the wood panel. He ducks his head but still barely fits in this cramped space.
“Tell me what you feel,” he demands. “Tell me what you feel for me.”
“Speak from your heart,” Nana said. “Tell it like it is.” I shake my head. There’s no way I will open my heart to him, not like this. Not when he doesn’t want me feeling things for his child. For him.
When I don’t say anything, his hand cups my jaw, and within seconds, his mouth is on mine. The kiss is fierce, intense, fighting. We spar with tongues, and he unties the shoulder straps of my dress before tugging down the bodice. His hand slips around my back, unclasps my strapless bra, and drops it to the ground, all without breaking the kiss. His hands cup the swell of each breast, and he pushes them upward, filling his palms.
“God, it pisses me off how perfect you are,” he mutters. He lowers his head to suck at one heavy globe before moving to the other. My fingers wrap around his ponytail, and I tug.
“You piss me off too,” I tell him, and his mouth returns to mine. Hot. Wild. Wanting. His fingers lace into my hair, collecting it at the nape. Mine pulls at the band holding his together. Our mouths continue to wrestle, and then my dress and underwear are shoved down to my hips. I wiggle my legs, lowering the material down my thighs until both pieces drop to my ankles, and just as I step out of them, Jess spins me. I brace my hands on the wall as I hear his buckle unclasp and his zipper lower.
His mouth comes to my shoulder, and he licks at the residual stickiness of Katie’s ice cream on my skin. “Superman,” he hums.
I laugh softly, like a crazed woman deliriously high on him. This is crazy. However, love is a battlefield, and I’m soldiering on.
He swipes the thickness of his tip along my backside. Bending his knees, he positions himself at my entrance. He leans in so his mouth comes to my ear.
“Don’t make me want to love you myself,” he strains before he thrusts upward, filling me. I yelp at the sharp intrusion, though I love it. My hands grasp for the edge of the alcove for support, but Jess covers my hands with his and curls his fingers into mine before tucking our arms near my chest. He’s cocooning me like this, and my heart cries out.
I hate how I feel about you.
I hate how I already love you.
I hate how my body responds to you, and my heart wants more, and my soul wants everything.
Not someday, but now.
However, I don’t say any of these things. I just feel him, sliding roughly in and out of me. Our mutual agitation recedes as the pummeling increases. The draw of our breaths heightens, and our mutual release comes quickly.
I scream his name, and then he stills behind me, pouring into me.
“Fuck,” he groans, holding my hips against his pelvis, the position burying him deeper. My forehead comes to rest on the wood, and his drops against my shoulder. He wraps our entwined arms tighter around my chest.
“You’re so pushy,” he says.
“You’re so stubborn,” I whisper, a smile gracing my lips.
“I don’t know how I’ll let you go, Emily Post of Chicago.”
“Then don’t,” I say, my voice still quiet. Ask me to stay and I might.
“Don’t say there’s nothing between us.” He breathes against my neck, and we stand here like this, clinging to one another without answers about what to do next.
Rule 15
Heaven is in your heart.
[Jess]
I’m nervous when I arrive with the decorative wrought-iron fence panels in my truck, as promised. I have Katie with me as a show of good faith that I overstepped the other night. Things got a little intense. I can’t tell her how to feel about my daughter, but I just need to do a better job protecting my child’s heart.
Still, we arrive today with additional peace offerings.
We see her immediately upon pulling into her drive, standing on a ladder propped against the front of the house as she scrubs at a giant flowerbox under one of the windows.
“Be careful up there,” I warn. Emily climbs down from the ladder and walks up to us. She squats before Katie, speaking to her first.
“Are those for me?” she asks.
Katie nods and extends her offering toward Emily. Three daisies.
“Are these so you can play in the playhouse?”
I don’t know what she means, but Katie nods and Emily takes the small handful of daisies, holds them to her nose, and inhales deeply. She tells Katie to go on ahead.
“I’ll meet you back there in a minute.”
She slowly stands as Katie runs off for the back.
“And did you want to play in the playhouse as well?” she teases as I hold out my bouquet. Mine is a bit bigger than Katie’s. More daisies. She takes my offering and lifts it to her nose as well. I watch her lids slowly lower and then lift to me, and my heart patters double-time in my chest.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” I say.
“Jess, we both got overheated.” She smiles sheepishly, still hiding behind the arrangement of white petals and bright yellow centers. The flowers remind me of her.
I step closer and brush back the loose hairs falling out of her messy ponytail. “I was too rough.” My voice drops, recalling the way I went at her. I was so pissed off and scared—scared because she’s leaving and taking both our hearts with her.
“I liked it,” she whispers. Not caring that we stand in the front lawn for the neighbors to see and thus fueling the rumors already spreading around town, I kiss her thoroughly. She melts against me as we enjoy each other’s lips for a few minutes before I pull back, remembering Katie’s in the backyard waiting on Emily.
“Whatcha working on here?”
“Curb appeal. More repairs.” She sighs. My pattering heart screeches to a halt.
“Because you’re selling,” I whisper, squinting up at the house. It’s such a nice place but turnover happens around here. Older people die, and younger people move in. One-half of our population used to be retirees who purchased places as second homes or for use as summer birds. Then the school system improved, and people decided to stick around for longer than the warm weather months. Some of us have always been here, though, and the houses have remained in the family. Like the Parrish house.
“Grace and I are still deciding.” Her words do nothing to assure me. Sell or rent—it’s all the same to me, because she’ll go.
“So there is a plan B?” I ask teasingly. Emily watches me for a long minute. Make me part of your plan, I want to say. But I don’t.
“I should get started on your fences then,” I say after clearing my throat. I head to the truck, and Emily disappears into the house with her flowers. When I enter the backyard, I find her setting out a blanket. I carry the metal panels to the edge of the property. The install won’t take long. These fences are more decorative than privacy, and they don’t require a foundation.
I begin working, listening as Emily rambles on to my child like it doesn’t matter she’s not speaking in return. The whole thing baffles me.