The heat in his voice does something to me. A spark. A ripple. I’ve worked and worked and saved and saved, but I can’t say I’m doing what I’m doing because I like it anymore. It’s a job when I wanted a career. I wanted to make a name for myself, but it isn’t happening. Ten years have gone by, and I’m in the same place.
“Must be nice,” I say.
“It is nice. It could happen for you, too.” His brow inches upward. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”
“Have a column like I want.”
“Really?” He tips his head as if he doesn’t believe me, and the niggle of doubt makes me wonder. Do I still want that dream?
Yes, of course, I argue with myself. It’s the only dream I’ve ever had.
Is it really, Emily? The only dream?
“I suppose every columnist wants to eventually write a book, but it takes years of experience and knowledge to write something that offers wisdom.”
“And imparting wisdom would make your mark on the world.”
“Well, maybe not the world,” I tease. “I don’t need world domination, only a little mark here or there. But yeah, making a difference would be nice.”
“You’ve already made a difference here,” he says. He holds my gaze intently, and I’m about to ask him what he means when I think of Katie.
“That’s not the same thing.” My voice softens.
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because . . .” I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for him. Or myself. Why isn’t helping his child enough? Perhaps because she isn’t mine, and I want what Jess has: a child I can call my own. I want to be a mother.
Thankfully, I’m saved by the waiter who’s been waiting on Jess and me to finish so he can leave. Jess pays for our dinner and guides me back to his truck. We ride in silence to Nana’s place. Jess pulls into the driveway and pauses for a moment before he turns off the engine, and I realize he’s going to walk me to the door. Who does such a thing anymore? Most of my dates have dropped me at the curb outside my condo or better yet, sent me home in a taxi on my own.
It’s nice to be walked to the front porch, but he doesn’t stop when I open the door. He follows me inside.
“What are you doing?” I turn to face him as he closes the door behind us. He steps close to me, his chest brushing against mine, and he cups my cheeks with his hands.
“I can’t spend the entire night, but right now, you’re going to lead me upstairs, and I’m going to make love to you.” His mouth covers mine before I can protest.
“You’re so pushy,” I mumble against his tempting lips.
“You have no idea how pushy I want to be with you.”
Well, who can turn down that offer?
Slowly, we climb the stairs. I lead the way, and Jess follows me. When we enter my room, I spin to face him, and his mouth tenderly connects to mine. We stand in the antiquated bedroom and kiss for several minutes before Jess grips my hips and guides me to the bed. Once I’m seated, he returns to kissing me. He pushes me back with his upper body, but he doesn’t climb over me. Not yet.
His mouth leaves mine, travels down my neck, and stops at the swell of cleavage near the edge of my dress.
“You’re so bright,” he whispers to me, palming my breast over my dress. “Everything you wear is colorful.” It’s said with wonder. Does he feel his world is dark?
His hand releases my breast and works its way to the side of my waist, curving over my hip and then down to my thigh. Jess slowly tugs up the material, still braced by his other arm over me. His eyes follow the skirt of my dress rising, revealing more skin until it’s above my thighs. Jess presses off the mattress. Bending at the waist, he leans forward to dot kisses along my thigh while his hands cover my knees, spreading them apart. My legs dangle off the edge of the bed, and they tremble a bit in anticipation of where his hands might lead.
Then he lowers to his knees, and my head pops up. Jess’s focus is between my thighs, and he leans forward to blow hot air over the seam of my damp panties. My breath hitches, and he tugs the lacy material off. He returns to pressing kisses up my inner thigh and gently nudges my legs farther apart. His tongue laps across my sensitive folds, which ache with need and drip with desire. My head falls back as I melt under his attention. A long lap. A slow lick. A sharp nip. It’s nothing like I’ve experienced before. He isn’t in a rush. He isn’t speeding to a finish line. He’s taking his time to worship me, and soon, I’m floating, breaking apart like little stars.
Maybe he could love me.
It’s a silly dream, more like make-believe, but I’m willing to the live in the fantasy for a little while.
He stands as I settle from the high of his mouth. He tugs at his shirt, pulling it from the back of his neck up and over his head. I’m still wearing my dress, but he doesn’t seem to care. He makes no attempt to undress me. His eyes watch mine as he shucks off his pants, his underwear going with it.
“We forgot a condom the other night,” he states. “I forgot one,” he says, taking the responsibility.
Right. Protection, because getting pregnant would not be a good idea. I hate these conversations, and I nod as if I agree to something. He reaches down for his pants, and I watch as he opens the package and covers himself. He braces himself on one hand and aligns his body with mine. His eyes wander over the dress still spread around my hips and covering my midsection.
“This dress is like a garden.” He whispers his thoughts as his eyes trail over the bright red flowers with black stamens. “I want to pick every flower.”
His words make me smile as he releases himself to reach up and squeeze my breast. He easily slips into me, and my head tilts back. I groan at the welcome sensation of him connected with me. I want his mouth. I want his weight, but he’s watching me take him— surging forward and slipping back, entering me over and over again.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He sounds astonished by the thought. He’s beautiful as well, straining over me, holding himself off while he witnesses our bodies coming together. The connection is overwhelming in the darkness of the room, lit only by some far-off light source. The quiet summer sounds chirp through the window, and it feels . . . almost magical.
His pace increases, and his fingers reach down to my sensitive hood and stroke me tenderly. The juxtaposition between the hard friction of his thrusts and the gentle touch of his fingertips is too much.
“I . . .” My breath hitches as I feel the sensation building once again. One hand clutches at his wrist near the side of my body. The other wraps over his other wrist closest to my center. I’m not assisting him as much as holding on. I don’t want this feeling to end. I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want to lose him.
“Emily, darlin’,” he warns as he moves faster, the pressure deeper. My knees bend upward. My heels brace on the edge of the bed as Jess’s eyes lower to where we connect. It’s so raw, so real, and I dissolve again. Like tiny stars scattering, I separate into a million tiny pieces and then return to myself.
I wrap my legs around his waist, desperate to hold him to me, and Jess removes his hand from my center. His arms cage me in as he rocks harder, chasing his own detonation. Eventually, he stills, and for a second, I wish he was bare. I wish I could feel him release into me. I give up the thought as I watch his face. His jaw clenches. His eyes briefly close, and then his lids pop open.