Page 113 of Debt of My Soul

While she showers, I do everything in my ability to distract myself from her. I eat several hardboiled eggs, drink way too much for only having one bathroom, and switch out some laundry I’d left sitting in the washing machine earlier.

After relieving myself in the woods, I come back inside with the itch to draw. Especially after Fleur’s request to draw that moment. To occupy the last few minutes with Fleur in the bathroom, my hands trail over the charcoal pieces I have as I imagine drawing the pleasure on Fleur’s face. My body hums.

I’m drawn out of my plotting when Fleur clears her throat, and I drop my materials back against my desk to see her standing there in a towel.

“Your turn,” she says, and it takes all my willpower not to turn that comment into something more meaningful.

She pads into the bedroom, and I rush through washing away the establishment’s stench from my body and finish up getting ready for the night.

I climb into bed next to her, noting how right it is that she’s here. Tossing a few pillows to be closer to her, I say, “You’re in my bed every night from here on out.”

Thanks to her, I’ll never be able to have another woman in my life.

She snickers, her hand ruffling my hair. Her eyes ping-pong back and forth between mine like she’s searching for something. Before I can ask her, she frowns and plants a kiss to my lips, lifting the sheets to slide closer to me.

She interlaces her fingers with my right hand, her thumb gliding over each of the tattoos across my knuckles. “What do all these mean?”

I smile and nip at her lower lip before bringing our hands up and in front of our faces. The letters on my knuckles spell RIDE.

“I had a friend, Ford. He rode a sweet motorcycle, had lots of tats, and I thought he was the coolest dude ever. He was a couple years older than me, and I looked up to him. Being the oldest in my family and always wearing that title, it was nice to have someone else to lean on, in a way.

“Anyway, he was the one who talked me into getting my first tattoo, and it grew into a sleeve. Most of them are of nature …” I turn, showing her the forest of pines banded around the top and the mountain range I looked up when my sister sent us the one and only photo from where she ran off to. Fleur’s hand slidesover the wolf’s head, and riverbed with a motorcycle parked beside it.

“Your skin is like a canvas of your drawings. It’s almost like you touched the paper and the ink crawled up your arm.”

I smile. “I prefer black and white. No color. That’s why I draw in charcoal or pencil. Or why my ink has no color.”

I shiver when her fingers drag up my left arm. “And do you plan to get this arm done?”

I shift my focus from her captivating lips to where she caresses my tattoo-free arm. The question lingers there. I hadn’t thought much about it. It seems like that would be the next step, but as I study my arm, I have a thought.

“I think I might get something on this arm.”

I don’t expound, and she doesn’t ask. Instead, her face falls to my neck.

I massage the drawstring knot of her pajama shorts between my fingers, eyes rolling back as she trails kisses over my bare shoulder. With a hunger in her eyes that rivals my own, she pushes me back, climbing to straddle me. Hell, she’s beautiful.

My heart kicks up and I fist my hands at my sides to keep from turning her over and rushing this along. I want her to feel in control—to take what she needs.

Her hair falls over her face, damp from the shower as she presses revenant kisses on my chest and teases the band of my sweatpants with her fingernails. This is punishment for what I did to her earlier, I’m sure.

“What’re you doing?” I stutter.

“What I do best. Distracting.”

Fleur is a welcomed distraction over the next week. I haul her into my bed as much as possible, only leaving the cabin periodically to check in with Darrin when absolutely necessary.

The farmer’s market is today, and Fleur’s managed to bribe me out of bed to take her. Even told the guys I’d drive the truck to gather our pickup instead of stacking the crates on the bikes.

A rush of adrenaline spikes when I catch the view of Fleur in her hat, leaning over to smell the flowers at Mrs. Hinz’s booth.

Fleur laughs at something Mrs. Hinz says and I smile. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, contained only on top of her head by my hat that has since turned hers.

Her cutoff jean shorts are driving me insane and anytime she dips out of sight, I panic.

This girl’s got me in her crosshairs.

I’m less and less motivated to complete my mission, paranoid about how I’m going to tell Fleur. Selfishly, I don’t want this to end. What we’ve found together—I’ve never had this.

---