Page 73 of The Sun and the Moon
Feeling happiness because of another person isn’t something I’ve experienced in a long time. I’m surprised by how it lets light into the darkened corners, airing out those shadows, warming up the confusion that comes from walking all alone for so long.
I reach out for her hand, and she fits her fingers in between mine, pressing our palms together. Without a word, we walk away from the crowd.
?The overhead light above our hotel room doorway has drawn some little brown moths to the glow. As we near the door, she leans over, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I turn my head to capture her lips with mine, cupping her chin in the palm of my free hand. She smiles against my mouth.
“Where’s your room key?” she asks, and I take the break in our kiss to inhale the scent of her skin.
“Back pocket,” I say, tasting her neck with my teeth. She giggles, a light, airy sound, before reaching around to the pocket of my jeans and fitting her hand inside for the key.
With a swipe, we fall into the room together, our lips breaking apart for a moment while I fuss around with the light switch on the back wall. The jangle of metal tags reminds us of the Chicken in the room. He stands up, looking bleary with sleep, and stretches. His long pink tongue curls out as he yawns.
“He probably needs a bathroom break,” she says, her eyes drifting to the puppy pad sitting unused next to his bed. She turns, gripping me by the waistband to peck another kiss on my lips. “Wait.”
With a smile, she grabs Chicken’s leash and hooks him up to take him outside. The door slides closed, leaving me alone in the room for a beat.
My thoughts swirl. This isn’t somewhere I ever expected to be. Not after I ran so far away from anything that could lead me to this path. In all my resistance to my destiny, I never once entertained the idea that meeting a person in the foyer of Kismet could ever make me feel like coming back home. But not to the home I had to leave because it was never mine, never really safe for me.
To a home where I belong. To someone, with someone.
The door swings open, and Chicken is the first one through it, his little waddle from the arthritis in his hips making him almost bob across the threshold. Sydney follows, praising him for doing his business. He runs over to me, licking my hand a few times before circling back around to his bed.
I walk over to the sink to wash my hands of spit and whatever grime I’ve carried inside with me from axe throwing. In the mirror, I see Sydney’s reflection as she tucks Chicken into his bed, covering him over with a blanket and placing his stuffed drumstick toy in beside him.
She exhales a sigh. Crossing to stand beside me at the sink.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. Maybe because I can’t imagine a reality where this girl actually wants me and isn’t already rethinking this whole thing.
She turns to face me.
“If you want consent…” she says, not a full sentence. She lets it dangle. Her hand raises to my hair. In a slowly deliberate move she brushes the strands off my shoulder. Her fingers graze the skin of my neck. She leans in, pressing her lips there, light andclosed, little nips of contact as she moves up toward my ear. She opens her lips against my skin and breathes, “You have it.”
I turn, gripping her at the waist and pulling her into my body until every gap closes between us. Our lips lock and our tongues twist. She pulls her mouth away, the absence dragging a groan from my throat.
“I need to wash my hands,” she says, and then tosses a glance over toward the bed. “Go sit.” I have never been one to do as I’m told, but I’d take orders from Sydney any day. I break my grip on her and walk over to the bed, dropping down on the edge.
From my vantage point, I have a perfect view of her hourglass shape. She’s still wearing her jeans and sweater; her hair is down, lightly waving from the effect of the braid she had it drying in earlier. The mirror light is glowing softly, the only light we have on in the room. Her ass is plump, a perfect peach at the top of her curvy thighs. When she reaches up to dry her hands, her eyes catch sight of me watching her in the mirror.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“I won’t apologize for it,” I reply. She turns, leaning against the counter. Her face is momentarily in shadow. “I’ve seen the view from the top of Pikes Peak. On a clear day you can see five states from the summit.” I let my gaze drift over her curves as if they are mountaintops. “You may be more beautiful.”
She steps out of the shadow cast by the light at her back. Her expression is misty, surprise and desire mixing in her face. Cheeks flushed.
I almost gasp. “Definitely more beautiful.”
“Does that mean you want to fuck me?” The word,fuck, slices through me. I press my thighs together to ease the ache betweenthem. “Because I want to fuck you.” Her eyes drop to my legs. “I want you screaming my name.”
The power in her voice is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
She walks toward me, taking slow and deliberate steps as she removes her sweater. Her bra is a dark purple with lavender flowers, the cups barely holding in her ample breasts. Her cleavage mounds, a perfect crease that blossoms from the lace edging. I want to bury my face in her cleavage.
“You’re having all sorts of thoughts,” she says. “I can practically see your mind spinning.”
“Your body is a lot for me to process.” She’s closer now, I could almost touch her.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” It’s a gently firm order.
Her jeans hit right at her waist, the button dipping into a small V where her navel peeks out in a crescent at the top. Her generous hips and tits accentuate her waist’s smallness.
