Page 79 of The Sun and the Moon
We cheers with our glasses and take a sip, but just as I’m about to sit down, she reaches for my waist and tugs me against her. Her hand slides into the back pocket of my jeans, I feel her breath on my cheek, and my lips open.
She covers them with a kiss.
Deep and passionate, but also tender and sweet.
I let my free hand slip around her, fingers splaying out over herback. Her ample curves meld with my more solid frame, and my knees almost buckle at the sensation. Her mouth lifts from mine, and I let out a whimper. I need to get ahold of myself.
She practically has me panting.
We drop to the blanket, and Sydney proceeds to pull out two sandwiches, one a caprese on a ciabatta and the other chicken salad. She knows I don’t eat pork or beef, was a vegetarian for years, but I never told her that even now I often can’t stomach chicken, though occasionally I’ll eat it if there are no other options.
Birds are my favorite creatures. I even like chickens.
I take the caprese sandwich. “Thank you. This is really thoughtful.”
“I have ulterior motives, I’m afraid,” she says, a small smirk playing on her lips. I quirk my brow, waiting for the rest. “I thought I’d get you a little tipsy and then make out with you surrounded by nature.”
My cheeks warm. “You don’t need me tipsy for that.”
I set the sandwich aside and then secure my wineglass back in the holder.
The heat in her gaze is matched by the warmth I already feel between my legs. I take her glass, never unlocking my eyes from hers.
I press up to kiss her. Just a light brush of my lips at first.
Sydney is a pilot, the head of her flight crew. She’s used to being in charge, and I think she mostly likes taking the lead, but even the most strong-willed type A person sometimes wants to surrender. My hand finds the curve of her neck as my fingers move her jaw up, angling her face toward me. I deepen the kiss, and she opens her lips for me to let my tongue explore.
We drift back to the blanket. Everything else melts away.
I feel the curves of her beneath my hands. Soft and yielding, not an ounce of tension in her muscles, just surrender. It’s easy to let go with her. To let myself soften. All the hard edges I’m so used to get worn down in all the right ways. I find the hem of her dress and then the flesh of her thigh right beneath it.
I let my instincts do the rest.
?Later, we’re lying on the blanket, nibbling on the remains of our sandwiches, and laughing, when it hits me.
I also made a date with my mom.
“Fuck,” I exclaim.
“We did.” Her voice is all mischief, and it almost derails me completely.
I yank up my phone from the edge of the blanket to check the time.
“Moira asked me to go with her to the winery.” I sound like I’m in pain. “I said I would go.”
Sydney sits up. She hovers over me, lit from behind by the sun.
“You’re gonna hang out with your mom one-on-one?” she asks, a smile spreading her lips, turning her voice bright, too.
“Apparently,” I reply, chagrined.
“This is good,” she says. “At least attempt to let it be good.”
Her eyes search my face. I can’t help but notice the longing in them. Maybe I’m just seeing my own longing reflected back at me.
I don’t hate my mom, no matter how much I want to.
“That’s a big ask, Sydney.” I lift up, reaching out to brush the hair off her shoulder. She removed her denim jacket earlier and hasn’t put it back on.
