Page 153 of Always Meant for You
“That’s probably a mourning dove lifting off. Their wings make that sound when they get spooked. It won’t come back down until we’re gone.”
She goes quiet, her gaze fixed on the hundreds of blinking lights. “Fireflies don’t make sound, but they always feel noisy, don’t they?”
I tighten my hold on her. I just want to listen to her voice.
“In the city,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “it’s all motion and metal. Sirens. Horns. But sometimes, on certain nights, the wind would shift. It would move across my skin, and I’d close my eyes and remember home. And all I could think of was you.”
She looks up at me, and she’s so damn beautiful. “Did you ever think of me while I was gone?”
“Why do you think there’s a whole greenhouse filled with lavender? You’re always on my mind, Mabel. You’re a part of my soul.”
She steps back, breaking our connection. Her boots sink slightly into the ground as she slips them off. Then her top, her skirt—each motion quiet and sure. Moonlight catches the curve of her shoulder, the angle of her jaw. The fireflies drift around her, casting light over her skin like they’ve been waiting for her.
“Mabel,” I say, but the word barely holds.
She reaches between her breasts and unclasps her bra, then removes her panties. No rush. No hesitation. Only her, offering herself to the night, to the meadow, to me.
She turns toward the creek, then looks back at me over her bare shoulder with a smile so radiant it knocks the air from my lungs.
“I’d like to cool off in the creek,” she says, her voice drifting on the breeze. “Feel like joining me?”
I can’t move fast enough.
I strip off my boots, my jeans, my shirt, my hat, tossing them somewhere into the tall grass. My heart pounds, wild in my chest, but not from nerves. From awe. From love.
She wades in first, the water catching her thighs, her arms brushing the surface. I follow, the shock of cold licking at my legs, clearing every last thought from my head.
We move deeper into the current, and she turns toward me, droplets sliding along her collarbone. When I reach her, there’s no distance left. I take her in my arms and hold her close.
“You’re right. It is magical here,” she says.
“You’re the magic, Mabel. You’ve always been the magic.” I pause. “Are you happy? Right now, right here in Elverna with me, are you happy?”
She holds my gaze in the moonlight. “I am.”
I lift her into my arms and take her deeper into the water. Our mouths meet in a slow, unhurried kiss. Her lips are soft and slick. She tastes like strawberry and cream, sweet and familiar, touched with warmth from the summer air and the salt of her skin.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and the world narrows to her body pressed to mine, the sounds of water swirling around us, and the hum of crickets.
She pulls back, brushing a lock of hair from my forehead. “I’ve never skinny-dipped before. You’re collecting all my firsts, Callan Horner.”
I rest my forehead against hers, holding her there, steady in my arms. “And I swear to you, it’s a privilege I will never take for granted.”
She shifts against me. Her hips press into mine, and heat sparks low and deep.
“I’ve also never made love in a creek,” she whispers.
I cup her face in my hand. “That’s about to change.”
I capture her mouth again, and this time it’s deeper, more urgent. I lift her, feeling the curve of her thigh hook around my waist. She positions herself, and I press in, slow and controlled. Her body takes me, warm and slick, and I inhale a sharp breath.
She tightens her hold around my shoulders, her lips grazing my ear. “Right there,” she breathes the words.
I find a rhythm, every movement guided by her—the way she arches into me, the catch of her breath, her quiet whimpers. The creek laps at our skin, cool and constant, a counterpoint to the heat growing between us.
My hand slips beneath her ass, the other braced behind her neck. Her fingers slide through my hair. Her thighs grip tighter. Every part of her clings to me.
I don’t make love to her fast or frenzied. It’s slow and tender. Deep and deliberate. Every movement a silent vow. A solemn promise.
