Page 45 of Absinthe Dreams
I put it on and slipped it under my shirt. It was a pretty thing – a round disc with a peridot gem at the center serving as the thing to press. It was well-made and looked like an ordinary piece of jewelry. You would never guess its intent.
One of the things I liked about the company is that they wouldn’t even let you choose your jewelry until you were signed up. – That was the last step in the process, and they had their site security protected against taking screenshots.
I suppose if someone really wanted to be an asshole, you could take pictures of a separate screen with your phone – butI liked that they’d gone to the extra trouble to make things difficult for the jerks of the world.
I read a book for the rest of the day, made lunch when I was hungry enough for it, and listened with ears straining for the rumble of Chainsaw’s Harley.
He called me in the middle of the day to check on me, which was nice. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t give me a window on when he might return… the nature of the job. Still, it wasn’t too late into the evening when I picked up that familiar rumble and roar at the back of the house.
I stood and went to the back door, throwing the lock and opening the door before he could even round the corner.
“Hey.” His blue eyes lit up, his smile shone like the sun coming out from behind gray clouds.
I couldn’t help but return it.
“Hey, yourself,” I murmured.
He came to me, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine in a lingering, if entirely too chaste, kiss for my tastes.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Starving,” he affirmed, and we trailed into the house, out of the oppressive heat and humidity.
I shut the door and locked it behind us.
“Do I have time for a quick shower?” he asked.
“Of course! I still have to make the rice.”
“Cool.” He touched the side of my face and made for the living room, dropping onto one end of the couch with a lingering sigh that spoke of exhaustion.
“Long day?” I asked, returning to the small kitchen to get the rice going in my small rice cooker.
“Too long away from you,” he said, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Same,” I said gently, and he twisted, looking over the back of the couch at me.
“You’re beautiful,” he stated, and I blushed all the way to the roots of my hair.
“You’re not so bad to look at yourself,” I said back, trying to make light of things. I wasn’t sure why taking compliments was so uncomfortable for me. It just was.
He got up, stretching his arms over his head, his shirt riding up and exposing the flat expanse of his stomach where his jeans hung low. I momentarily forgot what I was doing, the pan overflowing in the sink where I washed my rice, the cold water hitting my hands snapping me back to reality.
I stared down into the water, cloudy with excess starch, and carefully poured it down the drain, sparing the rice as best I could.
It was as I swished the rice around the rice cooker’s bowl for the second wash, that his hands fell onto my hips and his warmth pressed to my back. A second later, the scent of a long day spent in the punishing heat, along with the slight, acrid tang of metal and tree sap, tickled my nose.
His lips touched my shoulder, where it sloped upward into the curve of my neck, where my tank top left my skin exposed. I closed my eyes as a light, tingling wash of pleasure zinged up my neck and spilled down my back.
“Mm,” he hummed in appreciation, and the vibration of it sent a thrill through me.
I stilled, soaking in the moment.
“Been wanting to do this all day,” he growled into my ear, and let his lips trail softly against my skin. He nuzzled behind my ear and breathed me in. My hands slipped from the task in the sink to cover his and press them closer to me. I twined my cold, wet fingers between his, and he wrapped his arms tighter around me, pulling me back into the shelter of his bigger body.
“I missed you, too,” I confessed, and he chuckled lightly.
“I need to get cleaned up. You keep doin’ what you’re doin’, baby. I’ll quit distracting you.”
