Page 112 of The Art of Being Merry
The kiss is heated, passionate, intense. It puts every past kiss to shame.
It’s a beginning and a promise of what’s to come.
I pour everything I have, everything I am, into the kiss, met with the same fervor by Clementine. Lick for lick, nibble for nibble, suck for suck. It’s her and me, together. Us against the world. Nothing can stop us.
She pulls away, breathless. “It’s crazy fast.”
“I’ve known you for a year. It’s not that fast.”
She slides down my front, unable to miss the erection jutting out. “But we’ve been together for less than a month. I feel like I should tell you I’ve done this before. The fast, the careless. It’s kinda my MO. And look how that turned out for me.”
As much as I don’t want to think about her past relationships, she’s got a point. But I’m not her ex, and if it takes me until my dying breath to prove it, I’m up for the challenge.
“Okay, sure, but look how it turned out for me. His loss is my gain. I’m the victor here. Fast or not, it was inevitable. My world shifted the day we met. It just took me a while to forge the right path. To see what was right in front of me.”
Her fingers reach out and lightly trace the letters of her name. It’s sore, but I allow it. “I still can’t believe you did this.” Her bewilderment is high, but she smiles.
“Believe it. Or not. Either way, I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’ll stake my claim every day of the week and twice on Sunday. You, Clementine Powell, are who I’m going to love for the rest of my life.”
She holds up her hands, putting more distance between us. “Whoa. A tattoo is one thing, but the L word? Slow your roll, Mr. Nicholas.”
“I didn’t say—” I cut myself off. I didn’t use the three words, but rewinding what I said, it was there. My declaration of love. I shrug. “What are you going to do about it?”
She glances behind me at something in the distance. “Follow me into the bedroom and find out.” She spins on her heels and saunters toward her room, her ass sashay more pronounced than usual.
We finish Clementine’s plan in enough time to take a shower before the boys are due home.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Absolutely not. Unless you’d rather not be subjected to Keith. I wouldn’t blame you for that.” She’s sheepish, and I have to shut that down real quick.
She’s poured herself another glass of beer, our discussion and sex having sobered her quickly, touting it as “liquid courage.”
I stalk over to where she stands in the kitchen, invading her personal space. “All fucking in means exactly”—I tip up her chin—“All. Fucking. In. There’s no aspect of your life I don’t want to be a part of. None. Not the good, the bad, or the messy. I’m here for you, Clementine.”
She opens her mouth, most likely to protest, but wisely shuts it, nodding her consent. For now, I’ll take it. “Same goes for you.”
“Deal.”
The rumbling of a car engine cuts into our moment.
“Eep, they’re back. I hope they had a good time.” As much as she’s not looking forward to dealing with her ex, she’s excited to have the boys home. She rushes to the door, meeting them on the porch. I hang back, out of sight but not earshot. “Hey. How was dinner?”
“Daddy’s going home,” Atlas states, his tone hard to decipher his opinion on the subject.
“He doesn’t live in Winterberry Junction, so of course he’s going home.”
“We’re getting a brother.” Jace’s voice is laced with happiness and trepidation.
Thank goodness Clementine’s holding onto the railing. If she were moving, she would have tumbled down the stairs.
“That’s . . . fun,” she spits out.
“He won’t live with us. We probably won’t ever meet him, only in pictures.” I’m confused by Atlas’s words until I realize he must be repeating what their dad told him. For what reason, I’m unsure.
“Boys, say goodbye to Daddy and head inside.” I ooze with pride at the conviction in her voice. She’s preparing for a battle. Fighting to win.
Their goodbyes are muffled, and soon the boys appear in the doorway, their arms loaded with bags. Atlas’s despondent expression perks up the minute he notices me. “Dax, hey. You’re here.”
