Page 62 of The Child of Rue Royale
There’s something deeply nostalgic about being in the passenger’s seat next to Bastian. His hand on my thigh, the warm summer air sending my hair in swirls around my face, the music consuming us. Like the days when we were just hiding a secret love, not a secret child. The stakes felt so high back then. The old Aster would fall right into a coma if I could go back in time and tell her what happened.
“What are you laughing at?” Bastian asks, squeezing my thigh.
“Just how happy I am, right now. In this moment. Despite it all.”
“Despite it all,” he whispers, his hand sliding higher up my bare skin, and it just sits there, his BD pinky ring gleaming up at me. Reminding me. It was once amongst a pile of ash in my hand. I took it off my chain this morning and slid it on his finger. Back where it belongs.
Despite it all. I squeeze his hand under mine.
We weave through the forest, the smell of pine and eucalyptus enrapturing us. “Kinda smells like vacation,” I say.
“Well, until we get you to the Caribbean, it will have to do.”
About fifteen minutes from the beach house, Bastian pulls up to a navy-blue A-frame cabin nestled between a grove of redwood trees.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Let’s go see,” he says, opening his door and grabbing a backpack from the back seat.
He waits for me, hand outstretched until mine hits his. “This cabin is where the kitchen and living area is. Hot tub is around the back, and up there, well, that’s the bedroom. And don’t worry, I paid for the night, but we will only stay a few hours.”
My gaze follows his pointing finger up into the trees as I try to take everything in.
“The bedroom is a treehouse?” I ask, eyeing a small cabin nestled at least twenty feet in the air between numerous trees.
“Of course it is. What? You didn’t expect a tree house tonight?” His mouth turns up, eyes piercing mine.
“No.” I laugh. “I did not expect a tree house.”
We walk through the front door of the A-frame cabin into the living area, the all-wood interior rustic and earthy.
“I thought we would get in the hot tub first,” Bastian says, throwing his backpack on the couch and unzipping it.
“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I say, and he pulls a bikini out from his bag, and I cover my mouth in laughter.
“Bastian, where did you get that?”
“It’s Chantal’s. She said it would fit you.”
“Do you see these big boobs? There’s no way they can fit in that tiny thing.”
“Oh, they don’t need to fit. They can pour out for all I care.” His eyes turn lustful as his tongue wets his bottom lip. “Come here,” he purrs, his voice like velvet, eyes darkening.
“When we made love on the beach, I needed you, and I told you that I wouldn’t have time for special, and we agreed, special could wait.”
His hand stretches out for me, the air between us thickening. I take it, stepping closer, thinking he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he grabs the bottom of my tank top and pulls it over my head.
“But right now, we have time for slow and special, and I’m going to take my time and make love to you tonight. How you deserve to be made love to. Got it?”
I swallow, neck tense, and move my face closer to his, but he denies me the kiss, moving his mouth so close to mine, his breath warms my cheek. Lips press to the corner of my mouth, his mouth tracing down to my jawline as his strong hands slowly move around to the clasps of my bra, and I immediately get the memo, serious and special, and he’s not messing around. This is seduction.
My bra falls to the floor, and my nipples pucker as he drops onto his knees, heated eyes looking up to mine. I place a hand in his hair as he whispers, “So beautiful.”
Fingers work the buttons on my shorts, unzipping, tugging, until they’re sliding down, his hands guiding my legs out one at a time. Fingers ride up the inside of my thighs, thumbs grazing my panty line until they’ve hooked the sides of my panties, pulling them down wickedly slow. That heat coils inside of me, the heat only his touch can ignite. He turns me to syrup, sticky and sweet.
Placing soft kisses on my knees, up the inside of each thigh, until he’s at my center, breath warming my skin. My hands run through his hair while he gently presses his lips against me, and I want to curl down into him, but his hand runs up my stomach, straightening me. I grab his fingers with one hand as the other pulls the hair on his head. He growls, and with his tongue flattened, he tastes me, the electricity of his wet mouth shooting stars through my veins. I lean into his mouth, my hand gripping his hair as he slides his tongue up and down, heat spiraling in my belly where his hand holds me still.
“More,” I whisper.
