Where We Meet Again

by Wilson, A. M.

  Law loads me straight into the passenger seat. The protest dies on my lips when he raises his head, and his eyes catch mine. The grayish-green color is alert and darker than usual. He runs the back of his knuckles over my cheek.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” The speed the word leaves my mouth doesn’t surprise me, but Law’s body startles.

  His teeth sink into his lip tantalizingly. “Okay, then.”

  Fingertips graze my hip as he reaches for the seatbelt. With purpose, he runs the metal tip over my abdomen on its way to the buckle. Butterflies race in my stomach and a tingle erupts between my legs. He reaches the other side and the distinct click echoes in the truck.

  After quickly brushing a hair off my cheek, he slams the door and climbs in his side, fires up the engine, and whisks me away.

  Law deflects my questions by ignoring me. He turns the radio up and drops his hand to my thigh.

  Instead of pressing it, I relax my head against the seat and close my eyes. Excitement keeps me awake, but that doesn’t mean I’m not tired at six in the morning. A coffee would have been a nice addition to this rare excursion.

  We travel about twenty minutes, winding through town and exiting in the other direction on highway 31. The sky changes to hues of pink and purple with the impending sunrise. Excitement, nerves, and a hope I’m too frightened to examine fill me at the same time. As if he senses my unease, he squeezes my leg in comfort.

  The truck slows and swings right onto an unmarked road. Trees whip by the window as he speeds across the rugged earth. Through the windshield is nothing but snow, not an actual road. Up ahead, a field emerges. Law slows, executes a three-point turn, and backs the truck deep into the open space.

  “Where are we?” I don’t expect an answer. With the hand paused on my thigh, he squeezes, then exits the truck and leaves me behind.

  If he’s waiting for me to follow, he has another think coming. I don’t even have boots on. He stole me from my house without allowing me a chance to get them.

  A rushing noise sounds, and a glance out the back window reveals Law pulling the tarp aside. The sun isn’t high enough to cast light on what’s in there. I could crawl over the seat to peek, but he’s gone through so much trouble I don’t want to ruin whatever it is he has planned. I follow him with my head as he shuffles around to my door and opens it.

  “You trying to snoop?” He reaches over me to unclip my seatbelt.

  “What can I say, you have me curious.”

  “Good. It’s almost time.”

  “Almost time for what?”

  “Arms around my neck, Cami.”

  I sigh to mask my excitement at his game. Even though I want to make him repeat his demand, I slip my arms around his neck.

  “Hold on.” He nips at my jaw, and my stomach clenches. Into his arms I go as if I weigh nothing. He carries me to the back, smoothly navigating the snow and ice, and sits me on the open tailgate. “Up. And under the blankets, baby. You’ve only got socks on.”

  I purse my lips and mock glare. “Wonder why that is.”

  He acknowledges with another grin and clambers up after me, kicking his boots into the snow. Together we wriggle into the mass of blankets and pillows he loaded into the bed of his truck. I don’t even think there’s a mattress beneath us. Just piles and piles of pillows. I discover the opening to a sleeping bag on the bottom and slide inside, propping my head on some pillows and dragging another down-feathered quilt up to my chin. Law slips in with me. His entire torso slides down the length of mine, eliciting a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. He opens the metal box behind us and fetches a thermos and a cardboard box.

  “Can’t watch the sunrise without breakfast.”

  “Oh, what’d you bring me?” I clap my hands together beneath the blanket.

  He hands me the thermos and flips open the top to the box. “I hope you still like cinnamon rolls.”

  My eyes grow wide. “You didn’t! The ones with the super thick cream cheese frosting on top?”

  There are three kinds of cinnamon rolls. Those with the barely-there glaze that chips off into sticky bits and tastes like watered down powdered sugar. Then there’s the kind with the thick frosting that looks like it’s going to be the best kind, but is merely an over sweetened imposter. The best, and only kind in my opinion, are the ones that have thick cream cheese frosting. Sweet, but not overpowering, so I can eat the entire thing without scraping off the excess. That’s the only way to eat a cinnamon roll in my world.

  He suppresses a laugh. “Of course. What other kind is there?”

  “Amen.”

  Instead of handing one to me, he holds it out in front of my mouth. “Open.” The huskiness in his voice flows through me.

  Letting him feed me feels a little strange. Less than twenty-four hours ago we were fighting in my bedroom, but I can’t resist the sweet temptation. That first bite puts a new smile on my face.

  I groan. “It’s so good.”

  Law grabs my wrist, extends my hand, and balances the rest of the cinnamon roll on my open palm. I’m weirdly bummed he isn’t going to feed me another bite. But then his other hand grabs me by the back of the head and draws me into him. I experience a special kind of sweetness.

  He sucks my bottom lip first, trailing the tip of his tongue over it before doing the same with the top. Then he assaults my mouth, the warmth of his tongue startling against the frigid air from outside. He tastes rich and warm, like that first sip of coffee in the morning, and it’s the perfect complement to my yummy breakfast.

  Either the sun rises fast, or we make out a long time. The next time I register something other than the feel of Law kissing me, is when dawn filters through my eyelids.

  We break apart, and he tucks me into his side. The sun isn’t up yet, but it quickly rises. I make out the area beyond the snowy field, and I shift the cinnamon roll and coffee aside to sit up. At the winter wonderland before me, my breath catches.

  Untouched snow glitters in the fresh morning light, covering rocks and pine trees at the bank of a river. It isn’t the river that captures my breath, though it’s elegant and a feature all on its own. The pools of icy water above and below two frozen waterfalls hold my attention. I can’t stop gawking at the beauty of the scenery.

  Law nudges the hair away from my ear with his nose. “What do you think?”

  The span of three breaths pass. “It’s one of the most incredible sights I’ve seen in my life.”

  “Glad to hear, darlin’, because it’s yours.”

  My head whips away from the scene where the climbing sun continues to expose unfamiliar shadows. Law digs something out from the box of the truck. A long cylinder clutched in his fist, he uncaps it, empties a roll of paper, and sets the tube aside. Over the down quilt on our laps, he spreads it out.

  Neatly drawn plans stare back at me in the distinct diagram of a house.

  “What is happening,” I whisper, suddenly terrified.

  “I thought right here would be the perfect place for a wraparound deck in the back facing the river. Elevated, with a second story walkout. And a pergola with fairy lights.” His finger drifts across the plans in front of me.

  “Law,” I gasp.

  He traces an area on the other side of the house. “Right here would be an indoor-outdoor pool. In the winter, we could fill it with snow.”

  I clutch his hand. He stops moving through the plans, but he brings his eyes to mine and resumes speaking. “Floor to ceiling library, with a sliding ladder and a spiral staircase that leads to a private reading nook filled with pillows. A window seat-bed, big enough for both of us to lay together at night and look at the stars. And an outdoor fire pit designed to feel like the beach.”

  The stickiness in my throat inhibits speech. Or that could be the tears I hold back. “Y-you forgot the–ˮ

  But Law has forgotten nothing. “Built in bunk beds. I didn’t forget. Just didn’t know if you’d still have the desire to fill the
m.”

  Oh, God. “But I have a house.”

  “We’ll sell it.”

  “You have a new custom-built house.”

  “Sorry to say, because we had some excellent memories there, but that isn’t my house.”

  My stomach twists. “What are you talking about?”

  His hand snakes under the blanket to clutch my waist. “I build houses, babe. Long story short, a friend of mine contacted me to build his woman her dream home, I made that drive daily to oversee the project. One day I ran into you in a coffee shop, and suddenly, making that drive home every day wasn’t something I wanted to do. He found his woman bent over her desk at work getting fucked by her boss. You can imagine he no longer felt like building her that dream home. He let me live there to help us both out. Got the job done faster so he can sell the place and get rid of her, and gave me a place to live in town.”

  I twist my fingers together. “Was this, um, the same friend you helped with the pest control job?”

  “Yeah,” he grunts. “Rhett. Good guy, but shit luck. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. I thought you were here to build a strip mall?”

  His fingers squeeze. “Doing that, too. I had my eye on the job for a couple months. After I saw you and knew I wanted to stick around for a while, I put in the bid.”

  He loses my gaze as I take it all in. I’m quiet, but he isn’t done.

  “I need a house now, because the other one’s done. This land is mine, the plans are drawn, the only thing I need now is you.”

  The only thing…

  I need now…

  Is.

  You.

  I give him my eyes and grip his face in both hands. The scratchiness of his stubble against my palms ground me. Touching him feels as natural as breathing. At the same time, I still can’t believe he’s here. I imagine it will take some time to get over.

  He’s so direct in what he’s saying; but he also isn’t saying what I need him to say. Misinterpreting him at this point will obliterate me. I manage a shuddering breath and ask the question that terrifies me to no end and fills me with so much happiness I could burst.

  “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “No, I’m asking you to live this beautiful life with me.”

  “Law.” I exhale shakily, struggling to break through the hope that overtakes every pore, every single molecule that completes me.

  “I don’t give a fuck about a piece of paper, Cami, but if you want it, it’s yours. So long as you’re mine.”

  He can’t be any clearer. Using the grip I already have, I yank him into me and down. Nestling back into the pillows, he rolls partly on top of me as our lips connect. I hope this is as clear of a response. A groan rumbles so deeply from his chest I feel the vibrations against mine. My nipples tighten and a warmth hums low in my belly.

  I match him in the level of heat, kissing him with fourteen years of missed opportunities. Beneath the blankets, his hand skims my waist, moving lower to dip beneath my shirt. He trails his fingers up and over the skin of my tummy to find my breast. Our mouths separate with an audible smack when he abruptly pulls back.

  “Where’s your bra?” he growls heatedly. The sun’s now high enough to provide enough light to see the desire swirling in his eyes.

  “Seeing as there was a caveman, oh…” I moan as he pinches my nipple between his finger and thumb, pulling and rolling while watching me from above. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, getting off on seeing the pleasure he brings me. “…early this morning, I didn’t have t-time to put one on.”

  His fingers walk south, and he ducks his head to nip the skin on my neck. “Forget anything else?”

  My answer slides out of me in the form of a moan, because just then, he discovers for himself if I have on underwear. “No…”

  One thick finger finds the wetness and pushes deep inside. He cups me there, his grip possessive, as he works his finger in and out. Slow, smooth strokes. Too slow. Too much time has passed since the last time I had him, and I need him inside me now.

  I lose the ability to speak when he takes my mouth again, so I get my point across by shoving my hands between us and cupping his erection. His hips jerk, and he thrusts himself into my palm. Our kisses turn frantic with need. His tongue goes from slow and exploring to spearing into my mouth. I get his button undone and yank his cock out as he breaks from our kiss.

  “Fuck, are you mine, Cami?” He pants and digs his heels into the pillows to push himself farther into my hand.

  There are only so many ways to answer that, but I have the perfect one. My palm slides up and around the head of his cock, gliding back down as I move further beneath the blankets and crawl between his legs. What little room available is cramped, but I don’t care. What I do care about is getting contact with as much of him as I can. My fingers curl into his jeans at mid-thigh, and with his assistance, I work them off. A hand on each leg, I run them up until they meet at the juncture of his thighs, which happens to be my intended target. One hand slides to cup his balls, and I trace them with my tongue as I jack him.

  “Holy fuck, your tongue is incredible.”

  His words spur me on as I explore, something I haven’t had a chance to do yet. I love how he holds his breath when I drop kisses along the crease of his groin, and the way he jacks his cock into my palm when I run my tongue along the skin beneath his balls. His hand trembles when he fists my messy bun and pulls my mouth from him with a pop. “Suck my cock, honey, or let me fuck you, but do it before I make a mess all over my stomach.”

  A shiver racks my entire body at the heated look in his eye. I comply, scooting forward between his bent knees to fill my mouth. My tongue swirls around the head, and I take him all the way to the back of my throat. My gag reflex trips, tightening my muscles around him.

  “You are done,” he moans. Hands clamped beneath my armpits, he hauls me up his torso, sliding my body over every hard inch. I want to kiss him, but he has other plans, shifting from beneath me so I’m on my belly in the pillows. He rolls on top, then does a disappearing act of his own.

  He removes my jeans in record time, much faster than it took me to remove his, and then his hands caress me. “Scoot your knees under you.”

  Even though there isn’t much room, I manage. My backside is in the air beneath the blankets. I feel self-conscious all of two seconds before Law takes care of my insecurity.

  He grips each cheek of my ass in a palm and squeezes them one after the other, doing some exploring of his own. “Your pussy smells divine.” In one unhurried stroke, he flattens his tongue and licks me from my clit, over the entrance to my pussy, not stopping until he swirls it over my ass.

  My entire body bucks, completely out of my control to stop it. That’s all the affirmation he needs to keep going. Over and over he traces the path. Beneath him, I’m a quivering mess. “Please,” I beg at the deliberate torture. “I need you to fuck me.”

  In response, Law dips his middle finger into my soaked pussy. It isn’t what I want, but it’s a start. I rock against his thick digit. His tongue joins his finger in overwhelming me with sensation. I’m on the brink, panting and writhing against him. He withdraws his finger, plunges his tongue deep, and sinks his now-slick finger into my ass.

  A scream tears from me as I come, throbbing around his finger and his tongue. If I’d been capable of thinking, I would have thought I scared the birds out of their nests. Good thing we don’t have neighbors.

  Law doesn’t delay in taking what he needs as I come down. Wiping his mouth where my thigh meets my cheek, he rises to his knees, positions his cock, and drives in, all without removing his finger.

  Harsh breaths and groans of pleasure erupt between us as we lose ourselves. Each time it gets better and hotter and deeper than the last. Years of lost intimacy compounds into a love making so sweet it nearly hurts. I give what he needs, and he takes what I offer, as the sound of our flesh slapping rings out in the early morning silence.

&nbs
p; “Your pussy’s sweet, Cami, but I can’t get enough of filling your ass.” As if to prove a point, he strokes his finger inside me, rubbing it along the thin wall of skin separating it from his cock. I whimper when nerves electrify and something deep inside deliciously clenches.

  “I can’t wait until you let me take your ass with my cock.”

  My head flies back on a moan, and my body trembles as another orgasm rocks through me.

  “I’m right there with you,” Law grinds out, removing his finger to grip my hips and slam into me once, twice, before the rhythmic throb of him coming fills me. My name falls from his lips, and his forehead touches my back.

  “I love you, Cami,” he confesses earnestly, a tremor threading his tone. One arm wraps around me, and he strokes the back of my hand with his. Curling my fingers, I thread them through his and press them together into the pillows. My grip is so tight it has to hurt, but he never lets on. He just keeps speaking into my back. “I love you. I’ll love you tomorrow and fifty years from now. I’ve loved you for the past fourteen. I fell in love with you when we were kids and I stole your first kiss on that hill, and I won’t ever stop.”

  It takes everything in me not to cry as I tell him the words I’ve wanted to say for so long. “I love you, too, Law. Yesterday, today, forever.”

  He slides out of me, and we both drop to our sides facing one another. “Yesterday, today, forever,” he repeats.

  We keep warm beneath the blankets, soaking one another in until the moment passes. I know it’s gone when a gust blows across the exposed skin of my face, and I mutter, “It’s going to be shitty climbing out of here to get dressed.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. Then he dives beneath the blankets.

  I giggle, watching the shape of his body move around and feeling his playful touches. A kiss on my knee, a stroke on the bottom of my foot, his teeth against my hip, his tongue tasting the side of my ribs. I’m torn between getting my clothes on and shoving his head back down to play for a while.

  “Are you a magician?” I ask as he emerges fully dressed. Well, sort of. I snort as he crawls to the end of the tailgate and notice his boxer briefs hanging out of his back pocket. He winks at me and tugs on his boots without lacing them.