“You still haven’t told me, by the way.” She looked up as she tossed me a lighter from the bag, pointing at the piled firewood to start a fire. “About what happened at David’s.”
Fisting the fire-starter, I strode toward the pile, dropped to my haunches, and set about making a stack with kindling. “Told you what?”
I knew fully well what.
The kiss.
The way I held her.
The mistake.
I cringed. I hadn’t been myself. I ought to have stared David in the eye, told him to mind his own fucking business, and carted Della away. But she’d asked me to stake my claim. How could I deny her that when she obviously needed it?
“Ren…” Her tone raised my eyes.
I sparked a flame, holding it to the dried leaves and tiny twigs. I didn’t know how to reply, so I shrugged instead. “There’s things about me that—” I cleared my throat. “Look, I was jealous. You asked for a public display of affection, and I gave you one. Can we just leave it at that?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What things don’t I know about you?”
I groaned under my breath, hating that she could finish my sentences. “The same sort of things I don’t know about you.”
This was turning out to be as awkward as talking to her about sex that first time. That damn book and its pornographic images. The stilted, strange conversation about penises and vaginas.
Once again, my heart suffocated with repugnance for what I was doing. How was any of this right when I’d taught her what sex was only to contemplate showing her a decade later?
“What don’t you know about me?” Her nose wrinkled. “You know everything there is to know about me.”
I pinned her with a stare. “Not everything, Della.”
It took a moment for my pointed words to land, but when they did, she blushed. The pink flush wasn’t something I often saw on her, and it made my body crave to touch her all over again.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” I focused on nursing the baby flame into a cheery blaze before falling back onto my ass and resting my elbows on my knees. Twirling the lighter in my fingers, I said carefully, “I know you intimately, but not in…that way. I don’t know what you like. I don’t know what you need to find…” I coughed. “Pleasure.”
Her cheeks reddened even more. “Do you want to know?”
It was my turn for my skin to heat. “Is that a trick question?”
She laughed quickly. “I can tell you…or show you.”
I fisted the lighter, squeezing it hard, remembering exactly how the night had gone when she’d begged to be enlightened on sex. She’d taught me, not the other way around. She’d read words I couldn’t read and explained things I didn’t understand.
No fucking way would I repeat that embarrassment or be reminded how far out of my league she truly was.
“I’ll learn for myself.” I growled. “I don’t need a lesson.”
“I’m not saying you do.”
“I know I’ve leaned on you a lot in the past for reading and maths and things, but in this topic, I don’t need any guidance. Got it? I won’t be able to handle this if you start teaching me—”
She held up her hand, worry painting her face. “I didn’t mean—”
“Leave it, Della.” I stood, swiping at leaves stuck to my jeans. “Let’s just focus on dinner, okay?”
“No, not okay.” She stood too, her chin arched. “I get that this is hard for you, but it’s hard for me, too. You say there are things about you that I don’t know? Well, guess what? There are so many things I don’t know about you these days. You’ve been steadily pulling away from me and hiding so many parts of you that this feels wrong. I have all these memories of you where you’re covered in sunshine, an open book, but now you seem in the shadows and covered in clouds. You say you leaned on me, but you never did. I taught you because of my own selfish desires, not because you needed help. So don’t withdraw into yourself and paint this any worse than it already is.”
Striding toward me, she balled her hands. “You’ve taught me so much, Ren. You’ve literally taught me everything I know. Don’t you think it feels weird knowing you’ll have to teach me what you like, too? How you like to be touched? How rough, soft, deep, and fast you like it?” She sucked in an angry breath. “This is new for both of us. Just because I’ve accepted the idea of being with you for far longer than you have of me doesn’t mean I’m not having the same thoughts as you. Not struggling with memories of you teaching me how to drive the tractor or your innocent face before you earned hard edges.”
She stopped, breathing hard.
Time ticked on as our argument faded, but we didn’t make a move to patch up the wounds left behind.
Finally, she whispered, “I’m tired. Can we just go to bed?”
Bed?
I gulped, eyeing the tent.
Unlike the previous one we’d shared, there was more than enough room for two adults without touching. The double wings meant we could be entirely separate while our bags were in the middle.
She caught me studying the two pods and huffed painfully under her breath. “Don’t worry. I have my own sleeping bag this time; you don’t have to sleep so close to me.”
Ripping a tawny-coloured bag with highlighter pink zippers from her backpack, she ducked under the tent awning and threw herself into the left wing.
I stood there wondering what the hell happened and how the fuck it all went so wrong.
I hated that we’d had yet another fight, but that wasn’t new. Our tempers always seemed to ignite around each other. But the fact that she’d curled up tight, fully clothed and hurting made me wince because she was right.
I’d been wrapped up in myself once again. She was Della. She was the reason I was alive—the sole purpose for why I’d been placed on this earth: to protect, cherish, and care for.
And I’d just made her upset.
Again.
Moving our belongings away from the fire and placing the pasta back into its pouch, I bent and undid my laces before kicking off my boots. I didn’t strip anything else. Not my belt, socks—nothing.
If I did this, I needed to be fully clothed.
Tonight was not the night we fell into sex. Neither of us were ready.
Unfurling my own sleeping bag, I crawled into the centre pod, unzipped it and spread it over the two yoga mats I’d brought with us. Once it was flat, I reached into the wing where Della lay curled up tight and grabbed her ankles.
“Hey!” She squirmed as I yanked her through the small alcove and into the main one. “Let go.”
Ignoring her, I didn’t stop until she lay beside me, then unzipped her sleeping bag, all while my eyes burned into hers, daring her to stop me.
I kind of wanted her to stop me. I wanted her to hit me because I deserved to be hit. I wanted her to curse me because I warranted being cursed. But most of all, I wanted her to fight because if she did, I could fight back and release some of the hissing lust in my veins.
Almost as if she sensed how close I was to snapping, she stopped wriggling as I rolled her out of the warmth, smoothed the now-open bag on top of us, pushed her onto her side facing away from me, then lashed my arm around her waist and yanked her firmly into my front.
The moment her solid, familiar weight kissed mine, I groaned under my breath.
Right.
Wrong.
Home.
Pulling her as close as I could, I didn’t hide the fact that I was hard, shaking, and fighting the hardest I’d ever had to fight not to tear her clothes off and teach her a lesson for a change.
A lesson about me.
A lesson about how much I wanted her.
She moved in my embrace, and for a dreadful second, I thought she was trying to get away, but then she moaned softly and pressed her hips deeper into mine.
My fingers dug into her flat stomach as I buried my nose in her hair.
I couldn’t stop myself from rocking into he
r, allowing that one element of sex to manifest where I thrust fully clothed, hinting that in that moment, the way I liked it was torturously slow and tormentingly erotic.
She shivered as I nuzzled her ear, breathing hotly. “Don’t run away from me again, Della. Got it?”
She brought her arm up, her fingers threading in the hair at the bottom of my neck. “Only if you promise the same.”
Nipping at her earlobe, I grumbled, “Never. Whether this works or not, I’m not going anywhere. You have my word.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DELLA
* * * * * *
2018
THEY SAY LOVE can be the worst test of all.
I tend to agree with them.
First, Ren left me.
Then he came back for me.
Second, Ren stalked me.
Then he told me he loved me.
Third, Ren told me to pack and leave.
Then he warned he needed more time.
My heart…wow, it had been given its every wish and fantasy in one painfully, truth-filled argument, only to be told to press the pause button.
I hope you don’t mind me scribbling this in a notebook instead of on my laptop—I sold it, you see. I wiped it clean and got a couple of hundred dollars for it from a fellow student. No point bringing it with no socket to charge and a backpack already heavy with important things.
Not sure why I’m writing, really.
Then again, what’s happening between Ren and me is all so new, I want to keep some structure in my life, and writing things down is it.
After a manic couple of days getting rid of the things I had at David’s, cutting off utilities, and assuring Natty and David that I knew what I was doing, I’d believed the test would be over.
I thought stepping into the forest would be our fresh start.
A new beginning where we could forget the past and be two adults and not two children. Where love would finally nod with pride and say, ‘Okay, I made you suffer enough, now crawl into that tent and get busy.’
It didn’t quite work that way.
When Ren had said he had it harder than me accepting this new us, I hadn’t agreed. We’d both grown up together. We both had memories and love and connection that no amount of time or distance could steal.
I’d been hurt that he could say that, to be honest.
But now, after tasting his kisses and knowing the exact moment when he stopped kissing me and started thinking of the past, I agreed he did have it worse than me.
He was right.
He’d raised me. He’d seen me in every stage of cute, embarrassing, plain disgusting, and everything in between.
And that was the difference.
I’d been raised by him; therefore, I worshipped him.
I’d seen him in every mood of possessive, angry, distrusting, hardworking, and forever untamed.
Two very different ways to see somebody.
One practical and parental. One fantastical and fanciful.
Funny, how my memories don’t just see a skinny boy with nine fingers, dirty and wild—I only remembered power and strength and the undeniable safety I felt in his presence. I didn’t remember Ren as a teenager with a zit on his forehead and the Mclary cattle brand on his hip—I saw him as lanky and incredible and not afraid to plough an entire field on his own.
I’d never seen the ugly messiness of life that he had by raising me.
So, yes. He was right.
I didn’t have to overcome as much to be able to kiss him.
I had no fear we were doing something wrong.
My only fear came from his fear and, for once, I wouldn’t make it worse on him.
I wouldn’t push him.
Not this time.
Or not for as long as I could help it, anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY
REN
* * * * * *
2018
FOR TWO DAYS, we learned how to be friends again.
Mornings, we ate breakfast of squashed bread and jam, packed up our gear, and walked until exhaustion made our backs sway and bones creak. Nights, we’d stop, set up our home, then cook harmoniously, eating pasta and canned supplies by moonlight and sharing tales of the past few months as we caught up with what we’d missed.
It was exactly what I needed.
To find my friend again.
To accept that there was no place, no person, no scenario I would rather have than this, right here, with her.
By the time we found the meandering river that had been our faithful friend since leaving Mclary’s all those years ago, we were both ready for a bath and itching for clean clothes.
Summer was still in the air even though autumn was only days away. Muggy temperatures and no breeze found us deep in the forest. The sun teased low in the sky, not quite ready to go to bed as we finished putting up the tent.
Della wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
Blonde curls stuck to her sweaty neck. Heat glistened on her upper lip. Leaves clung with foliage fingers to her ponytail, choosing her over their branch and willingly committing suicide.
The polish of house living and city conveniences had faded from her skin, leaving her as wild as I remembered, slipping back into the surname she’d given us.
“Ren?” She waved a hand in my face, snapping me back to the present and out of my daydreams of licking away her heat, pushing her onto the ground, and stripping her free of every sweat-wet piece of clothing.
Clearing my throat, I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you want to go for a swim.”
Glancing at the narrow river, the babble and bubble hinted it might be too shallow to do anything more than sit and sluice.
Pointing downstream a little, she said, “The current is calmer there. I reckon there’s a place deep enough to submerge, at least.”
“Okay.” My heart picked up into a pounding tempo. Bathing had been a regular thing with us even when we were young. When age didn’t matter, we’d skinny-dipped with no thought of doing anything wrong. But then, my body had changed and become a master over my mind, and I’d refused to be naked around Della.
And now…what was the correct protocol?
She saw my wariness, laughing gently. “Underwear stays on. Is that what you were about to say?”
I half-smiled. “Would you be shocked if I suggested naked?”
She blinked. “Were you?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Her shock faded under a thin glaze of disappointment. Ever since I’d hugged her two nights ago, keeping her trapped in my arms almost the entire night, we hadn’t discussed when or how we’d leap over the divide from family to lovers.
I didn’t know how to bring up the subject and didn’t know what to say if I did. Della had relaxed around me but only on topics we both knew were safe. The moment we stared too long, or that sneaky, burning lust became too painful to ignore, we suddenly found other tasks that urgently needed doing.
I knew why we’d gone nervous.
We’d missed each other so fucking much, and here we were, living the life we’d clung to, all the while about to jeopardise it.
I had everything I could’ve dreamed of, and it made me hate myself because not once had I asked how she felt about quitting her writing course or if she missed any of her friends.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask either because I wouldn’t survive the answer if she admitted she wanted those things more than she wanted me.
“I’ll make the decision for you.” Grabbing the hem of her t-shirt, she ripped it over her head, dislodging her ponytail and its decoration of leaves.
My breath caught in a sharp cough as my eyes drank in her slim figure and black sports bra. The fullness of her chest was a perfect handful, the shadows of her belly enticing me to touch, trace, and torment.
Never taking her eyes off me, she kicked away her boots, unbuttoned her jeans, slid them down long legs, and pulled them off with he
r socks.
Standing in black bikini briefs, looking athletic and strong and so fucking gorgeous, I very nearly stumbled with desire for her.
The scraps of material were the only things keeping me from seeing her—all of her—and I both thanked them for their discretion and cursed them for their barrier.
“Your turn,” she whispered, swaying a little as her hands reached up and undid her ponytail, letting rivers of gold pour around her shoulders. The flash of blue ribbon beckoned me forward, and I stole it from her fingers, wrapping it around the back of her neck and pulling her toward me.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “I don’t know how I ignored that fact for so long.”
She gasped, surprised by my swift affection; a step behind my lust.
Before she could catch up, I broke the kiss and dangled the blue ribbon in her face. “This looks familiar.” I smirked. “Not a day went by that you didn’t wear this in some way.” My gaze drifted to her bare foot where the inked one with its cursive R still caused my heart to clench. “Didn’t you ever wonder why a piece of satin lasted eighteen long years?”
Her forehead furrowed. “Huh?”
“Think about it.” I stroked the blue, dragging it through my forefinger and thumb. “It lived in the elements, got wet, dirty, knotted, and crushed. Yet it never fell to pieces. Never tore when I tied it in your hair, never unravelled when you wound it around your wrist.”
Her head cocked. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I couldn’t exactly let your favourite thing fall apart now, could I?”
Confusion shadowed, then was chased away as comprehension lit up her face. “You replaced it?”
I chuckled. This was one secret I could share with her. Giving her back the ribbon she so desperately treasured—even now as an adult—I headed to my backpack that rested against a gnarly looking pine.
Throwing her another smirk, I reached into the side pocket sewn tight for protection of wallets or other important things and pulled out a circle of cardboard that had well and truly seen better days. The printed label and name of the colour had long since worn off, the edges frayed and torn, but there, in the centre of the wheel, was a depleted length of blue satin.
The Girl and Her Ren Page 12
