She’s lost in us, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Each movement against me forces her lips to part even more, until finally she relents and lets out a tiny cry with every rock of her hips. I know I won’t last more than a few more thrusts, so I focus on her—on making her feel satisfied, on giving her a moment of absolute abandon and bliss. My hands on her hips, I slide them inward and let my thumbs move to her center, until I’m touching her where our bodies are already falling hard into pleasure. I stroke against her, pressing lightly against her and teasing until I feel her begin to clench. Her rocking becomes erratic, and when she’s completely lost her rhythm I take over, letting my hands return to her hips, thrusting up into her two more times before following her over the edge.
“Jesus, Paige,” I breathe, letting my body collapse into exhaustion under her, under the stars, in the middle of the outdoors. I wish for just a moment I were a teenager again so I could spend the next week bragging to Casey about what I just did. Instead, I’ll keep this all to myself. I’m pretty good with that, too.
“Oh my god,” she says, letting her body fall forward on top of mine. I bring my arms around her and hold her to me, stroking her hair down her back, loving the weight of her on me, loving…her.
“I fear the picnic is going to be a pretty big let down now. This night…it’s kind of peaked,” I say, leaning forward and kissing the top of her head. Her body shakes as she laughs against me.
“I don’t know, I looked in there and saw some of that spray cheese and Ritz crackers,” she says. I close my eyes and laugh again. I’m pretty sure she’s right. I had that out on the counter, and I’m sure my mom threw it in.
“I fucking love spray cheese,” I joke. Paige laughs against me again, her body relaxing into me. I let her lie there; let myself have this time—this pause in my life. I let myself touch her while she breathes against me. I made a joke because what I really fucking love is her. Not just because of this, or because of what we did, but because of the girl I get to see, the one who’s strong, but scared.
And she is scared. She’s scared of me. So I made a joke because if she runs now, it will absolutely break me.
Chapter 15
Paige
“So…Cee Cee…or…Chandra?” I ask, my stomach satisfied, surprisingly, with my combo of apple slices, crackers, and spray cheese. Mostly surprised about the spray cheese. Houston lies down, moving until his head is in my lap. I love looking at him like this. He looks like he’s mine.
“She’s loaded,” he says, popping a full cracker in his mouth. He shouldn’t eat lying down. If he chokes, I’m going to have to save him.
“Yeah, everyone knows that. Name…building…oil trucks…gas stations,” I say, half distracted by the way his hair feels in between my fingers. I think about the times I’ve seen my sister do this with Ty, Rowe do this to Nate. I used to think it was so stupid—that they were so obsessed with a guy’s hair. I never want to leave his hair alone.
“Right, yeah…but Leah’s his granddaughter, so…” His eyes flit to mine for a second. He isn’t proud of this, of wanting her to inherit money.
“I’d want my daughter to have everything she could, too,” I say, feeling his chest relax as he exhales. I won’t judge you, Houston. How could I?
“It’s not really written, but it’s sort of understood that Cee Cee gets to visit Leah whenever she wants if we don’t want that trust to disappear before she’s twenty-one,” he says.
“No, that isn’t right. Trusts don’t work that way,” I say, shaking my head. I have a trust, as does Cass. It’s ours, and it’s been funded ever since our grandmother set it up for us when we were in grade school. Granted, when I turn twenty-one, I get about ten grand. Something tells me Leah’s number carries a few more zeroes.
“It’s revocable,” he says, pulling an apple from his chest and biting the end off of it, holding the other half up for me. I bite it and let my lips touch his fingers. I am breaking down all of the corny rules tonight.
“Who makes a trust revocable?” I ask.
“Someone who doesn’t want to commit to a relationship, and who gets off on the idea of dangling carrots,” he says. Chandra’s father sounds a lot like Chandra.
“Bethany was okay with this arrangement?” I ask, and I can tell by the slight shift in his eyes—the wince that’s barely there, but there—she wasn’t all right with it. I can also tell that it’s something that tortures him.