“Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, A Little Princess
Cletus
My woman was extraordinary.
She was also unzipping my jacket, her greedy hands sliding over my chest and stomach. I tensed under her fingertips and reinitiated composing the unsexy list I’d been making in the car, before Jessica had happened upon us with her flashlight. I was detailing a list of all the old fellas I played shuffleboard with and whether I’d won or let them win. Proud old men threw the worst temper tantrums and thinking on their disgruntled faces would hopefully save my sanity.
Not much about my Friday had gone according to design, but things were certainly looking up.
I’d begun my day with a solid plan to win Jennifer’s affections. We weren’t going to rush things, just the opposite. The first phase of my plan included bumping into her at the Piggly Wiggly. I was going to play it like a happy coincidence. Then, I was going to strike up a conversation, as the people do, during which I would invite her to dinner.
I knew Jennifer stopped into the store every Friday and Sunday for a crate of bananas. Everyone knew this. So I arrived early, before they opened, and waited. By 4:00 PM I was worried. By 8:00 PM I was near a fit. I asked Billy to drive past the bakery on his way home, and he’d confirmed her car was still there.
I waited.
I watched the Wraiths walk into the store around 9:40 PM, not thinking much of it. Jenn finally pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later and jogged inside, obviously in a rush. I followed. And that’s when the plan went to Hades in a handbasket.
The original plan had several phases, all of which adhered to the commonly accepted rituals of human courtship. I’d intended to keep the depth of my feelings to myself for as long as she needed to catch up, at which point she would say the words first, I would concur, we would become engaged, buy a stretch of land, Jethro would build a house as a wedding present, and I’d insist on raised garden beds for Jennifer’s overall-wearing activities.
Now, the primary phase of the plan was mostly irrelevant, seeing as how her hands were currently moving over my body like I was something brand new.
Which brings me back to my extraordinary woman.
I hadn’t expected this accelerated pace of change in the emotional or physical portions of our relationship. I could and would adapt, but the suddenness required a quantity of unsexy lists.
My jacket fell to the floor and her mouth moved to my shoulder and collarbone, biting a trail to my chest. Her movements were almost frantic, and I recognized she was losing herself to the moment. I needed to be level-headed enough for both of us, and so focused on my list.
I bent and kissed her just under her ear, blowing hot breath along her neck and shoulder, allowing myself to enjoy how her body responded, how she stiffened and arched. She pressed against me and I felt her restlessness.
What she’d experienced in the canned vegetable aisle of the Piggly Wiggly had been a trauma, not only because of what her brother had said, but also due to what I had done in punching the little shit.
Let me be clear: I didn’t regret it, and I would do it again. Gladly.
But we wouldn’t be losing ourselves to passion tonight. I wouldn’t allow it. I didn’t wish to compound her ordeal by crossing a line she’d regret. I worried for her even as I lifted the cotton shirt she wore and slipped my hands up her sides, her hot, satin-smooth skin beneath my fingertips fraying the edges of my self-possession.
I gripped her and my restraint, held both close. She had my heart. I wanted hers very, very badly. And I wanted her heart for the long term. I would do whatever was required to demonstrate the depth of my regard. I wanted her to feel good.
But I would not lose control. Losing control would mean losing her.
“Cletus, touch me.” Her breath hitched, her gorgeous eyes moving between mine. “Please.”
“I am touching you.” My voice was gravelly and strained. I cleared my throat.
A sudden frown marred her features and frustration pierced the fog of desire in her stare. “Where are you? Where is your mind right now?”
I blinked at her and the allegation. “My mind is on you.” I moved to kiss her again and flexed my fingers on her skin.
She evaded my mouth. “You’re distracted, I can tell. You were distracted in the car and you’re distracted now.”
Astute woman is . . . still very astute.
“What makes you think so?” I hedged.
“Because I know what it’s like when you’re not. When you kissed me for practice—”
“That wasn’t practice.” Suddenly, I felt it vitally important that she know the truth about that night. “I kissed you because I couldn’t help myself.”