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I lose control, giving in to the demand to come, and with a deep groan, I push up into her. Every fluttering clench of her muscles sucks me in more, and as I release into her, shaking from the intensity of my orgasm, I catch her.
She falls atop me, shivering and trembling, and I hold her tight as I close my eyes.
What have I done?
Coming here because I missed her felt like an impulsive decision, but sleeping with her again is anything but. A harder question follows up the first.
What happens now?
***
Hours later, once we’ve showered without a word, we sluggishly end up back on her bed. This time, we’re under the covers. I just woke up, shifting to get more comfortable, but for some reason, I remain awake.
In Denver, I had nowhere to run but to get coffee in the morning. Stranding her there was never an option. Here, though, I feel caught by the indecision of staying or leaving. I don’t want to be a coward. I don’t want to struggle with how hard and fast I’m falling for her when we both know the odds are slim that we can last.
I’ll hate myself if I go, but I need space. I need time. I need a slight separation from her to begin to come to terms with this. So, I ease out of bed and slip my jeans on. I don’t want to alarm her or wake her, and heading out to the living room seems like the only alternative.
As I sit on the couch and try to compartmentalize what I’m doing by letting Claire into my life, I zone out and eye all her things. I guess it’s less of a living room now, taken over by the evidence of her work. She’s transformed this cabin into a dress shop, and I smile at the faint and faraway fantasy of giving her the real thing. Her own dress shop, here, not in Paris. It sounds stupid and corny, like I’m grasping at farfetched wishes, but the more I really think about it, it doesn’t sound that bizarre. Why couldn’t she have a dress shop here? I bet she would worry about not having the same types of clients as she might easily find in Paris or a bigger city, but since when does a thing like distance matter in the age of technology and the internet? She could have her dream shop here, with me, and still reach out to clients from any niche of the world.
I gaze at her sewing stuff, knowing she’s not that different from me. She’s meticulous and incredibly talented, and most of all, passionate about what she makes. Just like me. My “creations” are locked in place here as buildings, but I know I could help make her dreams come true here, too.
But would she even want that? I can’t tell, and it frightens me how quickly my heart is following this pull to her without letting my logical brain catch up. I still have so much more to learn about her, but the infectious hope of her staying here while seeing her dreams come true is too tempting. It’s all I can think about, and as I head back to the bed and crawl in beside her, I want to hold on to the chance of us working out. She sighs as I pull her against me, and even though she’s asleep, I treasure the way she automatically leans into me and seeks me out.
I’ve always been guarded. Ever since a big-city woman wounded me, I’ve been cautious not to let another girl get close enough to destroy what’s left of my heart. Claire is breaking me out of that guardedness, though, and I hope I can have faith in not only her but the depth of her feelings for me.
Chapter 23
Claire
I wake to the glorious smell of coffee brewing in the cabin. The fragrance carries to me in bed, and as I smile at what this means, I stretch under the covers and luxuriate in the tenderness in my thighs from the “exercise” I gave myself on top of Sawyer last night.
If I’m sleeping in here, and someone is making coffee in the kitchen, it means he’s got to be here.
He didn’t run!
I sit up, waking up faster, and grin.
So maybe he won’t be weird and hide from me again!
I suspect the “adult” thing to do would be to approach him calmly and patiently. I should ask him what the heck was with his attitude after the first time we had sex. At the bare minimum, I deserve an explanation. No one should get the cold shoulder and indifference like that after such intimacy.
And the first step to seeing if Sawyer will react differently to this episode of hot sex requires me to get out of bed and go find him in the kitchen, presumably making coffee.
I slide out of bed and grab my robe before heading out there. When I pad into the kitchen, I slow down and take a seat at the bar. He’s still here, much to my delight. I was so convinced he would bolt again, but still, the chance of that happening hadn’t dissuaded me from sleeping with him last night.
While I’m glad he’s here, I didn’t count on him working. Coffee has been made, yes, but it seems his use of my coffeemaker has warranted a repair of said machine. Parts lie all over the counter. A bowl of brownish water suggests he’s drained and cleaned it. But as I sit, he’s so into his project that he doesn’t look up at first.
“Problem?” I guess.
He sighs, setting down the screwdriver. Then he looks at me and smiles, making my heart sing. It’s not an expression of indifference. I can tell he’s not plastering on a grin for the hell of it, either. He’s…happy. With me. With us.
Before I let my hopes get too high and become giddy, I remind myself to tread carefully. He’s proven a flight risk before, and until we talk about why that is, I need to be easy.
“Morning, baby.”
Ooooh. That endearment gives me hope, too. He really is in a good mood.
“Why didn’t you mention this thing leaks?”
