Page 64 of Grouch-ish

Pushing more of the blanket off her, I run my hand up her inner thigh and she easily spreads her legs.

“These.” I hum as she knows how much I love her solid legs.

“Of course, here,” I add, reaching around her and cupping her ass as I wedge myself between her calves.

“And the final spot.” I blow a hot breath over her covered pussy.

Pear whimpers. “I think that was seven.”

“Math isn’t my strong suit.” I run my nose along her panties, inhaling the musky scent of her arousal. “But if seven is a lucky number, you’re my number one.”

A moment passes before Pear figures out that math equation. “You’re my number one, too.”

I smile before pressing a kiss to her warm heat, but I’m not done counting all the ways I adore her.

“Eight,” I blurt.

“Eight what?”

“The number of years I’ve been waiting for someone like you.” There’d been five years since my divorce but three years of misery before it was final. And I’ve been holding off from committing to anyone new because my girl was out there, somewhere, waiting on me.

Now, we’re here.

“Brock,” Pear whispers, her voice thick. Her delicate hand cups my cheek so I’m forced to hold on her eyes which glisten. So beautiful. So breathtaking. So full of hope, and I never want to disappoint her.

“Are you a cat?” I tease, popping the intensity of our stare. “I have nine lives I’d like to live with you.”

Pear laughs, deep and rich and curling at the waist as I jest with words I intend seriously. I think I’ve been waiting for her my entire life. For so long, I’ve been too afraid to admit it, to recognize this yearning inside me. Too frightened I’ve missed my chance at happiness. Too scared to hope happiness was still out there for me.

“Ten.” I pop up to all fours and grab her hand, sucking each finger on her left before moving to her right. As I lower toward her feet, she squeals.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Suck your toes?” I sure fucking would and when I clamp my teeth around her pinky one, she stills. I give each toe a nip before running my hands up her legs. Her firm ankles. Her solid calves. Her thick thighs.

“Perfect,” I hum, reaching her hips and tugging at her underwear, dragging it down her body to remove it. “You’re an eleven on a scale of one to ten.”

“That might be the cheesiest line yet.”

However, the next sound out of her is a gasp as I lick her seam, splitting her open to shove my tongue between her lower lips, and kiss her. Her fingers slide through my hair, gently yanking at the short ones on the back of my head. The sharpness spurs me on.

I sip and I suck. I dip and I devour. She’s a Christmas surprise and a New Year’s celebration. And I want her for every holiday in between the start of a new year and the end.

For now, I take my time to bring her to the crest and tip over the edge. When her legs stiffen and then her thighs clap on the sides of my head, I double down my worship of her body until she’s champagne overflowing a cup and bubbling on my tongue. Until she cries out my name and moans with an unsung hallelujah.

Once spent, I climb back up her body and sit back to hastily remove my flannel shirt and the thermal I wear underneath, then I roll to the side to kick off my jeans and boxer briefs. In no time, I’m between her thighs again.

“Is this okay?” I ask, fisting myself, long and stiff, and desperate to be inside her.

“Condom? I’m on the pill, but still . . . condom.”

I scramble backward, pulling out the few packets I shoved in my jeans pocket. I hadn’t planned on this happening during my twelve-day retreat. The condoms were in my duffle bag, and I’ve never been so grateful as when I’d found them there the other day.

As I roll on the condom, I watch Pear slide her fingers between her legs.

“You startin’ without me, snowflake?”

“Keeping myself warm for you.”