Page 53 of Falling

“Don’t regret this,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

“I don’t,” I whispered. I could see why he thought I might, but I didn’t. Not even a little bit.

I would almost have regretted not doing it before, but I was so glad it’d been Booker that I couldn’t. This was what I’d been waiting for.

It was worth the wait.

A tiny laugh escaped me at the thought. The place really wasn’t called Faith for nothing.

“I don’t,” I repeated a moment later, turning my head to press a kiss to Booker’s neck, the only place I had the strength to reach just now. “I’m so glad it was you.”

Booker hummed, tightening his grip on me so I could feel the vibration of it through my whole body, and something in me finally broke. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been but when I relaxed all at once the relief was almost enough to make me come again.

“You don’t regret it?” I asked, one last worry making me tense up again.

“No,” Booker said, voice still rough and low. “Wish I’d had a little warning so I could’ve done right by you, though.”

“Done right by me?” I asked.

Booker hummed again. “Dinner, dessert, dancing, drinks…”

“Dick?” I filled in for him, channeling Joel.

Booker snorted. “Hours of foreplay, starting with picking you up,” he said.

“In your truck?” I asked.

“It’s got a bench seat.” Booker shrugged. “I’d take you somewhere nice a couple of towns over, so no one who knew us would interrupt. Bench seat means you could snuggle up to me on the way back.”

“But not on the way there?”

“No, not on the way there,” Booker said, so indignant it made me laugh. “You’ve gotta build the anticipation. Couple of hand-brushes over dinner, a little foot-to-foot contact…”

I couldn’t stifle a giggle at that.

“This is serious!” Booker said, but he was laughing, too. “Back here for dessert. Something you really like. Which would be…?”

“Hmm. Something chocolatey. I’m such a sucker for chocolate,” I admitted.

“Noted,” Booker said. “Dessert—I think this has to be back at your cabin—and then slow dancing. I wouldn’t kiss you until the second song, until I was sure you wanted it.”

“I wanted it when you picked me up,” I said. “In this scenario.”

“Well I didn’t know that. I’m nervous! We’ve been dancing around each other a while, I’m scared it’s not going to work out, I’m—umm… anyway. Where was I?”

“Kissing me,” I said, forcing myself to move just enough to press a kiss to the corner of Booker’s mouth.

“Right. Then when you—hopefully—responded, I’d pick you up and carry you to bed. Kiss you some more. Tell you how much I wanted this, how incredible I think you are. Might start unbuttoning things. You’ve got a lot of buttons, so I gotta get ahead there.”

“I could cut down on the number of buttons,” I offered.

“No,” Booker said, shaking his head a little. “More fun to unbutton all of them.”

“This all sounds very time-consuming,” I said.

“I’d call it time well spent,” Booker said. “Can’t imagine a better way to spend it than making you feel as special and wanted as I can. Because you are. You are special, and you are wanted.”

“You always make me feel special and wanted,” I said, snuggling closer to him. I should’ve felt uncomfortable and sticky and maybe a few other things by now, but I didn’t. Not yet. I liked being close to Booker so much that nothing else mattered.