“Soooo nice,” she moaned, increasing her tempo.
He couldn’t help rocking up into her as she rode him in the moonlight, firelight painting her bare thighs with tiger stripes. Her hands tunneled under his shirt, raking and clutching his sides. Head thrown back, she keened her pleasure into the night sky. He pressed harder with his thumb, grinding her clit in tight circles and straining to hold back the climax coiled at the base of his spine.
“Jesse. Yes. Now,” she panted, then curled forward as her pussy gripped him like a satin-gloved fist. He screamed her name, and his spirit soared into the night sky, dancing with hers while their bodies shuddered below.
Slowly, his mind and body reunited, and he opened his eyes to find Gemma draped across him, her jacket and sweater twisted, her eyes closed in bliss.
Okay, that was just sex, right? Really good sex, but not an actual out-of-body experience on the astral plane.
But no matter how his rational mind scrabbled for an explanation, deep down where the truth lived, Jesse knew this amazing connection was meant to be.
Chapter Eleven
Thenextweekflewby. Zora returned to the shop for half days, her body still fatigued from surgery but her mind buzzing with ideas for the expo, now just a week away. Gemma spent evenings huddled with her aunt over plans for their booth. Transporting all their goods and display materials down to Portland was a huge logistical challenge the likes of which she had yet to experience, since most of her previous work had more to do with herding people.
Jesse came over most evenings. His eye for detail and insistence on back-up plans proved invaluable. But by bedtime, Gemma was wiped out, so their lovemaking dwindled to brief tumbles in his bed. A few nights, when she couldn’t even keep her eyes open, Jesse tucked her into Zora’s lumpy guest bed, gave her a sweet goodnight kiss, and left her to sleep alone. She missed him on those nights, and the next morning when she woke without his big, toasty body spooned around hers. But soon this expo adventure would be over, and they’d rediscover their rhythm, a process she was looking forward to with great anticipation.
“See you tomorrow night?” He murmured as he tucked her in on Saturday. “I’ll make us something special.”
“Sounds wonderful.” She wound her arms around his neck, kissed him, and nestled into her pillow. It had been a long day at the shop with an unusual number of customers, a broken toilet, a drunk, belligerent palmistry client, and unending phone calls to suppliers who made excuses about late shipments. She was wiped out.
With a chuckle, he whispered, “Sweet dreams, fairy girl,” and walked to the door.
“Jesse?” she croaked.
“Yeah, babe?”
“You’re a wonderful boyfriend.”
He paused in the doorway, holding the frame. As she slid into slumber, she had the funniest thought—Jesse as a sculpted marble figure of Atlas, holding up the roof, keeping her safe and sheltered. Sweet, generous, dependable Jesse. She was lucky to have him.
The next morning, she woke to the scent of pancakes. Confused, she rubbed her eyes and stretched. Jesse made the most wonderful pancakes, but she was in her own bed, not his bigger, comfier one. She slid into her slippers and robe and padded into the kitchen.
A loud, goose-like honking made her jump.
“Happy birthday, darling girl!” Wearing shiny paper hats and tooting party horns, Zora and Marquetta squeezed her in a hug sandwich.
She yawned. “Oh yeah, it’s the thirteenth, isn’t it?”
Marquetta beamed. “We made your favorite—chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream.”
Honestly, she’d be happier with yogurt and granola, but it was sweet of her aunties to fix her childhood favorite. Since growing up, she didn’t pay much attention to birthdays, so a candle stuck into a stack of Marquetta’s pancakes was all the fuss she needed. At her age, she certainly wasn’t counting on a bouncy castle, a pile of gifts, or a pony, for goodness’ sake. Just another day like any other.
“Say, you didn’t tell Jesse it’s my birthday, did you?”
“Of course not.” Zora patted her shoulder. “Although if you ask me, this birthday avoidance quirk of yours is weird. The young man adores you. Let him spoil you a little.”
She laughed and wiped whipped cream from her chin. “He spoils me plenty.” Not that she’d go into the details of how deliciously he spoiled her—not at her aunties’ breakfast table, anyway. “I’ll tell him when I see him tonight.”
Marquetta shook her head. “Knowing Jesse, he’d want to bake you a cake.”
“He always makes a dessert when I come over. We’ll just stick a candle in it.”
“What about presents?”
“His presence is all the present I need.” She batted her eyelashes and flashed a teasing grin. It had taken years to convince her family to stop buying her birthday and holiday gifts. While she appreciated the sentiment, with her itinerant lifestyle, where would she keep all the trinkets?
Better this way. Jesse seemed to be at peace with their differences. He’d understand. And if he insisted on giving her a gift, she’d ask for another of his bone-melting massages. The man truly had magic hands.
