Page 206 of Just One More Thing

When my mouth finally reaches where she wants it, her hips lift off the mattress and her hand fists in the sheet.

And something about that nearly undoes me.

Mo in my bed, making these sounds because of me.

I want to spend my life giving her pleasure like this.

I stay there until her thighs shake and she’s saying things that aren’t words anymore.

Then I kiss my way back up her body, settle between her hips, and push into her slowly enough that both of us feel every inch.

She cups my face in both hands. “I love you,” she says quietly. Looking directly at me.

“I will always love you,” I tell her.

I move, and she moves with me slowly, deeply, her legs wrapping around my waist.

Her hands slide down my back and pull me deeper, and I make a sound against her neck that I did not intend to make.

She smiles against my jaw. “I like that sound.”

“Keep doing that and you’re going to hear a lot of it.”

I tilt my hips just enough to change the angle and the sound she makes almost unravels me.

When she comes this time, her eyes stay on mine the whole way through.

And all I can think is she chose me.

Mo is curled against my side afterward with one leg thrown over mine and her head on my chest.

The ceiling fan turns slowly overhead. Outside, the tide is pulling out. I can hear the difference in the water. Lower now, softer, like the bay is exhaling.

I run my fingers through her hair because she’s here and I can just do that now.

“Jake.”

“Hm.”

“I want you to keep playing.” She lifts her head, chin resting against my chest. “I saw you out there today,” she says softly. “You love it. And you’re still really, really good at it. I don’t want you giving that up because of me.”

She doesn’t know I already turned the offer down once while watching her eat butter pecan ice cream straight from the carton on my porch.

She doesn’t know I chose staying because I thought going back meant losing her all over again.

And now she’s the one telling me to go.

Because the woman who used to leave is now the one saying I’ll be here when you get home.

“The contract’s through the rest of the season,” I say.

“Then you play the rest of the season.”

“And after that?”

“After that, you decide what you want. But you decide because it’s what you want. Not because you’re afraid I won’t be here.”

I look at her. She doesn’t look away.