Page 78 of Love Bound

I lower myself into her, her juice warm and flowing. Then I sink into her, deep, again pelvis to pelvis and we both look, we each see us together. I slowly begin moving, dragging myself out of her and sinking back in, all the while making sure I hardly touch her from above. Having her moaning and writhing beneath me, but positioned high enough to be able to see all of her moving, is such a turn on I feel like I'm going to explode.

And then she comes, wave after wave, her back arching, her body rising finally to meet mine. I sink down once more, this time lying on top of her. Her body is warm and tender and so fresh with sex I'm afraid I’ll come if I pull out. If I move at all. My penis throbs inside her.

And then she kisses me again, and when she turns her hips to the side, I slide out. A gasp comes from my mouth and she grips me hard with a hidden strength, her eyes widened, and she thrusts, once, hard.

I have to let go of her wrists to grip the sofa and stay off her, but she reaches up and pulls me to her. Her fingers rub my nipples, trace my neck, shoulders, arms. And she pulls me down, down on top of her.

All I can do is descend, as wave after wave carries my body into hers.

Chapter Twenty-One

Claire

Over two months have gone by with no near misses, no weird chance meetings in stores, and not one sighting of Steven Miller. There's just been two minor changes to the meter of our days and nights. First, Finn put cameras at both the front door and side doors to the clinic and ran an alarm from my place to The Inn, wired to every possible entry point into the building including the upstairs windows. With the accident fading from memory, I think this is overkill. Most of the time he's at my place anyway and on the nights he's not, we're at The Inn.

The second change has to do with night calls. Now Finn rides with me on each one. I still don’t know how to introduce him and we both have had to get used to the knowing glances from the local farmers when we climb out of the truck together. It seems everyone delights in the fact that I'm dating. They practically tsk tsk me when I slam the tailgate shut.

Connelly James, a sixty-year-old gentleman with one pair of gritty, persistently persevering overalls and a confederate flag dangling like rancid bait from his front porch, drew me aside to tell me, "It's lucky you got yourself a fella now," to which I replied, "Yes, Finn is so lucky to have me."

I have to admit though, it's nice having Finn in the truck, especially out on a chilly night. Holding open gates, bracing with me to pull a calf, cutting thread for stitches, leveraging a stint for a cow with gas, or holding me for a moment after I have to put an animal down. And then we travel home, and I learn more about letting go and finding myself with him.

During the day, he continues to work on The Inn, with Nic and Jackson helping out when they can, especially if a job takes more than one person.

Jackson, younger than the other men, has a naïve quality about him and easy grace. With his large eyes, shock of curly black hair, stubble, and quick grin, he's a charmer. He has most of the teen girls giggling and college co-eds in Echo Bay chatting him up whenever he comes to lend a hand. I found out through Jackson how Nic filed an order requesting the dismissal of Steven Miller's permission to work on the Savvy-T, and pulled some strings to make sure it stuck. Within a week of the accident, Steven Miller could no longer leave the state.

When I probed Jackson more, I found out that Finn and Nic did not trust a little piece of paper. That's why Bryce wasn't coming up to help anymore; he had volunteered for tailing duty.

I felt for Bryce. The reports he filed with Nic were of days filled with the day to day detritus of tailing a man with nothing to lose, no friends, and no ambition. There were altercations in bars, on a bus, and with the next-door neighbor's dog, a Boxer mix. It barked incessantly, and Miller made certain the owner knew how much he hated it.

It took ten days before Finn decided he wanted to see the reports himself.

As May shifted into June, and The Inn really began to take shape, Finn began spending a lot of time on the second floor.

It’s early in June when I skip down the stairs to the basement, with six muffins in a tin, still warm, hoping to find him working out there. He’s not in there, but there’s sound coming from the second room next to his bedroom, this one facing the water. I walk from this bedroom with horsehair plaster walls and warped glass windows with a broken sash into the future.

Finn is standing in a gorgeous, sheet rocked, white room with daylight lamps, a panel of computer monitors, most reflecting back my clinic from various angles, two computers, a shredder, a fax machine, and filing cabinets. On the wall, however, is a framed picture of the Echo Bay lighthouse in the fog.

I wave the muffin tin in the direction of the poster. "This is supposed to be cozy?"

He smiles. "No. This is," he says, taking the muffins from my hand and setting the tin down on his massive desk.

And then, as only Finn can, he places a hand on the back of my neck, draws me in, and kisses me. It isn't just the seasons; something has shifted in him as well, I feel it.

Spring melted into summer and a short heatwave in June meant that local visitors were coming up from Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine, and even Vermont and Connecticut. I’ve spotted New York and Rhode Island plates as well.

The Inn is looking good. Fresh white paint, barn red shutters, green deck paint, and adorable little accoutrements—mostly picked out by Devon and Laurel. They have a much better sense of what The Inn needs and what looks good.

Devon had installed a brass knocker in the shape of a whale. I scraped old shutters and painted them to hang behind beds like a kind of faux headboard. Cory washed apple crates and left them to dry in the sun and even hammered in the stray nail or two. They would be used as nightstands and bed tables. And Laurel helped with the menu, finding old recipes our mother might have had as well as new, more international and gluten-free versions for a more nuanced palate.

Our mother had a family recipe book that disappeared along with Chloe. My mom and Chloe had worked side-by-side in the kitchen, but Laurel had watched everything they’d done.

Finn has nearly a dozen guests sporadically booked for the last two weeks in June with more on the way. As he’s only opening the first two floors, The Inn won’t run at full capacity, but it’ll be enough for a rehearsal for next year. His plan is to close it after peak season in the fall, mid-October, and then start renovating the third floor.

And yet, he seems to be spending more and more time in the office. He'd get phone calls from Nic, look at me, raise a finger, and then leave whatever room we were in. When he returned, he was often preoccupied.

"What were you talking about?" I’d ask.

"Just a client," he'd say.