If It Makes You Happy(128)

I watch as his eyes flick up to meet mine. That very reliable snag locks us in place, and slowly, with his eyes steady, his tongue rolls over me. I gasp out a breath.

He dips his fingers inside, curling with ease, sending zips of nerves through my stomach and to my chest. I’m on fire with every stroke of his tongue and every subsequent pump of his fingers. It’s magic. Thrilling. My chest heaves up and down as I try to gasp for breath. My fingers thread through his hair.

I try to stay quiet as sensation rolls through me, but it’s fruitless with how his tongue is moving. Eventually, Cliff reaches up and cups his palm over my mouth. That alone—the grip of his rough palm over my lips—sends my orgasm barreling over me in a rush.

I’m breathless when I pull his arm to coax him back up to me. I reach for his belt, and it clangs apart, the zipper pulling down in a quick hiss. He’s inside me within moments. I close my eyes, letting every thrust push me closer and closer. Every beat of his heart against mine thrums over my chest and down my stomach before pulsing between my thighs.

His thumb strokes over my cheek. “Open your eyes, Michelle.”

I find him looking down at me, searing me to my soul, like he always has from the first day he laid eyes on me. His hand lands beside my head. I entwine my fingers through his.

And suddenly, our quickness slows to a crawl.

“I love watching you,” he says.

I love you.

“Please,” is all I can say.

His husky laugh follows as he thrusts deeper. “God, you’re beautiful,” he huffs out, cupping my cheek in his palm, stroking a thumb over my bottom lip and tugging.

“Keep talking,” I breathe.

“You like feeling me inside you?”

“Yes.”

“I love this.”

I love you.

“You feel so good,” he exhales. “Like you were made for me.”

I wonder if it’s true. If I’m the only woman who sees him for the man he is. Funny and sarcastic, but selfless and good. And I wonder if he was made for me, if he’s the only man who will ever see me. I don’t believe in destiny or stars, but I have to believe Cliff’s constellation would align right beside mine.

“You think so loud,” he says, pumping into me harder. “Let it out.”

I moan, and his palm roughly covers my mouth again. I remember the first time he held me like this. The first night we kissed. The night he caged me against that house and told me, “Screw it,” and we fell into the abyss together. The night I realized that I wanted him.

I loved him in that moment.

I didn’t know it yet.

But, oh, how I did.

The sensation hits me suddenly, zipping through my chest, over my shoulders, and down to my fingers. My mouth widens in a breathy whine as I orgasm. He thrusts inside me, giving an equally low, muffled groan as we come together.

I wouldn’t call what we did sex. It’s too crude. But I wouldn’t say it was making love either. It was something different altogether—something that didn’t feel like it should have been mine—but I sure hoped whatever it was didn’t mean goodbye.

I look at the clock. It’s ten minutes after midnight. I officially leave Vermont today. I pull in a heavy, shaking breath. Cliff glances at the red digital numbers, too, then kisses the dip in my collarbone.

His silence speaks louder than anything either of us could say.





CHAPTER 44





Michelle




I don’t expect a big send-off, but when I walk out of Bird & Breakfast with my suitcases and Mom’s purse hiked on my shoulder, I’m grateful that so many people are there.

Dad slings his arm over my shoulders and exhales a big sigh. “You’re gonna do great things, Shellfish.”

I manage a half smile. “You gonna be okay here?”

“Stop worrying about other people,” he says sternly. “And know that if you ever want to come back, we’ll have a room for you.”

“There are only three guest rooms.”

“We’ll always have a room for you,” he repeats.

I swallow, nodding as he pulls me into a hug. It’s warm and close and something he hasn’t done since before Mom died. He’s piecing his heart back together. I hope he finds the remaining bits here.

I take one step forward but am immediately tackled again.

Carol wraps her arms around me so tight that I have to tilt my chin up to get air. Her hair smells like stale smoke and roses. Maybe four months ago, this might have felt awkward and suffocating, but I smile and lean into it. It smells like Carol.

She swings me side to side until finally letting me go.

I grimace. “You’ve gotta stop smoking.”

“You sound like Cliff.”

“Good.”

Lars is behind her, holding out one arm for a side hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”

All I can do is nod in response.

Brittany stands behind him, winding her fingers through the overalls straps under her coat. Her unicorn stuffed toy is gripped in her fist. I crouch to meet her eye level.

She shoves the toy toward me. “I want you to have him.”

“Oh, I can’t,” I say, tucking a strand of her curly blond hair behind her ear. “He’s yours.”