“I have better plans.”
My heart skips a beat because Nate rarely has plans for us. Yes, we live together, cook and eat and fuck and sleep and fuck again together, but that’s all in the cocoon of the house.
And I don’t dare think that he’ll take me out. Otherwise, we’ll get caught.
But he has plans now.
“What type of plans?”
“I’m going to sweep you away, wife.”
28
Gwyneth
Nate takes me to the middle of nowhere.
Well, not literally, but close to it. We’re heading to a cozy cottage Nate owns that’s situated on a mountain out of state. We drove for an hour to get here and now, we’re having to hike for the rest of the way, something I’ve been grumbling about for half an hour.
Even though both of us are wearing hiking clothes and boots, every step feels like torture. I’m not good with physical activities, okay?
Nate must know that, too, because he sighs, picks me up, and carries me on his back. All discomfort is forgotten and I release a small squeal as my body plasters itself to his. I’ll always be in awe at the ease with which he holds me, as if I weigh nothing.
“I feel like such a princess,” I speak against his ear, eliciting a muscle jump in his jaw.
“You do, huh?”
“Look at me having someone to carry me. Am I lucky or what?” I rub my breasts against his back.
He tightens his hold on my leg. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” I feign nonchalance.
“Stop grinding against me or I’ll fuck you against the tree and you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
The fucking part is tempting, but the walking on my own part, not so much. As a compromise, I wrap my legs around his waist in a tight grip, even though he’s been holding them while carrying our bag. Nate is strong that way. He can lift me and a bag and still hike like nobody’s business.
I also stroke his face with my arm looped around his neck. Usually, he’d stop me—or he’s stopped me in the past. But now, he’s given up. Like he gave up trying to have me sleep in my own bed. I either fall asleep on his lap or in his bed. He also gave up hating loud music—I’m converting him to a Twenty One Pilots fan as we speak. NF, too, if I get a say in it. I told him once that it’s such a lovely coincidence that he and NF share the same name, but he just glowered. He’s jealous that way, even about singers, and I might like that a bit too much.
Anyway, coffee is on the list of things he gave up, too. Yeah, he loves my green vanilla tea more now. Soon, he’ll also love vanilla.
I’ve been slowly but surely changing his mind about things. Whenever he says, “No, that’s final and not up for discussion,” I just reopen the subject until he listens to me.
Like the Susan thing. There will be a trial soon and he said I shouldn’t testify, but I put my foot down and insisted. Aspen sort of agreed with me, which was a first, but we’re two-to-one now, so I’m totally testifying.
Maybe if I’m determined enough, I’ll change his “no feelings” rule, too, though I don’t have any misconceptions about that. Deep down, he’s a hard, cold man and I don’t think I have enough stamina to climb over the walls of his forts.
But I can build that stamina.
Yes, I hate physical activity, but I’m all for endurance.
We finally arrive at the cottage. The outside looks like a scene from a horror movie with all the old wooden pillars and all, but the interior is…cozy.
The wood flooring shines under the late afternoon sun and the curtains cast a yellowish glow on the small living area. There is a colorful sofa and chairs. Even the carpet is a mosaic of joyful colors and shapes.
Nate helps me slide off his body and there’s barely a drop of sweat on his gorgeous face. My husband looks sharp and handsome in a suit, but he’s mouthwatering in hiking clothes that stretch across his chest and hug his strong biceps like a second skin.
He could’ve been a bit less perfect, but then again, gods like him don’t have flaws.
We’re removing our hiking boots at the entrance when I say, “You didn’t decorate this yourself, did you?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s not your style.”
“And you know my style?”
“Of course. I’ve been to your place before and it’s all gray and stuff. You wouldn’t touch colorful things with a ten-foot pole.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against his body. “I touch you, don’t I?”