Rhys had slid her dress up high enough to dip his thumb between her legs, barely brushing against the damp silk of her underwear, and as he moved his hand, he brushed warm, bare skin.
Groaning, Rhys dropped his head to her shoulder.
“I would’ve been bobbing for apples without knowing these stockings weren’t tights after all? You are a truly cruel woman, Vivienne.”
“Nah, I was gonna let you feel me up on the hayride.”
“I’m not even completely sure what a hayride is, but I think it might be my favorite part of this Fall Fair already.”
Leaning in, Rhys kissed her again, capturing her lower lip between his own lips and sucking gently, making her sigh against his mouth and press closer.
The high neck of her dress prevented him from touching as much of her as he wanted to, but he settled on brushing the backs of his fingers against the curve of her breast, and dimly, he wondered how long he’d have to touch her to get his fill of it. He’d had her for three months that summer, and hadn’t even begun to slake his thirst for her, had still felt as in her thrall that last day as he had the first.
And he knew that when he left this time, it would be the same. They could talk about “getting it out of their systems” all they wanted—this wasn’t the kind of thing one got over.
You did it before, you’ll figure it out again.
Because he would have to. They’d agreed there was no future for them, that they got to just enjoy the present for now, but every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, it was hard to remember that.
Vivienne drew back from the kiss now, and eyes bright, she urged him to his knees.
Rhys went more than willingly, pushing her dress higher, taking in the lacy borders of her stockings just there at the most bitable part of her thighs. And bite it he did, gently, loving the ragged sound of her breathing as she reached out to steady herself there in the doorway, the almost painful tug of her fingers in his hair.
He looked up her body at her, grinning as he pressed a kiss to the spot he’d just bitten. “Still care about being late?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Vivienne may not have cared—and Rhys sure as fuck did not—but she was right about Gwyn. When they eventually arrived at the Fall Fair, nearly an hour later than they’d said they would, Vivienne’s cousin was waiting for them in the parking lot, her arms folded over her chest. Like Vivienne, she was decked out in full witch regalia, although she was wearing a bright orange pair of ankle boots, and her tights were green.
“We’re in trouble,” Vivienne said, and Rhys shrugged as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
“I’m blaming it on you. Telling Gwyn you demanded I service you before we left.”
“You are laaaaate!” Gwyn sang out when Vivienne stepped out of the car, and Vivienne waved her hand.
“Yes, I know, we—”
“Vivi, you’re glowing brighter than a jack-o’-lantern, so I think I know what you were doing.”
Rhys had to fight very hard not to look smug as Vivienne threw him an almost shy smile, but he clearly didn’t succeed because Gwyn rolled her eyes at both of them, turning away.
“Y’all are gross,” she grumbled, but Rhys saw the way she grinned at Vivienne as she hooked her arm through her cousin’s, tugging her close as they made their way toward the field where the festival was being held, their hips bumping.
Rhys watched them, their heads close together, and there it was again, that sort of tug in his chest, reminding him that this was Vivienne’s place. She’d made a home in the small town her family had lived in for ages, made a life here, while his own hometown had nearly suffocated him.