Page 22 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

SIERRA

T rying to focus on the conversation with Rose’s colleagues while she’s walking in front of me, her hips swaying with every step, is torture.

This one’s on me—she suggested staying home.

I’m the one who had to be sensible for a change, and now all I want to do is let her drag me through the woods and fuck me against a tree.

Who the hell gave her ass the right to look like that in leggings? It’s cruel.

Before the picnic at her boss’s place, I expected Rose’s colleagues to either be like her—intense and a little stuck up—or complete nerds.

I can’t speak for what they’re like at work, but they seem fairly normal.

I’d almost go as far as to say they seem fun, and Rose seems surprisingly at ease socializing with them.

I’ve heard her refer to herself as antisocial and not good with people more times than I can count, like she equates being introverted with being unlikable.

But her being unlikable has nothing to do with her introvertedness—she’s just really fucking hard to live with.

Part of me wonders if it’s easier for her to assume people won’t like her than to put the energy into trying to make friends, and I certainly can’t begrudge her that.

Her colleagues and their partners seem to like her, though.

She’s spent most of the hike chatting with Imogen’s partner, Kai, who grew up near her and seems just as awkward and quiet as Rose is—the opposite of Imogen. They work in marine biology which, apparently, Rose is interested in. News to me.

Minah’s partner, Annie, a photographer, and Imogen stop along the trail every few feet to take pictures of interesting plants and bugs, leaving me with Minah.

I like her. She reminds me of Cal—friendly, a little cheeky, and absolutely feral for any kind of gossip.

She’s also insanely curious and wants to know all about me and Rose.

“So, you work with Rose’s sister, right? Jazz?”

“I’m her assistant, yeah. But we’re friends, too.”

Minah raises a brow. “How did she take you dating her little sister? You’re older than Rose, aren’t you?”

“Only by a couple of years. Rose is twenty-six, I’m thirty.

” Which, by our little family’s age gap standards, is practically the same age.

“Jazz wasn’t thrilled at first. She’s pretty protective, and she can be scary when she wants to be, but I think it has less to do with me being me and more to do with no one being good enough for Rose, you know? ”

“Oh, I get that. My little sister’s only sixteen, and I’m dreading the day she starts dating,” Minah answers with a laugh. “Do you have siblings? ”

“A big brother, Kyo. We’re only eighteen months apart, though. He and his partners moved down to Sacramento at the start of the year, and my parents moved a couple of months ago to be closer to them.”

Minah gives me a sympathetic smile. Even I can hear how wistful I sound.

I try my best not to think about how much I miss my family, but it’s hard.

For so long, they were the only people I allowed close to me.

And now I have Jazz and Cal and their family, and I love them, but I still wish my parents and Kyo were around.

They would slot in with the Michaelsons so well.

“It’s good you have Rose’s parents since yours are so far away,” Minah says, and I swear I try not to screw my face up, but I fail miserably. “Damn, you don’t get along?”

“Rose’s parents are…” I search around for a word to describe them that’s not simply “the fucking worst” but come up empty, and those three words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Minah bursts out laughing, covering her hand with her mouth. “You should see your face. God, are they really that bad?”

“Yes,” I answer, with no hesitation. Honestly, I don’t understand why Rose and Xan still talk to them.

Jazz, I’m pretty sure, only speaks to her parents because she doesn’t want to lose her siblings.

When Maggie went no contact with her parents, after they used her as free labor and a walking ATM for most of her life, her three younger siblings stopped speaking to her too, and, while I know she doesn’t regret it, she definitely misses them.

Given her gossipy nature, I refrain from giving Minah too many details about Rose’s parents. I can’t imagine she’d want the nitty gritty of her family drama spread around the lab. But I give her a brief rundown, and, when I’m finished, she whistles.

“Shit. No wonder Rose is so…” she trails off, her cheeks flushing.

“I promise I’ve probably thought whatever you’re thinking.

We hated each other when we met,” I reply with a laugh.

“But yeah, after growing up like she did, she’s not the most personable.

Once you get to know her, though, she’s.

..” Rose looks at me over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

Golden sunlight filters through the trees, lighting her hair up and casting pretty shadows on her face.

She drops my gaze, looking at the ground, her brow furrowed.

“She’s pretty great,” I finish, turning back to Minah. I don’t mean it. Obviously. She’s still Rose, even if we have matching rings and I have her collar around my throat. Even if she looks like a goddamn angel in the sunshine.

We stop at a cute little picnic spot with benches, a covered shelter, and a couple of fire pits for lunch.

When I was a kid, my parents were big on camping.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a cheap vacation, but Kyo and I never felt like we were missing out when our school friends talked about their trips overseas or to the big, flashy cities we rarely visited.

Even now, I’d take a tent in Manitoba over a penthouse in Manhattan any day.

It’s one of the reasons I love filling my space with plants. It feels like home.

The trail is quiet today—we haven’t seen another soul while hiking. Sure, it’s raining on and off, but the sky is a brilliant, sunny blue and the air isn’t too chilly. I’m not complaining, though. I like the peace.

I mostly let everyone else do the talking while we eat, chiming in only when someone addresses me directly, letting Rose take the lead. She does well, laughing and joking in a way I’m not entirely convinced is feigned, while I toy with her hair, trying to make it look absentminded.

Rose looks over at me and wipes a smudge of something from the corner of my mouth, her hazel eyes twinkling, and it takes everything in me not to sink my hands into her hair and?—

“Shall we get moving?”

I jump as Kai stands up, brushing crumbs from their pants and shouldering their backpack. I didn’t even notice everyone packing up.

Rose and I stand up, and I gather our trash into a pile, dropping it in the garbage cans and recycling bins.

I watch as Rose says something to Kai and then turns, walking back toward me. She wraps her arm around my waist with an impressive familiarity, and heat spreads over me from the spot where her fingers clasp my hip.

“I think we’re going to hang out here for a bit,” Rose says, and I swear she struggles to drag her eyes away from me. “You guys go ahead. We’ll catch up with you.”

“You sure?” Imogen asks, and Rose nods, waving goodbye as they traipse back onto the trail.

I look up and find her watching me, her eyes blazing. “What are?—”

I don’t get the chance to finish, because she fists her hand in my hair and pulls me in close, capturing my lips with hers. She groans into my mouth, the sweet taste of strawberry and peanut butter flooding my tongue. God, I could just drown in her—in the taste of her. Not her.

She nudges me until the backs of my legs hit a bench, but I don’t sit down. I spin us so she’s pressed against the bench and break away from her, dropping to my knees at her feet.

It’s been two weeks since we first slept together, and though she’s touched me plenty, she’s barely let me lay a finger on her. It’s killing me.

“Please,” I beg, looking up at her flushed, rosy cheeks and dark eyes, my heart pounding. “Please let me taste you.”

Rose doesn’t take her eyes off mine as she kicks off her shoes and pushes her leggings down.

It’s bold, bordering on stupid, considering her colleagues could double-back at any second, but I can’t think about that.

Not when she sits down and spreads her legs.

Her underwear is white and sleek, with a wet spot that would have me on my knees if I wasn’t already here.

I place my hands on her knees, shuffling closer, but she stops me.

“Uh-uh,” she tuts, and I sit back on my knees, suitably scolded.

Rose slowly moves her hands down her body, and I follow them like a dog with their favorite toy.

A whimper spills from my lips as she slips her hand inside her underwear.

I can’t see anything but the outline of her fingers through the white fabric, but I hear the moment she brushes her clit.

She lets out a soft sigh, her head falling back a fraction.

I watch her fingers move beneath the fabric in slow, torturous circles, exactly where I want to be.

“Rose, please.” My voice is nothing more than a desperate whisper. “I want to taste you. I need to taste you.”

She runs her tongue along her lower lip and pulls her hand out of her underwear, holding her fingers out to me. They’re fucking glistening. “Then taste me, wife.”

I lean forward and take her fingers between my lips, groaning as I finally taste her.

My eyes flutter closed, my tongue lavishing her fingers, savoring the sweet, salty, Rose-y taste of her.

I could get hooked on this if I’m not careful.

Not on her. Never on her. But this? The feel of her pressing her fingers deep in my mouth, towering above me, commanding me with nothing more than the two digits… this I like.