Read Online Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) by Kate Canterbary - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kate Canterbary
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porn do you watch?”
I turned my head to glare at him, not amused by his interruption to my earth-music listening. “Rude and pervy, Sam.”
“We’ve established that,” he said, his fingers smoothing my tangled necklaces and coming awfully fucking close to my boobs. “What do you watch? Or is that not something friends talk about?”
He’d been doing that all damn day. Every comment circled back to friends, as if he was hammering home a crisp reminder. Even though we woke up wrapped around each other, it was obvious he wasn’t interested in anything more than slick comments about my best features, pointing out opportunities for me to blow him, and casual touches. Plus a few sweet kisses.
And I was fine with it.
Maybe fine wasn’t the right word because I wasn’t completely fine.
“I don’t watch much porn,” I said, turning my face to the sun with a long exhale. I was clammy and tired, and the early pinches of a too-many-types-of-wine-in-one-day headache were crawling along my skull. “Although I’m certain you’ll be telling me all about your preferences any minute and I can’t wait to hear that.”
“Of course you watch porn. Everyone does,” he said. His fingers connected with mine, curling together.
I rolled to my side, leaning on my elbow to meet his eyes. “I don’t, though. It’s way too creepy to be sexy. I truly dislike all the hairless guys with their shaved balls. You have to agree that’s weird, like some bald, plasticized version of perfection that has no actual connection to the way people have sex. There’s just no. . . . hmm. I don’t know what I’m trying to say,” I said. “I need it to feel significant, and I want it to be real and flawed.”
Sam smirked, and I knew there was a dirty, sarcastic quip ready on his tongue, but he dropped his gaze to my tangerine sundress and the boobs that were most definitely hanging out at this angle. “Why?” he asked.
“Because it should,” I said, and that was the logic I preferred. “Even when it’s casual it should mean something. Life is too short to waste on things that aren’t important enough to be real. ”
Sam’s hand slipped through my hair and settled on the nape of my neck, and he stared at me, his eyes crinkled as if he was processing something complex. He pulled me toward him and I flattened my palm on his chest, registering the steady beat of his heart before our lips connected.
It was light and quick, passing before his flavor seeped into my senses, and I wanted a little more.
Sam was like that song you couldn’t get out of your head. That beat you kept on repeat because it awakened your cells and sent rhythm rippling through your muscles as if it were the only song you were ever intended to hear.
The one written with only you in mind.
I could close my eyes and move with the music, but I wasn’t going to let myself believe I was the only one enjoying the song.
Even if I wanted a lot more.
I CAME TO a stop on the empty lane, and stared out the window at the sunny knoll for a few minutes before leaving my Range Rover. With a heavy sigh, I climbed out of the car and collected the chrysanthemums and gardening supplies from the trunk.
The walk was short, and it was one I’d be able to do blindfolded.
My first task was always raking. Leaves from the ancient oak tree nearby were already tinted with red and gold, and I’d have much more to rake in the coming weeks.
Then I turned to pruning the pale pink rosebushes. I never felt ready to speak until things were neat and tended.
With several deep breaths to slow the pounding in my veins, I dropped to my knees and arranged the chrysanthemums around the tombstone.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “It’s a beautiful day. Sunny, with a nice breeze. I brought you some new flowers for the fall. I can’t believe summer is almost over. I don’t even know where the time goes anymore.”
I brushed some dust from the engraving that read Abigael Ailis Walsh and continued.
I turned my head to glare at him, not amused by his interruption to my earth-music listening. “Rude and pervy, Sam.”
“We’ve established that,” he said, his fingers smoothing my tangled necklaces and coming awfully fucking close to my boobs. “What do you watch? Or is that not something friends talk about?”
He’d been doing that all damn day. Every comment circled back to friends, as if he was hammering home a crisp reminder. Even though we woke up wrapped around each other, it was obvious he wasn’t interested in anything more than slick comments about my best features, pointing out opportunities for me to blow him, and casual touches. Plus a few sweet kisses.
And I was fine with it.
Maybe fine wasn’t the right word because I wasn’t completely fine.
“I don’t watch much porn,” I said, turning my face to the sun with a long exhale. I was clammy and tired, and the early pinches of a too-many-types-of-wine-in-one-day headache were crawling along my skull. “Although I’m certain you’ll be telling me all about your preferences any minute and I can’t wait to hear that.”
“Of course you watch porn. Everyone does,” he said. His fingers connected with mine, curling together.
I rolled to my side, leaning on my elbow to meet his eyes. “I don’t, though. It’s way too creepy to be sexy. I truly dislike all the hairless guys with their shaved balls. You have to agree that’s weird, like some bald, plasticized version of perfection that has no actual connection to the way people have sex. There’s just no. . . . hmm. I don’t know what I’m trying to say,” I said. “I need it to feel significant, and I want it to be real and flawed.”
Sam smirked, and I knew there was a dirty, sarcastic quip ready on his tongue, but he dropped his gaze to my tangerine sundress and the boobs that were most definitely hanging out at this angle. “Why?” he asked.
“Because it should,” I said, and that was the logic I preferred. “Even when it’s casual it should mean something. Life is too short to waste on things that aren’t important enough to be real. ”
Sam’s hand slipped through my hair and settled on the nape of my neck, and he stared at me, his eyes crinkled as if he was processing something complex. He pulled me toward him and I flattened my palm on his chest, registering the steady beat of his heart before our lips connected.
It was light and quick, passing before his flavor seeped into my senses, and I wanted a little more.
Sam was like that song you couldn’t get out of your head. That beat you kept on repeat because it awakened your cells and sent rhythm rippling through your muscles as if it were the only song you were ever intended to hear.
The one written with only you in mind.
I could close my eyes and move with the music, but I wasn’t going to let myself believe I was the only one enjoying the song.
Even if I wanted a lot more.
I CAME TO a stop on the empty lane, and stared out the window at the sunny knoll for a few minutes before leaving my Range Rover. With a heavy sigh, I climbed out of the car and collected the chrysanthemums and gardening supplies from the trunk.
The walk was short, and it was one I’d be able to do blindfolded.
My first task was always raking. Leaves from the ancient oak tree nearby were already tinted with red and gold, and I’d have much more to rake in the coming weeks.
Then I turned to pruning the pale pink rosebushes. I never felt ready to speak until things were neat and tended.
With several deep breaths to slow the pounding in my veins, I dropped to my knees and arranged the chrysanthemums around the tombstone.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “It’s a beautiful day. Sunny, with a nice breeze. I brought you some new flowers for the fall. I can’t believe summer is almost over. I don’t even know where the time goes anymore.”
I brushed some dust from the engraving that read Abigael Ailis Walsh and continued.
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