Confessions from the Quilting Circle by Maisey Yates (free ebook reader for iphone TXT) 📗

It was who they were. The roughness on their hands.

He kissed her neck, her shoulder. She shivered. He’d always made her shake, but this was more. Better. He was better.

And he knew her body. They were different now and years had passed but he knew where to touch her and how. He was more confident now. There was no hesitation.

This was why she’d run.

Because this was something perfect that she’d never experienced before. This rush of new exciting sensation with an intimacy that lingered, even though before that night three days ago it had been years since he’d touched her, kissed her.

He kissed a path down to her breast, down farther still, pushing her back on the bed and spreading her out for him like a feast.

And then she couldn’t think. Not anymore.

Not with his lips and tongue creating wicked music that echoed inside her like magic.

She had the strangest urge to cry.

Music. What a funny way to think of pleasure, but it was like that.

Music he made for her, rather than music she had to create for the world. It was effortless and wonderful and it made her feel like she was flying.

She was gasping for breath when he moved up her body and captured her mouth again. When he surged inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on to his shoulders. Whispered against his neck. Begging for more. Afraid she couldn’t possibly handle more.

This was more than a wave of pleasure. Than the crash of an orgasm. It was that and more. Deep.

Everything she had been right to fear.

And want.

And need.

And when he held her afterward, a word, deep and quiet echoed inside of her.

Special.

22

The baby came last night. She’s so small she terrifies me. I look at her and my heart feels bruised. I thought I might have a son. A son could bear more shame surrounding his birth. But not a little girl. The world is unspeakably cruel to women. Men die in war. We die in our hometowns, crushed to death by expectations we could not meet.

Dot’s diary, December 1944

Lark

Lark had made some new flower crowns, but angrily. She was finding it hard to concentrate on... Anything, since she had full on made out with Ben the night before. She was sitting on the purple chaise in the living area by the kitchen, when she heard the front door open. She heard the thunderous footsteps of her niece and nephew, followed by the less thunderous footsteps of her sister. And then, the clear sound of boots, which was her other sister.

“Hi,” Lark shouted, not quite able to keep the irritation from her tone.

“Hi, Aunt Lark,” the kids chorused.

“Hi. Did you go viral today? Or whatever it is the kids are aiming to do these days.”

“No,” Peyton said, looking vaguely appalled.

Hayden grinned. “You know, if we could film a clip of you dancing, it might do it.”

“I’m gonna pass on that. Thankfully, when I was your age, all humiliation stayed between the pages of our diaries.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Peyton asked.

“I worry for your generation,” she called as her niece disappeared into the kitchen.

Hayden waved, and then went up the stairs. Hannah and Avery appeared in the door a moment later. Avery was wearing an open, pink hoodie, a T-shirt and leggings. Hannah in black on black on black, her red hair a beacon.

“How was your day?”

“Fabulous. I met with a lawyer.” Avery did not look like she thought it was anything like fabulous. “Division of assets is not sexy.”

“Good,” Hannah said. “Make the separation from that illegal.”

“It just sucks. The whole thing sucks.”

“Yeah, that’s why we need a wine and attic party after dinner,” Lark said.

“Which kind of wine is that?” Hannah asked.

“Any kind. Whine. Wine. Red. White.”

About an hour later, they ate a very nice chicken dinner with the kids, who then went up to do their homework, and that meant that the sisters could go upstairs.

Lark had brought her bag with her, filled with some of her various craft things, and the swatch book that she was still perusing, looking for her fabric piece.

And just then, with all that was going on, Lark didn’t have the ability to hold in what had happened with Ben. Not now.

“Okay, let’s talk about everything that’s terrible. I’ll go first. I made out with Ben Thompson.”

She kept thinking about that moment. And about the realization she’d had that she lost the bravery that had once enabled her to do things like that.

She wanted him, and couldn’t have him, because of him, and it was a circle that she kept on going in.

“You did what?”

“You heard me.”

“Isn’t he married?” Hannah asked.

Avery lifted a finger. “No. Divorced. She left him.”

“No kidding,” Hannah said. “That’s actually pretty shocking.”

“Right?” Lark asked. “They were like this golden couple. Meant to be.” She poured herself a generous glass of wine. “So meant to be, mind you, that I never... I mean I didn’t... I didn’t tell him I was in love with him.”

“You were in love with him?” Avery asked.

Hannah snorted. “That was obvious.”

“How was it obvious?” Lark asked.

“I read your diary. That did make it obvious. Because you wrote that you were.”

“Hannah! You are terrible.”

“You left it open. It’s not my fault.”

“I thought you were only interested in the violin.”

“Mostly. But I did enjoy tormenting you.”

Lark digested that for a moment. “But you never said anything about that. I mean, you never teased me.”

“Because you were fifteen, and he was dating Keira, and actually that just seemed too mean. So I never read your diary again, and I never looked at it, and I didn’t make fun of you. Because at that point I knew what it felt like to have my heart broken.”

“Josh...”

“I know I broke up with him. But it hurt and it’s complicated. But, the sex with him now is amazing.”

“I knew you were having sex with him.”

“We’re not that subtle. Do you honestly think he’s patching holes in the wall at ten