Paris // Jake Kiszka

Valencia

"Say something." He urged, filling the moment of silence that had elapsed.

"Did you love her?" You asked, quite unintentionally, unaware that the bold question would be the first thing to come out of your mouth.

Jake squeezed you tight, grateful that you hadn't moved.

"We met in High School, how do you know if it's love?" He shrugged. "I cared about her, I didn't want to hurt her. But I guess, in the end, we were too young to be throwing around words like forever and commitment. I just wanted to play my guitar."

You giggled slightly as you tried to imagine him young and foolish, plucking those guitar strings without a care in the world.

"Have you ever done it since?" You asked, more earnestly this time.

He pulled the hair back from your face, trailing the back of his hand down your cheek. Staring at you intently, his lips slightly parted as he gauged your thought process.

"I only told you because I want you to know who I am. You can't know who I am if you don't know who I've been. The person I am now is older, hopefully wiser. And the way I feel about you makes my feelings for her pale into insignificance."

He said it so carefully, so sincerely you wanted to turn and push him into the sand. You wanted to straddle him and push your panties to the side. Touch was your love language, sex was just an extension of that. And Jake had been nothing more than a gentleman, even when he was fucking you deliciously and nasty. You couldn't imagine the boy he had been, but you knew the man he had become.

"It has been...quick." You said, careful not to linger on the connotation that quick was something negative. "But I have never felt like this. About anybody. Ever."

The sea began to encroach. You felt it lap at your feet as Jake pulled you back into a kiss that forever cemented you to him. His tongue probing gently, you welcomed him and moaned softly as he tilted his head. His hands came to your breasts and ran down the curve, straying at the nipple as he tried to resist.

"I can't take much more of this." He relented, speaking with his mouth against yours. "Tell me everything I need to know about you so that I can make love to you..."

"Make love?" You said, your lips still pursed against his. "We have never made love..."

He smiled and your lips hit his teeth. "Define making love as opposed to what we do..."

"Well..."You pondered, making a bee-line for his jaw. "Making love is slow and soft. And implies that the two people involved are, in fact, in love."

He nodded thoughtfully as you grazed your lips down his sharp jawline, coming to rest at the dimple in his chin. You bit down and felt him shudder, sinking your teeth into him as he moaned against your touch.

"You and I..."You said deliberately slowly, "We fuck."

There was a slight giggle in the way he breathed and rolled his eyes in jest.

He knew who you had been. He knew who you were. He had listened to you weave an intricate tale of how you'd walked away from a job you hated and sold anything you had of value to fund a year of travel. A year of unashamedly putting yourself first. He knew he had walked into your life at the most delicate moment. He knew that whatever he had taken from you, he had to enhance your life with whatever he gave back to you. And you, even in moments of doubt, knew that you could no longer walk this path without him. You could have walked it alone. But with no other, save for him.

The sun dipped below the horizon and the colours began to fade.

"Just so you know." He whispered, helping you up from the sand. "I have never felt like this either. About anyone. Ever."