I blame it on the tequila — the languid numbness still warming my skin, tingling the tips of my fingers, hazing my mind. Though I know deep down this feeling has nothing to do with the residual effects of the liquor and everything to do with the man holding me close, his arms a vise of strength and security, even while he's asleep.
The undisturbed rise and fall of his muscled chest beneath my cheek is nearly enough to lull me back to sleep, but I will myself to stay awake for a little bit longer, to live in this moment for as long as my tired eyes will allow as my still-tingling fingertips trace the planes and divots of his abs while the early morning sunlight streams in through the crack in the curtains, illuminating my path.
When my route veers away from his deeply muscled stomach toward the ink tattooed onto the side of his abdomen instead, my touch grows reverent, inspired by the seemingly infinite artwork spanning his bronzed skin. They're breathtaking, genuinely gorgeous pieces of art that I wish I had the talent to sign my own name to.
I've traced, admired, and even attempted to recreate the art in my sketchbook a few times but it never seems to do the real craftwork on his skin justice. I've never asked where the inspiration for each one comes from. What each one means. Though I think it's safe to assume that each piece of art etched into his bronzed skin is an allusion to the different pieces of literature that have made a lasting impact on him. There are scenes of ships burning on churning seas, a Greek statue cracked and fractured, a compass melting in a marbled hand, a map on fire, and what almost looks like faded longitude and latitude lines beneath it all. It's all done in fine, delicate lines, so precise that I'm in awe of the skill it must have taken to create. And the pain he must have endured to have each perfectly inked piece of art embedded into his skin.
These pieces are dripping in emotion. In words, feelings, and fears unspoken by a man who seeks out literature in a desperate attempt to understand the world around him; to understand himself. A man who does not see himself the way I do, the way the rest of the world would if he let his armor fall long enough to be seen. Truly, fearlessly, with the kind of vulnerability he's spent his entire life armoring himself against.
But if he did...he'd see what I do.
I smile at the thought, at the irony of it all.
A masterfully painted expanse of midnight sky.
A piece of the universe that can't see its own beauty. Its own magnitude. Its own light.
Tracing my finger along one of the longitude lines that disappear beneath the churning sea, I startle at the feel of Micah's hand sliding up my back. My cheeks warm when I realize I've woken him, though my apology is lost on my tongue when he palms the back of my neck and massages the base of my scalp gently.
I turn my cheek to bury my head against his chest, sighing contentedly at the exquisite feel of his fingers kneading away the diluted pressure that's been building in my head since I opened my eyes.
He smells divine — like the expensive soap from the shower he pulled us into when we got back to the room last night.
I smile as the hazy memory washes over me. I was drunk drunk last night by the time we got back to the hotel. Drunk enough to have no memory of how Micah and I actually made it up to our room. Though I do remember him guiding me into the bathroom where he stripped us both down and led us into a steaming shower. I can still recall the feel of his hands massaging the shower gel into my body, taking his time to wash away the grimy feel of the club from my skin until I felt brand new.
With a chaste kiss on my shoulder, he washed the suds from our bodies before turning off the water and wrapping me in one of the massive hotel towels. He had lifted me up on the bathroom counter and helped me get paste onto my toothbrush, and after brushing our teeth while smiling like idiots at each other, he held back my hair as I spit out the suds and let me pull him between my legs and indulge myself.
My clumsy kisses were steadied by his hand on my jaw, his patient tongue, and his gentle arm wrapped around my waist. He pulled me closer, letting my drunken self explore him to my heart's content before breaking away slowly and brushing his thumb along my bottom lip, his eyes flickering with the same emotion that was warming me even more than the liquor coursing through my bloodstream.
I love you.
It was on the tip of my tongue while the steam from our shower still lingered in the air, while the heat of his breath fanned my cheek, while his fingers skimmed across the column of my neck.
I almost said it.
Almost.
But my hesitation was met with his low voice vibrating against my throat as he pressed a kiss just under my ear. "Come on, Little Love, let's go to bed."
Little Love.
It echoed through my mind as he pulled a shirt from his bag and murmured "hands up," before sliding it over my naked body.
It echoed through my mind as he carried me to bed.
It echoed through my mind once more as his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me across the mattress toward him. I'd melded against his chest instantly, my leg nestled between both of his, face nuzzled against his throat, arms tucked close to my chest as I drifted away to the feel of his fingers sliding gently through my hair.
He massages my scalp with a little more pressure, sending a delightful sensation down my spine and pulling me back from the memory of him last night. I can't hold back my relaxed moans, the soft noises that vibrate my throat and seem to encourage his fingers to find more pressure points to knead gently.
He knows exactly what he's doing. Where to touch. Where to add pressure. Where to be gentle. How to slide his hands through my hair without tugging at the strands. I smile at the contrast to how he treats me when he's between my thighs. When his hands are wrapped in my hair to pull my lips up to his, to tug my head back to drag his tongue up my throat, to turn my head when he's taking me from behind so he can whisper dirty words in my ear that send me over the edge.
My thighs clench at the thought.
"Are you still drunk, Jos?" I can hear the smile in his thick, sleep-laden voice.
"No..." I shake my head. When he stops massaging my scalp, I can practically see him raising an unconvinced brow. "Maybe. Just a little. Like a tiny, tiny bit." I finally admit.
He laughs, his chest vibrating with the sound, and I smile at the feel of his arm tightening around my body, pulling me higher up his chest until my face is nuzzled up against his throat.
"So, do you like Drunk Josie? Live and in the flesh?" I grin, pressing a kiss to his neck.
This is my favorite place in the entire world. Right here, in his arms, with my lips pressed to this spot. It's just above the juncture of his throat and shoulder, just under a faint cluster of minuscule freckles that almost look like stars. Right where I can feel his pulse under my lips as I press soft, drunken kisses to his skin.
I fall asleep like this most nights. Right here, my nose and lips nuzzled against his neck. I've probably kissed this exact spot more than I've kissed his lips.
I smile at the thought and graze my teeth over his pulse, wondering if echoes of this moment have ricocheted across the universe. If even in our very first life I was drawn to pressing my lips against his neck to feel his pulse, to fall asleep to the beat of his heart.
"I love every Josie that you show me," he murmurs against the top of my head before pressing a kiss to my crown. "Sober Josie, Drunk Josie, Jealous Josie, Sleepy Josie, Inspired Josie, Bossy Josie, Horny Josie — she's one of my favorites, by the way. You can bring out Horny Josie whenever you want."
I smile against his pulse.
"Is she your favorite then?" I ask, kissing his throat.
His hand slides from the base of my scalp down my spine to wrap around my waist, enveloping me with both arms in an embrace that relaxes every muscle in my body. I've never felt safer in my life than I do when I'm in his arms. Never felt less vulnerable. I wish I could stay here forever. "No."
I raise a brow at that, licking his throat. It's a soft lick, a gentle lick, a submissive lick. One that has his hips twitching beneath me as I do it again.
"No?" I counter, surprised.
I graze my teeth against his rising pulse point and begin to suck gently.
"No." He clears his throat, his grip on me tightening as he tilts his head back and curses softly. When he speaks again, his voice is thick, a groan that vibrates deep in his chest as I add a little more pressure to my mouth on his neck, intent on leaving my mark on him. "Afterglow Josie is my favorite."
I pause, pulling away just enough for my lips to brush his skin. "Afterglow Josie?"
His hands slide down my back and beneath the hem of my shirt to cup my ass and squeeze. My breath catches in my throat, my legs parting even further around his hips — a silent pleat to slide one of those hands between my legs.
"Freshly Fucked Josie. High on my Cock Josie. Heavy-Lidded, Gasping For Air While Still Moaning My Name Josie. They're all one and the same — Afterglow Josie. And not because Afterglow Josie means that I just got laid." He shoots down my joke before I can even open my mouth and I smile against his shoulder as I press delicate kisses to the hickey already blooming on his throat. "Afterglow Josie is my favorite because — I don't even know how to explain it. You just...radiate this energy after you come, even more so than normal. It's warm and gentle and so fucking intoxicating. I can feel it on my skin when I hold you after. I can taste it on your lips. It's even in the slight change of tone in your voice. It seeps through my skin and flows through my blood until everything just feels...weightless. Like everything else in my life is insignificant. You're like a painkiller, Jos — more addicting, more potent than anything I've ever taken."
A shiver shakes my shoulders at the ache in his voice, and when he cups my jaw and brings my lips to his, a jolt of electricity sparks to life beneath my skin, awakening my nerve endings until I can feel every brush of his tongue against mine as if his face were between my legs.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer as the soft moan that slips from my lips tells him everything I want right now.
Him. Inside of me.
His answering groan sends a rush of goosebumps up my body, pebbling my nipples and shortening my breath. His hands are already on my waist, but I pull away from his kiss, climbing onto his lap as a flush of heat sweeps over my cheeks in a wave of newfound enthusiasm.
His brows twitch up, and a smile that would usually set my body on fire stretches across his lips as I pull my shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor, leaving me naked on top of him. My skin feels like a livewire, sensitive to his touch as the cold air of the hotel room sends goosebumps rushing across my body.
I lean down, my hair falling around us as I press a delicate kiss to the constellation of stars on his neck just above the blooming hickey and whisper, "That's my favorite Josie, too."
I'm on my back before I can blink back my surprise, staring up at his heady stare, mesmerized by the light cresting the clouds in his eyes. His gaze is intoxicating, wholly enchanting, and mesmerizing beyond belief. I'm lost in the ether spanning between us, each breath slow and reverent, in sync with his chest just barely pressed against mine.
I love you.
It's on the tip of my tongue.
I'm so in love with you it's dizzying.
If I were braver, I'd say it.
Instead, I inhale a shaky breath and glance down at his mouth. His tongue slides across the seam of his bottom lip absently, and I rise up on my elbows to connect our lips, desperate for the taste of him to distract me from the admission burning on my tongue.
It's an instant head rush, kissing Micah. Like running full speed and jumping off the side of a cliff. Like free falling.
His tongue slides into my mouth again, my body shivering as his hand slides up my thigh and between my legs. The feel of his thumb brushing my clit as he slides a finger into me coaxes a heady moan from my lips.
"Fuck," he groans against my lips. He adds another finger, pumping faster and faster in time with his thumb against my clit until my eyes roll back and a desperate moan slips from my throat.
My first orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, pulling me under and stealing the breath from my lungs.
Before the first wave of pleasure has even begun to ebb away, Micah pulls his fingers away and slides inside me. He inhales sharply, his head resting on my shoulder as he starts to move his hips. My body is still pulsing as my orgasm continues to rush through me, sending me higher and higher with each thrust.
Grabbing my calves, he has my legs propped up over his shoulders before I can even squeak in surprise, and he leans forward, his lips on mine as he palms my throat and thrusts into me so deeply my heart skips with every rough surge of his hips.
I can feel my second orgasm building, but his hand on my throat tightens for a heartbeat — a warning.
"Do not come yet, Josie." He groans against my lips, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. "Fuck, not yet."
"I can't —" I pant, tugging roughly on the hair at the nape of his neck.
He groans again, biting across my cheek and my jaw as he slides my legs down his shoulders and pulls me up with him until I'm sitting on his lap. His hands find my hips and he pulls me down harder with each thrust that he lifts me up for. Even on top, he's in command. Moving my body, lifting me and pulling me back down as he thrusts his hips up to meet me.
I don't think I've ever felt him this deep inside of me. This rough.
And when he dips his head down to bite down on my breasts, leaving hickeys as he goes, I can't stop the surge of pleasure from imploding as his teeth latch onto my nipple and tug.
My body crumbles like every muscle in my body has atrophied, but his arms tighten around me, holding me to him as he lays me down while his hips find an even fiercer tempo. Each thrust sends mindnumbing aftershocks of pleasure through my body, crashing through me like waves on a shore.
My body is alight, hyper-sensitive to every touch, to every breath that fans across my neck as he kisses his way across my throat. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps and I whimper at the heightened sensations flooding my body.
Pleasure on a level I've never experienced rips through me, numbing the tips of my fingers and crushing my lungs in my chest. I shake my head, eyes flying wide at the pressure building in my stomach, at the tension coiling in my muscles.
It's too much.
I can't —
"Micah —" I shake my head frantically, another wave of goosebumps flooding my body as my impending orgasm nearly crests. "Please, please — I —" I squeeze my eyes shut as a shutter racks my entire body, shaking my shoulders, leaving a trail of white-hot pleasure in its wake. My eyes meet his and another shutter climbs my spine at the sight of his lust-blown pupils — at the emotion swirling in the swirl of gray skies in his eyes; the unmistakable flash of adoration, of wonder, as he watches my body nearly come undone beneath his.
"Oh, God —"
I think I could die like this.
Death by pleasure — engulfed in his flame.
"One more," he groans, hand gripping my jaw, forcing my eyes up to meet his. "One more. Give me one more, sweet girl."
His cheeks flush even more as he quickens the snap of his hips. My eyes go wide at the feeling of him so deep inside of me. So deep. So impossibly deep. My eyes roll back as the wave building inside of me nears its peak, as my lungs freeze in my chest, cutting off my ability to breathe. My arms go limp, falling from around his shoulders to the pillow above my head as the rush of blinding sensation finally crests and pulls me under. I can distantly hear my whimpers echoing across the hotel room, the desperate pants of his name, and the soft crack of my heady voice as every nerve ending in my body explodes all at once.
I'm limp in his arms as he finds his own release a few heartbeats later, burying himself deep inside me with one final thrust.
My heart is pounding, a near-deafening drum in my ears as my blood rushes to my head, though I hear his words clear as day as he presses his lips to the shell of my ear and murmurs, "Good girl."
My heart stutters in my chest at the praise, and when my fingers twitch as sensation finally eases back into my arms, I wrap them around his shoulders, nuzzling my face against his throat as I luxuriate in the feel of his arms holding me tightly to him. I listen to his heavy breathing begin to slow, feel his pulse even out against my lips on his throat, and then his hands begin to rub my back as he rolls over until I'm lying on his chest.
His touch is gentle, using his fingertips to trace up and down my back, dipping down to the swell of my ass every now and then before making his way back up to my shoulders and back. It's enough to make my eyes heavy, to make my breathing slow and soft until I'm tempted to let my eyes close and fall back asleep.
"You feel that?" He murmurs against my temple as his heartbeat lulls me into a gentle daze. "That energy buzzing over your skin? That stasis of contentment? That perfect equilibrium coursing through you? That's the afterglow."
I smile, letting my mind drift inward to appreciate the feeling.
The afterglow.
We're flying through a sea of golden-dappled sunlight.
The engine revs beneath us, propelling us even faster as the sound of Luke's bike grows louder behind us. I want to throw my hands up, to feel the crisp air between my fingers, to watch the sunset filtering through the canopy of trees above draw lights and shadows across my palms.
I would have if we were riding through the familiar forest in Creek View. The smooth leaves lining the ground, the divotless path we always take. It's as smooth a ride as the freshly laid asphalt in Winter Hill. But this forest isn't nearly as level, the bumps and craters in the dirt path enough for my entire body to lift and shift with each small cavity in the ground.
Sliding my hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, I rest my cheek against his back and relax as the lush colors of the forest around us sway in the breeze.
I have no idea where we're going. None of us do, apart from Luke.
Our entire day has been planned from beginning to end by Luke. Once Micah and I managed to pull ourselves away from bed — thanks to Luke's early morning wake-up call — we parted ways in the hotel lobby. He headed toward the gym and I sunk down in a cozy chair at the poolside restaurant in between Abby and Halle, trying and failing to hide the residual giddy smile from my morning with Micah. It took three mimosas before I cracked under Nia's pressure and finally gave them some details.
Abby's jaw dropped. My cheeks heated. And the rest of my fourth mimosa was drowned in record time.
We were all drunk —aside from Jenny, of course — on the sparkling orange juice by the time the boys were done with their workout and freshly showered. I was so drunk that Micah had to practically carry me back up to our room so I could change my shoes from the strappy sandals to my white keds, too unstable to not trip over the flimsy footwear.
We spent the rest of the day following Luke's itinerary.
An afternoon on the go-cart track — rented out specifically for us, followed by lunch inside a massive sports bar, and finally, a trip to a motor rental shop where we rented out all the dirt bikes and four-wheelers the man had available and took off on the trail leading up the mountainside forest.
"It's just ahead, past the clearing!" Luke's voice calls up to us, barely audible over the roar of so many engines echoing through the quiet forest.
I glance over my shoulder and smile at the sight.
Halle is holding onto Olivia as she steers them up the trail on a four-wheeler. She originally tried to climb onto one of the dirt bikes Micah and Luke picked, but her brother vetoed the idea, claiming she didn't know how to ride a bike and she wasn't about to learn on a mountainside trail. She looked like she wanted to argue, but simply shoved past him to the four-wheeler instead, calling dibs on Halle as her passenger before West or Cooper could even try.
Tristan is also on a dirt bike, but based on the screams that have echoed from his bike as our incline steepened halfway up the forest trail, I have a feeling Abby would have preferred to be in the Jeep following behind us with Jenny and Nia — and James who refused to let his pregnant girlfriend drive.
West and Cooper are also on four-wheelers, though they didn't seem nearly as put out about it as Liv. Likely because if they had opted for a dirt bike, they would have had to share since there was only one left.
Micah's hand falls away from the throttle and grips my thigh gently, squeezing to get my attention. Looking forward, my jaw drops at the cliffside vista in front of us. From our spot high up on this trail we're overlooking the entire city, watching it light up from above as the setting sun douses the city in golden light.
Climbing off the bike, I take a few steps forward to get a better look.
"Thought we should have some time to actually hang out on our last night together." Luke's voice is much louder now that the engines have all been extinguished, the autumn breeze and distant sounds of city traffic the only thing audible from up here. "Figured a bonfire overlooking the city might be a nice way to do it."
And it is.
S'mores, hotdogs roasted over the bonfire, and enough ice-cold beer to keep me warm from the inside out while the chilly breeze pulls past — that, and the warmth of my cheeks as I laugh at the stories James and Tristan tell about Micah when he was an underclassman. I'm sitting between his legs, luxuriating in the feel of his arms wrapped so casually around me, his chin resting on the top of my head.
"You remember when he was a freshman and Lief and Nas tried to convince him we had a team celibacy rule during season?" Tristan's smile spread as he glanced over at James, his dimple growing as James's laugh echoed across the bonfire.
"What did they say the reasoning was? Something about hormones or something?" James grins over at Micah, taking a swig of his beer.
Micah pulls me closer, and I smile at the feel of his chest vibrating with a laugh. "They said we had to preserve our testosterone. I wouldn't have believed them if Brody wouldn't have agreed. Not that he could keep up with the joke for long. The second he started dating Anna it was over for him."
"You know they're getting married?" Jenny smiles, her eyes lighting up as she looks across the bonfire at Nia. "Brody proposed last weekend."
I glance over at Halle and she shrugs in an I don't know who any of those people are either way. Olivia, who's sitting beside Halle, seems more interested in the s'more she's engineering than the conversation. She's managed to create a double stack filled with extra chocolate and marshmallows.
Though, instead of eating it, she hands it off to Cooper.
Luke twitches beside me, his eyes following the exchange on the other side of the bonfire.
"Fuck, I can't believe you're already a senior." James shakes his head, staring at Micah like he's not really convinced. "You nervous about the draft?"
Micah shifts behind me, clearing his throat. "I don't know, I don't really see the point in thinking about it too much. I'll either get drafted or I won't. It's not like I have a say in it."
I catch the underlying tension beneath his words. The truth he's trying to hide away.
He is nervous. More nervous than he'd ever admit.
"It's not a matter of if you're going to be drafted, it's a matter of where," Luke corrects, rolling his eyes as if it's obvious. I glance over to Tristan who raises his beer in agreement.
"He's right. Every report I've seen about draft predictions have you going out in the middle of round one. There were even a few analysts who thought your save at the end of the last game was impressive enough to bump you up a few spots in the draft predictions. It's not a matter of if, man." I look away when Tristan's eyes dip down to me, my cheeks warming at his curious stare.
Nia sighs, crossing her heel-covered feet. "Can we please, for once, not spend our entire night talking about sports? I really can't pretend to care about it anymore."
"Sorry, princess, I forgot tonight was about you." James snorts.
"Every night is about me." Nia leans over Jenny and steals James's beer.
"We should play a game," Olivia offers, popping open a fresh beer from the cooler behind her.
Abby perks up on Tristan's lap at Liv's comment, blinking away the sleep haze from her eyes. She's been tired since this morning when we went to brunch. I have a feeling she didn't sleep much last night.
"Now we're moving in the right direction." Nia nods, pointing the lip of James's stolen beer at Liv. "What do you have in mind, baby Beck?"
"Strip —"
"— No."
"If you're going to be such a prude —" Liv snaps, facing her stone-faced brother.
"— You're keeping your clothes on, Olivia. Pick something else."
"Don't you think it's a little hypocritical that I'm not allowed to take my clothes off, but you spent most of your college years —"
Tristan's arms wraps around her head, pulling her into a headlock while covering her mouth with his hand. "Life isn't fair, Liv. Maybe if you didn't weasel your way into my friend group you'd — fuck! Don't bite me, you psycho!"
"Your friend group? These are my roommates!"
"Your friends are at my teammate's birthday party."
"You mean my friend's boyfriend's party?"
"Okay, okay, that's enough." Abby waves her hands between them, though she doesn't seem fazed by the argument in the least. I have a feeling this happens a lot in the Beck household. I smile at the familiarity of it. I've witnessed my fair share of Halle and Holt blowouts.
"Whatever, just keep your damn clothes on."
"Fine, since we don't want to offend Virgin Mary over here —"
"You're so fucking annoying, Liv."
"You know what's annoying? Having a dictator for a brother."
Micah's lips dip down to my ear. "Come on, let's go take a walk while they try not to kill each other."
He stands up, pulling me to my feet with him. When a few curious stares lift toward us, he nods to the cliffside and intertwines his fingers with him, a rouge smile on his face. We're escaping. Just for a little while.
I grab my bag as we pass by the bike we rode up on and let him lead me to the cliff, far enough from the group that their laughs and conversation dim into a dull hum behind us. The view of the city is even more breathtaking from here, and as we sit, our legs hanging over the rocky edge, a rush of goosebumps scatters across my chest at the cavernous drop below us.
"Sometimes life just gets... loud, and I need to escape. Just for a little while."
I glance over and watch as he stares out at the city lights, his eyes roving over the endless expanse of life beneath us. It's cold enough to just barely see our breath fan out in clouds in front of us. To see the deep exhale he releases.
I realize that's what this is. An escape.
Not from his friends. From whatever is waiting for him back in Pullman — in Creek View.
I brush my fingers over his, feeling the callouses along the ridges of his hands.
"I get like that too, sometimes," I whisper. "Do you want me to go? To give you some space?"
I can go hang out with Halle and Liv. I can even stay over in their hotel room if he wants.
I'm not offended. Not even slightly.
If anyone can understand the desire to be alone, to bask in silence for just a little while, it's me. It's why I love the studio so much. It's why I love art. It's a space designed for infinite solitude.
"No." His fingers catch mine quickly, like he's scared I might leave anyway. "No, don't leave. It's better with you. I feel better with you."
I feel better with you.
My breath catches at the sincerity in his voice.
"I feel better with you, too," I admit, threading our fingers gently.
The city's distant hum is enough to relax us into a casual silence, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze behind us.
"I never gave you your birthday present," I realize, blinking in shock. I planned to give it to him last night after we got back to the hotel room, but I fell asleep before I could. Twisting on the ledge, I rifle through my bag until my fingers meet the smooth plain of his wrapped gift.
He's watching me, curious and amused as I turn back toward him, my smile aching to break free.
"Jos, I told you —"
"I know, I know. You said you didn't want anything for your birthday, but I just — I just thought you should have this."
He stares at the scarlet wrapping paper, so glossy it's reflecting the lights below across the material. When he looks back up at me I can make out the smallest hint of a smile. A smile that he's trying to hide as he takes it from me.
We both know what it is.
A book, that much is obvious.
He takes his time tearing off the wrapping, and when he finally sees the front cover he blinks a few times, surprised.
"You told me about the old man who runs the bookstore in Creek View. About how he used to let you borrow his books when you were a kid since you couldn't afford to buy them."
His eyes dart up to mine, a newfound light shining behind those heavy-lidded clouds.
"I might have done some research and found the bookstore. It's owned by the same man. I told him I was looking for a gift to get you and he told me that was the very first book you ever borrowed." I hesitate, unsure of if I might have overstepped. Was this too personal? "I just — I know how much those books meant to you as a kid. What they offered you — a hideaway, a safe place. I just wanted you to have it now. As a reminder of how far you've come. Of how proud you should be of that little boy in the forest."
Of how proud I am of that little boy.
I bite my tongue, knowing I'll start crying if I don't.
His eyes are frozen on the front cover and I know he's lost in a memory. A good one, I hope. My heart sinks at the fear that I might have reminded him of something much darker than I ever intended.
I reach out and touch his forearm, surprised at how hot his skin is in the icy air. His eyes dart up to mine, blinking away the memory he'd been pulled into, his eyes softer than I've seen them. Younger.
His eyes linger on my lips, his eyes at war with the admission I can almost taste in the air between us. And then he shakes his head and leans in slowly, like he might whisper them against my skin. I inhale at the feel of his beer-tinted breath warming my lips, at the sound of the book being lowered onto the gravel beside him so he can thread his fingers through my wind-whipped hair, at the softest, nearly imperceptible whisper of my name as he admits, "I think I've needed you for a long time."
And then his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth as his hands slide down my body, gripping my thighs and lifting my leg up and over his lap until I'm straddling him. He bites at my lower lip, groaning when I lick his tongue softly, a silent invitation for him to ravage me, body and soul.
Right here, on the edge.
His legs are still suspended over the side. We're a breath away from death. So close I can almost feel the cold hand of it reaching out for me. If I lean back right now, the only thing keeping me from falling over the cliffside is his hold on my waist.
And something about that makes me want him even more — knowing that even here, even on the edge of the world, while I'm wrapped in his arms, I have never been safer.