Every part of me burns for him. My heart with hope. My skin for his touch. The very sweet ache between the delta of my thighs. My soul with the possibility of a future.
We move in the darkness of the room. No words needed. There is no show of getting undressed this time. No time needed to pause and admire the other. Our bodies are already known to each other. Our hearts already beating as one.
I scoot back on the bed, our kisses still intense but softer now. Each one reminding us of our past. Of the present. And of our possible future.
Vince crawls over me as I spread my legs for him. I reach out to touch him, to help him put the condom on. With one elbow pressed beside me and both of our hands encircling his cock, we both guide him into me.
There’s an effortlessness to us tonight. A sweet resignation of acceptance when for so long there has only been uncertainty. But our bodies don’t know that. Only our heads and hearts do.
And so we let our bodies take over. We let them guide us with his slow push and his muted groan as he pulls out. With him guiding my hand down between my thighs so he can watch me pleasure one part of myself while he takes care of the other.
The ache turns to pleasure. The burn builds into bliss.
We’re reduced to moans of rapture and long slides of skin. To hitched breaths and murmured praise. To his fingers gripping and my fingernails scoring.
We make love without words, cementing emotions we’ve felt for what seems like forever. Emotions we’ve been scared of, we admit. Now that they’re in the light, we’ll never be able to hide them in the dark again.
Just like the dust particles dancing around us.
We love each other. With each push in. With every pull out. With our fingers laced on both sides of my head. With the slow grind of his hips. With the scrape of his teeth over my shoulder and the soft kisses to my neck.
It’s a slow dance of skin and sensations and emotions. Of met eyes and soft smiles and lips parted in pleasure. Of lifted hips and arched backs and squeezed hands.
We work together to reach our highs. My climax a slow build of pressure that detonates with a warning of its presence but not of its intensity.
I fall under its haze of pleasure. The white-hot heat rolls through my body like a live wire snapping before slamming back into my core. My back arches and hips buck and fingers grip his.
Only Vince can do this to me. Can evoke this from me. Only ever Vince.
“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” Vince murmurs before meeting my lips with a bruising kiss. The heat of his tongue. The grind of his hips. The feel of his body against mine.
Every damn thing overwhelms my senses so I do the only thing I can. I hold on to Vince. With arms and hands and legs. My own orgasm pulling him with me. He buries his face in the underside of my neck as he begins to piston his hips faster, harder. My body tenses around him as its not finished yet, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.
His breath is warm against my skin. His stubble a tickle as he moves. My moans are soft compared to the harsh pants of his breath. The slap of his hips against mine is the underlying beat.
He pushes my legs farther apart and begins to thrust harder, faster, relentlessly—my body his to use. Then his guttural groan rumbles through the room as he presses his forehead against my shoulder and claims his own orgasm.
Our panted breaths fill the room as our bodies shudder from the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbing from our bodies.
We lie here like this—with his body on mine, his face in the curve of my neck, and my hand idly running up and down his spine.
We lie here like this—soaking up the moment and wondering with hope if this could be a reality we can make work.
If the closeness we feel right now is a hint of what our everyday future could be.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Bristol
My words sound panicked. Almost the same kind of panicked my heart felt when Vince walked downstairs a while ago with a packed suitcase in his hand.
But I’m trying to rein it in. I’m trying to avoid Jagger seeing my fear.
I’m trying to not imagine history repeating itself.
“It’s just for a week,” he says. “Maybe a few days more.”
But you haven’t mentioned it to me.
“I’m going to be super busy though. Early meetings upon midday meetings upon late-night evenings. I’m not going to have much time to do anything other than work. I’ve been here for so long that I have like a month’s worth of work to catch up on.”
A reason why we can’t talk. An excuse why he’s creating distance.
“Yes?” His footsteps stop a few feet behind me. “Why aren’t you responding?”
“Okay.” I speak for the first time as I wipe down the counters with a fervor only rivaled by Mr. Clean.
“McMann. The head of Sony Music. The morning shows. The late shows. I’ve got to meet with them and . . . there are some other things I need to take care of.”
He’s leaving—running—when he said he wasn’t going to run anymore.
“I’m sorry this time here made you fall so behind.”
“Don’t be. That wasn’t what I implied. I was—”
“Don’t worry about us. I’ll make arrangements for Jagger and me to head back home. He’s missed too much in-person school as it is. I’ve put out some feeler applications for jobs. I need to get on that. I had one month’s rent saved, but—”
“Rent’s paid. I sent money for your mom to take care of that a while back. You don’t need to worry about money—”
He can’t say goodbye so he’s going to start with saying it’ll only be a week.
“I don’t need your money, Vince.” I scrub harder. I scrub spots that don’t need scrubbing. “I told you, I don’t need or expect anything from you.”
Then the week will turn into a month.
“Bristol.”
And the month will turn into excuses.
“We’ll head back home and—and—we just need to get back home. Get our lives back.”
Then the excuses will eventually stop.
“If that’s what you want.” His voice is low, questioning. “I can get my driver to take you to the airport when the jet returns.” When I don’t respond, can’t, he continues. “If I’m honest though, I’m not comfortable with you going back to your place yet. I’d much rather you two stay here where I know you’re safe and—”
And away from you.
The thought comes out of nowhere but hits me like a ton of bricks.
I don’t want his driver.
I don’t want him telling me where to go.
I don’t want him telling me what to do.
My hands start trembling, so I squeeze the sponge with ferocity to control it. “I have to return to my life sometime.”
Maybe that’s what he wants. For him to leave and for me to feel weird here so I go home on my own. Then he can return to an empty house and the strings can be cut with precision since we won’t be face-to-face. So he won’t have to see my face when he leaves this time.
“Shug.”
“I’m fine. This is fine,” I murmur, willing myself not to cry. Not to feel. Not to be anything other than the strong girl I was when I let him walk away the first time. Then the even stronger twenty-one-year-old, when I lied to his face and said I only wanted sex and just the one night. And finally, the woman from a few weeks ago who lied on her front porch when she told him she loved him, but it wasn’t enough.
Vince closes his arms around me from behind. My body tenses at the feel of him against me, at the comfort I’ve come to find in it, when he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Talk to me.”
This is how we are.
“There’s nothing to say.”
This is what we do.
“Look at me.” He tries to turn me around, but I just grip the counter.
But now there’s Jagger who will be heartbroken too.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Have a good trip.” My voice breaks despite the feigned nonchalance in it.