“Me too,” I breathe into his ear. It feels as if I’m admitting something taboo.
“God, I’ve needed this. I’ve needed this so badly. I want you to fuck me so slowly that I start begging and crying. Make it so fucking tender that I weep. Make me ache, princess.”
I move slower than slow. Slower than even I think I can bear. I’m moving so cautiously that I’m able to kiss his shoulders, able to hold his face angled towards me and watch the beautiful agony dance over his features.
His words play on repeat in my head.
I’ve needed this so badly.
I squeeze his hip three times.“Is this okay?”
“It’s so good.”
Every time I increase my pace just the slightest, the bed frame wails, the entire trailer wobbles, and we’re forced to slow down again.
It’s torture. It’s intense. The building pressure is so great, so immense that it’s almost painful. I’m gritting my teeth and holding my breath and I think I might expire any second now.
It’s exquisite.
It aches.
I need to come. I need to fuck him, and feel that sweet release, but I keep things punishingly slow.
Sweat slides between our bodies. His moans fill the small room. His “Oh, fuck, princess” grows louder each time. I swap out the arm under his knee with one of his, and clutch my palm over his mouth, building my speed, and desperately trying not to creak the bed or shake our entire accommodation.
He mumbles through my fingers, so I move my hand off his mouth and wrap them around his throat. “Oh, fuck. Touch me. I can’t go much longer.”
After only a few erratic pumps of my fist, Eggo’s orgasm tears through the room. The sound echoes, but he flexes his bicep and shunts the pillow over his face to muffle his cries. Seconds later I let myself tumble over that peak too. I hold him as tightly as I can, as though I might merge our souls together like riffle shuffling a deck of cards.
Afterwards, I get rid of the condom and grab a towel to clean up the mess, and even though we’ve been sharing a bed for over a month, it’s the first time we ever fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Chapter 34
Finn
Saturday 7th August 2027
It’s the weekend, it’s the summer hols, and we’ve come on holiday to the aptly named Sunnywell Bay in Weymouth, so of course it’s raining. Fat droplets thud against the caravan roof in a way that’s at once relaxing and stress inducing. We only havetwo more days here, and I’d rather not waste them by rotting in this tin can.
The forecast is showing unsettled for the rest of the day, so I’m scrabbling around in my brain trying to remember the last time I was here—aged fifteen—and what indoor activities there are nearby we can shelter with. There’s the swimming pool, of course, and the clubhouse, and the arcades, but I’ve already spent enough money on the teddy grabbers to warrant taking out a second mortgage.
I’m the first one up. Pi and Logan are still both sound asleep in the caravan’s surprisingly comfortable beds. I’m making myself a sugary tea, because the only coffee Pi brought requires grinding and I don’t want to wake him. Plus, there’s a core memory in there somewhere. Of lying in my caravan bunk, Leoni across from me, the plunky noises of rain above me, thethunkthunkthunkof seagulls using the roof as a runway, and the soft tickling of a teaspoon knocking against the side of a porcelain cup. It would usually be followed by the smell of bacon sizzling, but neither Pi nor Logan eat pork, so I have to make do with my memories.
The TV plays on low volume in the background, and I sit beside the window and watch the specks—sailing boats—on the horizon.
I have never felt more at peace.
A few minutes later, or it could be closer to an hour, Pi stirs. I hear him clambering out of bed, flushing the toilet, washing his hands and face. He walks into the open-plan space, takes a clean glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water.
“How ya going?” he says, sitting at the opposite end of the caravan couch. He’s wearing only a pair of torturously thin shorts and his indoor “thongs.” His stomach muscles bunch as he sits, and his tan skin crinkles around his belly. His ordinarilyunruly surfer curls are sticking out at even more haphazard angles.
He’s so fucking beautiful that every cell in my body physically aches.
“Alright, pard.”
Pi sips his water. “So, last night was fun, huh?”
I can think of a thousand more appropriate adjectives to describe last night. Incredible, phenomenal, momentous, brain-chemistry-altering, life-changing, things-will-never-be-the-same-againing.
