She sits up, smiling in excitement. “I remember you telling me about the time you and Crash hiked that—”
“And we saw the sign that actually said, ‘Do not lean over the railing,you will die.’?”
“Yes! And Crash said challenge accepted and you had to drag him back to the trail.”
I laugh, trying to think back to the trip I took here with Emery. Before today, my head felt like a dark hallway; now there are windows withrandom glimpses of light. A forested path in one, the distant view of El Capitan surrounded by trees and mist. The Half Dome pizza with chili oil and honey, but so far nothing about the average days leading up to the accident. “We hiked to Twin Bridges and found those granite-lined swimming holes. Do you remember?”
Emery laughs, nodding. “You wanted us to skinny-dip.” She presses her hand to the side of my face. “You’re coming back to me.”
“Little by little.” I lean forward, kissing her, squeezing my eyes closed, and begging the memories to stay away for just a little longer.
38EMERY
Luca is suddenly in a rush to get back to the room, and with the dizzying distraction of his warm, wet body beneath mine in the hot tub, I am more than happy to move this night to the next phase.
My nerves have evaporated; like always, just being with Luca—his silliness, his openness, his willingness to be whatever I need—has pulled me out of my head. We walk Honey before heading back to the room for the night, give her plenty of kisses, and send her to her bed by the window before turning to look at each other.
“I’m just going to…” I motion to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Luca presses a kiss to my forehead and taps my behind as I sprint quickly across the room.
With the door closed behind me, I take a quick shower and then reach for my overnight bag. I run some leave-in conditioner through my wet hair so I don’t wake up with a haystack on top of my head in the morning. I shuck off my suit and hang it up to dry, and I moisturize everywhere before adding a touch of lip gloss. With a towel wrapped around my body, I flip off the light and head out of the bathroom.
Luca is standing by the bed. He’s closed the curtains and lowered the lights and looks up at the sound of the door. He’s turned down the blankets.
“That was fast,” he says with a grin.
I cross the room and stop in front of him, reaching for the waistband of his shorts to pull him closer. “It’s possible I was in a hurry.”
“Good.” He draws a fingertip across my collarbone. “You have the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen.”
As he leans forward, his mouth follows the path, first on one side and then the other. My head falls back, and he continues up my neck, tasting, sucking. We’ve stood like this a hundred times, breaths quickened, sounds filling the air, the promise of what’s about to happen crackling between us, but it’s never felt like this.
His lips find mine in kisses that start off like banter and grow bigger, deeper with each one. We undress each other—my towel in a puddle on the floor and his board shorts a pool at his feet—capably moving around limbs without drifting apart. Some of this must be instinct for him, the way he kisses and likes to be kissed, in soft sucks and the slow slide of his tongue, but some of it isn’t.
It’s wild to me as we touch and taste and stumble to the mattress, that memories don’t return to us in any linear way. He remembers the story about Crash and the bike chain but is surprised when he tugs at my earlobe with his teeth and I cry out. He knows why he planted trees on one side of the yard and not the other but swears in disbelief when I wrap my fingers around the base of him and squeeze. He likes it, and breathlessly asks me to do it again.
It’s fascinating, really, what breadcrumbs will lead his mind to—
Stop, I whisper gently in my own thoughts.Stop and focus and savor this.
Stop analyzing.
Stop observing.
Stop working.
Just feel.
Because the first time we had sex, Ididn’tstop to savor. It was rushed and fast. Amazing, yes, but a blur. We’ve had too many nights where we fumble in the dark, where it’s rushed, hard and fast. Fevered, but not intimate like this. I would feel him the next day but not rememberthe specifics. We loved each other, but we haven’texperiencedeach other in so long, haven’t explored and sipped and devoured and languished in this heavy, magnetic pull between us.
I want to slow down and relish the way his big hands feel: rough and tender, hungry and reverent when they open my legs and pull me toward him, when he grips himself, wraps my smaller hands next to his, and guides himself inside and out, teasing. I want to experience the slow, seductive kisses while he fucks me, when his tongue mirrors what his cock is doing, and he fills me everywhere. I want to get lost in him for what feels like hours. The exploration of his fingers—feeling, learning, remembering—and the way he teases me with a toy before using it to bring me waves and waves of screaming pleasure. I want to pace myself, but it’s so hard when it feels like everything and not enough at the same time.
With the lamplight making his tan skin glow, I see the way he swallows when I wrap my palm around him, the instinctive thrust of his hips up into my hand, the way his stomach spasms as I kiss my way down his torso. He groans, deep and rough, when I take him in my mouth. His fingers dance over my jaw, to my hair, guiding me as his hips find a rhythm.
Heat floods me when he exhales a gusting breath and whispers, “Feels so good.” His warm skin, steel-hard length, the praise given in his deep, pleasure-soaked voice… it’s everything I need in this world. It’s the intimacy and comfort and pleasure that have always tied us to each other, no matter what life and responsibilities and daylight… and my addiction to work… did to separate us. I was lucky to love him a first time; I’ll never take for granted this chance to love him again.
Emotion claws its way up my chest, and I moan around him, wanting him to feel my love and apology and desire any way I can. He’s so close, right at the edge against my lips and tongue that with an almost impatient gasp he pulls me up and over him. Sweat glistens on hischest; his hair is messy and damp at the temples from the exertion of resisting release. Between my thighs, he’s hard and urgent and wet.
