I creep down the stairs and slowly walk into the living room, trying to keep my footsteps as light on the cold floor as possible. It’s not as dark down here with the moonlight casting a pale glow around the couch. Dylan’s fast asleep with the fleece blanket half on, his hard chest bare. I can finally see the tattoo that was hidden under his shirt. A black bird with its wings spread, flying in the air. It covers his whole shoulder and part of his chest, leading toward his heart. I can’t see too many details in the dim lighting, but what I can see looks beautiful. As I stare a little longer, I gasp quietly and touch my fingers to my lips, realization hitting me.
A raven.
His sister’s name was Raven. This tattoo must be a tribute to her. To her memory. It feels like my heart hasbeen cracked open, its contents spilling out onto the floor beneath me.She’s always with him.
My feet carry me over to the wood stove across from the couch, noticing it’s died down as well. I spot a few logs piled into a box beside it and grab one. The door to the wood stove opens with a loud creak that pierces through the otherwise silent space.
“Fuck,” I mouth as I turn around and watch Dylan stir awake. I toss a couple of logs in and close the door once more, locking it shut.
“Luce?” His voice is groggy as his eyes strain to get used to the darkness around us.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “The fires were going out. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I go to grab another one to bring upstairs with me when he pats the empty space beside him on the couch.
“Were you cold? Come here.” His voice is still raspy with sleep. I should say no. I should go back upstairs and go to sleep. He won’t remember this in the morning.
“Okay,” I say instead, my body disobeying my brain as I walk toward him. I slip into the spot beside him, and he wraps the blanket around us, his hand then coming around my waist, pulling me in close. His breath is warm on the back of my neck, causing my skin to prickle, and then there’s no mistaking it—the solid press of him against me. I do my best to stay still and keep my breathing under control, but the way his hand is now splayed across my belly, rubbing over the fabric of my baggy shirt, moisture begins to pool between my legs. I squeeze them tight and close my eyes, willing sleep to come.
“You feel nice,” he murmurs in a deep voice as his hand makes its way under the loose cotton fabric to my soft skin. Isigh into him, the feel of his rough hands on me sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. We lie like this for a few minutes, him gently rubbing my skin, my head leaning back into him. My heart is racing, the warmth in my belly growing with each light graze of his fingers. This moment is unexpected, and yet it feels as though it was bound to happen. His hand drifts lower, my need growing as fingers toy with the hem of my lace underwear. “Is this okay?” he whispers as he starts to explore the skin underneath.
“Yes,” I sigh, spreading my legs to give him more room. His fingers dip lower, teasing along my lower belly, goosebumps appearing on my flushed skin. I’m desperate for his touch and push myself back into him even more. Finally, his fingers make their way to my slick entrance, rubbing along the slit, teasing me. I arch my back into him, already trembling from the way he’s toying with me.
“You’re so soft,” he moans as he slips a finger inside me. I gasp when he curls it and pumps it in and out, slowly at first. My pulse quickens as he peppers kisses along the back of my neck, whispering how good I feel. “Sofuckinggood, Luce.” He slides his finger in and out, once more, growling as I tighten from his touch. “You can barely take one finger.”
“Mmm,” I mutter, losing myself in the pleasure he’s bringing me. It’s been so long since someone else touched me like this. And his rough but strong hands are something I’ve been dreaming about since meeting him. About all the ways they could explore me.
He slips another finger in, and I stifle a moan from the way my body stretches for him. “It’s okay,” he whispers in my ear, goosebumps spreading across my skin from his breath on me. “You can take it. I know you can.”
He takes both fingers out, and I whine. Myneedfor him to fill me is almost too much to bear. Then he pushes them backinside me, deeper this time, curling them up as he goes, with more force than last time. I cry out as he moves them in and out at a steady speed.
“That’s it,” he praises as my legs open wider for him. I squirm and feel his bulge grow as I arch into him even more.
“That feels so good,” I whimper as his free hand makes its way under my shirt to find my breasts, massaging them and pinching at my perked nipples.
“Your pussy is amazing,” he grunts as a third finger joins the others. “I’ve been dreaming about you for so long now.”
He keeps going as my release builds. It begins low and works its way higher and higher with the steady pace he keeps with his fingers. Once his thumb finds my clit, drawing slow circles, I lose it. I let out a strangled cry as the feeling of ecstasy rolls through me and escapes, my body shaking from the orgasm. He doesn’t stop until my breathing finally slows and my body relaxes once more.
Then he removes his fingers, and I listen as his mouth makes apop. “Fuck, you taste sweet, Luce,” he whispers into my hair before wrapping both arms around my waist, one underneath me, one on top. He’s holding me in a hug. I turn my neck so my face is angled toward him, and he brings his mouth to mine. Our kiss is slow and thoughtful. Surprising after everything that just happened, but it’s like he’s savouring me. I sigh into him, and our tongues dance together, his hand coming up to my cheek and pulling me closer to him.
Finally, he pulls away, and I turn so my back is facing him. We don’t say anything else, just lie there together until I hear his steady breathing take over, letting me know he’s asleep. I’m in awe of what we did. How good he felt. How badly I want to do it again. And more. But we’re supposed to be friends. This was just a middle-of-the-night slip-up. Asecret in the darkness. Emotions were high today, and this was the release maybe both of us needed. Tomorrow, we can go back to normal. Back to the way we used to be.
I hold him tighter, not wanting this moment to slip away.
How am I supposed to forget the way his hands feel?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Iwake up in the morning before Dylan. I’m facing him, my leg splayed over his body. He’s warm and solid, and I had the best sleep ever nestled beside him. I’m sure the middle-of-the-night orgasm didn’t hurt either.
I bask in the feel of our bodies intertwined before slowly and quietly rolling off the couch. I peer over at the stove and see that it’s only six. Behind me, Dylan is snoring softly, turning to face the back of the couch. I’m wide awake and feeling antsy about everything that happened last night. How do we go back to the way things were?
I tiptoe over to the desk and sit down, staring out the window at the open ocean, waves crashing down, the sun beginning to peek over the horizon. The sky is bright pink, and I get caught up in the view. Looking down, I see his notebook in the centre of the desk with a pencil beside it. The tip is dull, like it’s been well used. This must be the infamous weather log. I place my hand on it and shake my head. Then curiosity takes over any logical thinking, and I catch myself flipping the book open to a random page.
As soon as my eyes look down, I realize this isn’t hisweather log. My fingers flip through the pages of drawing after beautiful drawing. It’s a sketchbook. My not-so-mystery lighthouse keeper is also an incredibly talented artist. My jaw drops from the intricate pencil sketches I’m seeing. Beautiful landscapes and birds. I flip to the view from out the window—the same view I’m seeing now—the lighthouse itself, flowers that grow from the craggy rocks, an osprey. As I get to a page in the middle, there’s that same raven I spied on his chest last night. He must have sketched his own tattoo and given it to an artist. I get closer to the end of the book, and my eyes pause on the first portrait I’ve seen. I run my fingers along the familiar face looking back at me.
Her hair is up in a claw clip, and she has a fiery look in her eyes. I scan all the way from the cropped tank top to the billowing, flowy skirt, to the chunky wedge sandals on her feet. “Oh my god.”
Me.
