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“No. Emerson.”

He remains quiet, lifting his head and biting his lip. I know he craves a drag, same thing he did every other time.

“You always do this. Smother me when I ask for space.”

“You didn’t ask for space,” he reminds me, bitterly. “You said you can’t do this.”

He is right. I gave up. Ran. Threw everything into the too-hard basket.

If I love him, which I openly admit, why do I give up so easily?

“I have no clue how to be in love. This is… overwhelming. I just want time to process. I have so much going on, and I don’t know what to do, what to say, everything is getting to me. Your life, in the spotlight, I don’t know how to cope.”

“You have no clue how to be in love?” he repeats, a rough smile playing on his lips. “You love me. Yet, you said you wanted out…”

“Yes.” I can’t look at him, but then, I listen to this crazy heart of mine playing a wicked game of chess, and realize it’s checkmate, baby. “Just like you’re in love with me.”

The emotions, raw and exposed between us in the flesh, exert their power while we stand here in the same room, though what feels like miles apart.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Could have saved me an expensive plane ticket and a possible violation of Canadian law.”

He moves closer to me, leaning over the side of the bed and bending as his hand grazes my cheek. The surface of his skin, soft yet manly, is all I need. I close my eyes, at peace, basking in his touch and allowing myself to feel it rain all over me. How easily the simplest of gestures wash away the pain.

“You want to process. Then process.”

“You mean it?”

“You love me.” He breathes with a weightless gaze. “That’s all there is to it. Process, be merry. I’ll be waiting back i

n the States.”

With a slow burn, he bridges the gap between us, purposely hovering his lips above mine. I want to taste him on me. It feels like forever since we have been intimate.

I smile, releasing a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But you know, I came all the way over here, you tell me you love me, and I love you, I think it warrants that we make love… if that’s what love is.”

I laugh, softly and tired. “It’s kinda that time of the month.”

“I don’t care.”

He hovers over me, using his arms for support. The veins in his neck bulge as he leans in, sucking my bottom lip achingly slow. My hands find their way to his cheeks, caressing his face and guiding his mouth onto mine each time he pulls away. That fluttering feeling inside my stomach amplifies with the hammering beats of my heart.

“Okay, well, I don’t have it now.” My voice is muffled in between our heated kisses. “But I’m cramping, so it’s coming, and it would be kinda awkward if the hotel staff had to clean up a mess—”

“Shhh… I don’t care.”

“Wesley.”

“Milana.”

He slides his hands into my shirt, touching my nipples softly and causing me to melt between his touch. I crave him, I want all of him, and maybe this is what it feels like to be in love. This moment, forever, just the two of us. Nothing can break this.

“I love you,” I whisper again, his eyes searching mine with a need for validation.

“I know,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb along my lip. “It’s just us, okay. You and me.”

“You promise?”

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