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I don’t know if I throb or his cock twitches or both. His middle finger curls inside my mouth and I suck as Peter’s head drops down to the pillow beside me.
He closes his lips around my earlobe as he stiffens and comes, barely making any noise at all.
I wish, briefly, that I’d had foresight. That when my flight had gotten canceled, I had turned to him and said, “Let’s get a hotel room. Let’s spend this storm tearing each other apart and building ourselves back together, loud and wild and reckless.”
But we won’t get to do that. Because tomorrow, I’m flying home.
14
Peter
Kara’s alarmgoes off early. Last night, we had laid in bed, reminiscing over the last few days as if they were nostalgic, sepia-toned memories dug out of the attic of our minds. Then I’d made her come again using my hands, and fucked her from behind with a slow, measured pace that made us both tremble. She’d been quieter that time, maybe because it was late and our bodies were tired.
I'd forgotten how good sex without a condom was, but everything else was heightened too. The press of my hand against her mouth, the ridge of her teeth against her lips, the way her chin pushed against my thumb when she came on a silent scream.
And now I have to drive her to the airport.
We go downstairs. Papi is already awake, drinking coffee in the back room, the backyard still dark. We make bowls of yogurt and muesli, sipping our coffee, needing that artificial jolt because we didn’t get enough sleep last night.
Mami comes in and slides a cellophane bag of cookies—Kara’s best ones—across the counter. She hugs Kara from behind, and Kara smiles.
“Thank you for having me.”
“Of course. Travel safe, and take care of my boy.”
I look away, gathering our bowls and taking them to the kitchen. Kara goes upstairs to finish packing, and Mami goes back to bed.
“The streets have been cleared,” Papi says. “I heard the snowplows last night.”
“Good.”
Papi’s always been the best person to be around when I’m not in the mood to talk. He goes back to his book while I wash the dishes.
By the time I’m done, Kara’s ready. Papi helps me load the luggage and gives Kara a quick hug.
The sky is a softer black by the time we make it onto the A1. Kara stares out the window, her profile barely visible in the beams of oncoming cars and street lights.
On the drive to my parents’ house, prior to the storm, I’d been so nervous that I’d be ruining our holidays again, that any progress my sister’s family had made would be destroyed by hurtful words—or careless ones.
Instead, what I got was an insight into this bright, accepting woman who gives people confidence to be themselves and tenderness when they don’t believe they can. The care she gave my niece, the bonding with my sister, the help she gave my mother.
This can’t be it.
Three days with Kara, and I ache at the prospect of saying goodbye.
We’ve been avoiding talking about it, but time is running out. My stomach flips as I slow the car and pull over to the shoulder. Cars whizz past, but we’re still in the outskirts of the city, a bank of snow-covered bushes blocking the view of patchwork farmland.
Kara stares at me.
“When can I see you again?”
“I...” Kara’s mouth opens. “I don’t know. Do you have any plans to come to the US?”
“No.” I don’t travel much for work anymore since most of the team works remotely. And the trips I do take are usually to our offices in London or Salisbury. “What about you? Do you have many clients here?”
Kara shakes her head. “I got you because of Nash. Most of my clients are in New York.”
“If I came to New York, could I see you? I can come, maybe once a month? I don’t want this to be over.”
