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“Oliver, don’t stop. Faster. Deeper.” At her begging, my hips piston in and out of her.
Soon I’m close, and I try to draw my climax out, wanting to wait for her. Once again in sync, eyes hooded and heavy, Wren arches her neck and pulls me closer. I let loose, spilling into her on a growl as her body tightens and convulses with her orgasm.
After, we fumble with our clothes in hand up the stairs to her bedroom, and before I can pull back the covers, she slides open the balcony door. The crisp night air smacks my chest, shaking off some of my sleepy haze.
She grabs her pillows and pulls the edge of the duvet. “Outside.”
I pause, half in the bed, half not, surprised. Usually, I’m the one coaxing her onto the balcony. The nights are getting cooler, but I love how it fills me with memories of the treehouse, of us at our most innocent and when we were the closest. It was our favorite place. We were kids, and our love, our connection, was so pure and so real.
We are making our way back there. I believe it with all of who I am. I only wish we didn’t have to go through the hellfire that is Dot Malone to get there.
“You sure?” I grab the other pillow.
“You’ll keep me warm.” She winks and grabs my wrist.
I bring my face really close to hers. “I promise I will.”
She tips her head back and brings her lips to mine. “Like you, it reminds me of the treehouse. It always felt like our own little world. No one else existed, just us.”
I nod and one of my fingers trails a path down her neck. “The best times in my life were spent in that treehouse with you.”
“Mine too.”
We snuggle under the blankets, under a canopy of twinkling lights.
“You warm?” I kiss the top of her head and inhale her familiar fresh scent.
“Uh-huh.” She nestles into my side, head resting on my collarbone. “You know, we never did get this close in the treehouse when we were younger.”
Under the comforter, her cool fingers skate over the bare flesh of my abdomen, making me shiver in the most enjoyable way. She giggles at my reaction, and I rest my hand on top of hers, trapping it to keep it from wandering any farther.
“We did. Don’t you remember the time the zipper on my sleeping bag broke and you let me sleep with you in yours?” I squeeze her close. “Mind you, it was all innocent.”
“Yes, it was, and even back then, I loved you like I love you now.” She glances up at me, a small blissful smile dancing on her lips. “We may not have known it then, but we were meant for each other.”
“Definitely.”
Chapter18
Wren
Oliver pulls slow, shallow breaths through slightly parted lips while sleeping. The strong lines and angles of his face are relaxed, smooth, and serene.
The small crescent-shaped scar above one eyebrow—the one he got from falling from my treehouse in third grade—teases a nostalgic smile from me. I want to trace the arc with my fingertips but don’t want to wake him.
The sight of him knocks me breathless. At a little after six in the morning, I have half a mind to jump back under the covers with him. This is when everything is perfect. Just the two of us and no room for the outside world. Slowly, I slide the glass door closed and head downstairs to leave. I can’t stay and know he will lament waking up alone.
Last night was melancholy and wonderful, all at the same time. We were together and that’s what mattered the most. But we are both dealing with a lot right now. We’re both trying to figure out a way to be together with the least amount of damage to what matters most to us.
Despite everything, I didn’t sleep so well. At first, we both lay awake, each trying not to let the other know that we weren’t asleep. Eventually, he drifted off while I lay awake for several hours, staring up at the stars.
First, I was heartbroken over Oliver’s news about his father. He never really knew the man, and now that he is gone, there isn’t anything he can do or say to the man to unburden his emotions.
Second, I spent far too long mulling over how best to stop Dot from killing the program. Lara’s tidbit of news might have nothing to do with Dot, but even if it doesn’t, she could still pull the plug.
Then it hit me. The solution is simpler than I thought—but not necessarily easier—and that’s when I realized I’ve been looking at the problem all wrong.
I have to stop Dot. She is unpredictable and untrustworthy. Even if by some miracle, we are able to come to an agreement, I have no way of believing she would actually follow through.
