Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He follows me there. His face presses into my neck, his hand fisting in my hair at the nape, and the groan he makes when he comes apart is unguarded and real.
Just him. Just this. I'll carry that sound with me for the rest of my life.
Afterward, he pulls me into him, my back to his chest, his arm around me, and his chin at the top of my head. The room is dark and still, but peaceful.
That’s when it happens, when I least expect it. Something in my chest that’s been threatening to break cracks wide open. My nose tingles, and my throat tightens. My eyes fill and spill over, and I can’t stop it. I don’t really try. There’s a bittersweet release I can’t understand and don’t really want to.
He holds me tighter. “Hey,” he says softly against my hair. “I’ve got you.”
That’s all. Just that. I’ve got you.
But does he? He might want to, but I know this isn’t forever. I know this is goodbye.
I press my face into the pillow so he doesn’t see me completely undone. His arms tighten around me, and I close my eyes because, for one night, for this one borrowed night, I can let myself be held by the man I love.
I fall asleep like that, tears drying on my cheeks.
Chapter Nine
DECLAN
I've been awake for an hour, maybe longer. I stopped checking my phone sometime around four. The room is gray with early morning light, and the city below is hushed. Bridget's asleep on her stomach, with one arm thrown across my chest, her bright hair fanned across the pillow like poppies in an open field.
She’s so beautiful like this, at rest and naked, vulnerable and open. Fuck it, she’s beautiful no matter what she does.
I’m trying to hold it all together. I always hold it together now.
Maybe this is my penance.
I close my eyes and remember every moment of last night. We barely slept. I took her in the shower, and she delighted in every small thing—marveling at the piles of plush towels, giggling at the chrome bidet, teasing me by dumping shampoo into my hair and lathering it all over my body until I finally stilled her—her wrists above her head, pinned to the tile, my mouth on hers before I traveled the length of her body and worshipped her. When she was near panting and needy, I bent her over and took her there, the steaming water pounding on both of us and drowning out our moans.
We dried off and napped, naked, and when we woke up, I took her again, slow and sweet, savoring the feel of her skin against mine. We ordered room service and snacked, and I did wicked things to her with the whipped cream I ordered before she got sassy with me. Then I bent her over the foot of the bed and took my belt to her until she squealed and begged and came with a scream that made me feel ten fucking feet tall.
We languished in bed, then she sat on my face while she took me in her mouth, and I cursed hell and praised heaven. We came together and collapsed. The night went on like that—her body and mine, learning each other in the dark, giving and taking, falling apart, and starting over.
I will remember every second of it because we both know there will never be, can never be, another night like this.
The sun is coming up soon, a tiny strip of light peeking underneath the pulled blinds.
It’s time to go. Fuck it all to hell.
The later it gets, the more of a risk we run. I need to bring her home and make sure nobody sees, make sure she's alright.
But for now, I lie still and take inventory of the room, delaying the inevitable. I want to burn this night into my memory.
I smile thinking about how she lined up the miniature bottles on the bathroom counter last night, smelling each one with the same focus she gives everything. Her laugh at the front desk. The way she nearly lost it when I said “James and Mary Murphy,” pressing her lips together with that particular look she gets when she's fighting a smile.
I'm not going to think about that. I'm not going to think about how beautiful she is when she comes apart on my mouth, or the way she holds me like we were made for each other, or the sound of her voice when she gives herself over completely. She makes love the way she does everything—alive, unencumbered, entirely herself.
She stirs and makes a small sound, not quite awake. Her fingers curl against my side. Something in me responds to that, and I lean in closer.
I need to get us up. I need to find my phone, get back to where we parked, and back to our lives before the city wakes and someone spots us. Outside this room, my life is pawing at the door, ready to break it down.