Chapter 24
Lanston
Ophelia.
Her body falls against the bed sheets. Our skin dried the moment we stepped back on the boat, and I’m glad for it. The salt is gone from her skin and the cold that the ocean brought to our bones has fled.
She opens herself to me, relaxing and taunting. Her flesh is warm as I spread my fingers across her body, softly tracing every tender curve and dip.
Words seem to escape both of us and I think it’s better that way—we are rather talented at talking ourselves out of moments like this one.
I kiss her collarbone, then the rise of her breast. She curls beneath me, eager for stimulation. A grin spreads across my lips as I lower my mouth to her nipple. I stroke her gently with my tongue, kneading her other breast with my palm. She whimpers beneath me and the groan that rolls up from my throat is one I’ve never known—a hunger so instinctual I fear I may lose myself to it, to her.
The edges of my teeth coast along her nipple. She breathes in sharply and grips my shoulders harder as I tease her. I smooth my hand down her stomach and lower, quickly finding her clit and stroking it in long, languid movements with my thumb.
Her back arches, pressing her stomach against mine and a throb of desire thrums through my core. I release her tit from my lips and look up at her. She’s staring at me through hooded eyes, drunk with the pleasure and want that simmers between us.
“Don’t fall in love with me, Lanston.” Her tone is remorseful. She breathes in sharply again as I push two fingers inside her. Then, voice filled with lust, she says, “Promise me.”
That’s not an easy thing to promise. We don’t get to choose who we fall in love with. It’d be much too simple if that were the case. And I’m already finding it hard to separate from her side. The year we spent longing for one another was not for naught. Our souls are anchored and tied together, tangled hopelessly by all the gods in old lore. They root for us; something does. I feel it down to the very core of my being.
My eyes hold hers and I murmur, “Only you would ask an impossible thing such as that, my sweet Ophelia. But I don’t make oaths I cannot keep.”
She moans as I pump my fingers into her. I love watching how she moves beneath me. The raise of her shoulder and the tilt of her jaw. I jolt when she fists my cock—she grips my flesh hard, squeezing and stroking me in rhythm.
“Fine, but you are foolish in doing so.”
“I’ll be a fool if it’s you,” I say against her lips. She leans into me and our kiss burns deep into my bones. My entire body feels more alive now than ever before. Our teeth skate over each other’s lips and our tongues chase one another feverishly.
I want you. I know you more than you could ever realize. I hear your cries for someone to understand you.
Her floral scent mixes with my musk and we can’t seem to stop. I don’t want to. She’s an ocean I’ve been swept up in, taken out into the depths where there will be no return. Together, we’ll be lost for eternity, and the sound of that is not unpleasant.
We steal moans from each other until we’re breathing harder. Her strokes on my dick become slow and she starts to give more attention to the tip. I rub her clit, slick with her arousal, and watch her brows pinch together with pleasure as her mouth lolls open.
She comes hard, riding the last of her waves on my hand as she works me and I’m spilling over her fingers a moment later. My entire body convulses, trembling and eager. My jaw flexes and I moan with the last of my release. She’s still reeling, clenching her thighs around my hand and digging her nails into my back.
We unravel. Our breaths are heavy as we roll in the sheets. I pin her beneath me and push her arms over her head. She throws her head back, exposing the soft flesh of her neck to my lips as I press kisses there and tease her entrance with my dick.
Ophelia writhes and wiggles her hips eagerly for me.
“Please,” she begs, and I can’t help the low chuckle that rises from my chest.
“I’ll do anything if you ask me like that,” I whisper, pushing the tip in just enough to make us both take a sharp breath. She bucks her hips and takes more of me in and the cry that leaves her lips sets something off in me.
I wrap my hands around her waist, letting my fingertips dig into her flesh and thrust inside her. Ophelia’s hands find my forearms quickly, squeezing them as tightly as her core is wrapped around my dick.
I look down at her, moaning and coming undone beneath me, eyes rolling to the back of her head as I pump into her. I’ve never witnessed anything so beautiful. So lithe and lovely and meant entirely for me.
I let my chest fall to hers, greedy for the skin contact and the taste of her lips, her tongue. I push my hips until I’m flush with hers and I’m sheathed inside her completely. Her fingernails dig into my skin and fire spreads through my veins.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” I whisper into her mouth, and she laughs against my lips. Urgent kisses between our words.
“Show me those unspeakable things you had in mind.” Her voice is liquid and injects me with dark, lustful thoughts.
I grind my hips against hers and she screams out, arching her back again as I fill her up completely. “Are you sure?” I say in a low, dangerous tone.
She nods and bucks her hips like she no longer controls her own body.
I grin mischievously and withdraw from her, pulling her to the edge of the bed where the standing mirror against the wall reveals the two of us, naked and slick with sweat.
“Oh.” She breathes out and I watch her swallow nervously.
I offer my hand for her to stand and she takes it, rising smoothly as I sit on the edge. “Turn around and face the mirror. I want you to watch me fuck you.”
Ophelia obeys me and faces the mirror, pushing her back against my chest as she slowly lowers herself onto my cock. I guide her hips with my hands wrapped around her lower thighs until I’m completely inside her.
I groan, wrapping my arms around her torso, cupping one of her breasts as I reach down to her clit with my other hand. My eyes lift to the mirror, where I see the two of us connected. A fresh wave of pleasure thrums through me as Ophelia’s half-lidded eyes watch my every movement. She bites her lip and squirms in my arms.
“Oh my God,” she says as if in a trance, letting her head fall back on my shoulder as I start grinding my hips into her.
My hand slides up her throat and to her chin, focusing her attention back on the mirror. “You have to watch. I want you to see yourself come undone.”
The words come naturally to me and I’m both horrified and curious at where these lewd thoughts derived. All I know is that this woman drives me to insanity.
I lower my lips to her shoulder and watch as my thrusts become her undoing. Her orgasm hits its peak as I buck my hips one last time and our bodies tremble together as we climax. She shudders and goes limp in my arms as my dick throbs inside her with my release.
Exhausted, I fall back into the sheets, holding her securely in my arms and adorning her cheek with kisses.
“I really like you, Lanston,” she whispers, like it’s a forbidden thing to say.
I smile and brush her hair back away from her face. “I really like you too, Ophelia.” So much more than like you, I want to say, but I won’t press her.
She looks dreary in the dim light of the yacht’s bedroom. The shades are pulled, making it seem like night is upon us. Perhaps it is; I’ve lost track of the time. She does that to me. Steals things as fickle as time.
We roll to our sides to face each other, and I admire her brown-green speckled eyes. She watches me in silence as I watch her. My soul feels naked beneath her gaze.
“What are you thinking about?” I whisper. The words hang between us and settle into the sheets.
She studies me a few moments more, then blinks slowly.
Ophelia sits up and leans over me. Her waist is warm against mine as she reaches below the nightstand and pulls out a cream-colored letter. The envelope is wrapped closed with twine, and a single dried red rose is tied down to it, thorns jutting out between the threads.
My chest grows heavy and I take a moment before saying anything. She sits back on her haunches, naked and bare to me, like a goddess of the sea. Her long hair covers her breasts as she stares down at the letter with a pained frown.
“I’ll read it outside,” I say softly. She looks up at me, more tired than I think I’ve seen her. Darkness collects beneath her eyes and I wish I could take all these demons from her. Maybe one day I can.
She nods with a small smile and holds the letter out to me—trusting me to get to know the parts she doesn’t show anyone.
I wait until she falls asleep. Nestled in the bed, worn out from our mischief.
By the time I reach the sun deck, it’s pouring rain. The darkness of the clouds bruises the sky, making the sea angry and drawing out large swells of waves.
If I weren’t already a phantom, I’d be terrified. The ocean has always frightened me. It swallows anyone whole, never to be seen again or found.
I sit at the end of a lounging chair that barely borders the edge of the canopy shielding against the rain. Water flicks up against my shins and the cold droplets ground me in this moment while the sky weeps.
The minutes pass as I hang my head, staring dully down at the dried rose. Ophelia. Do I have the strength to read something from your heart? I only gave her a laughable picture I drew, one of the pain I endured inside my aching soul. But she’s written down things that are explicit, black and white. True to her. Can I really read them? Is it okay for me to?
My back is arched, elbows set against my knees. I lift my head and look out into the storm. The sun peeks through in some places, breaking the darkness and shedding a few beams of gold down onto the angry gray sea.
I can read it with love—with understanding that perhaps only I have for her.
The twine twists as I untie it and set it down beside me. The rose remains laced between my fingers as I carefully unfold the letter.
Lanston,
You’ve inspired me, so I”m telling you a story—my story. In it, you will read many sad things, but my hope is that you will perhaps find answers to the questions that flicker through your eyes when you look at me.
I knew long ago that I was unwanted. It wasn’t one slight glare but many. Should a five-year-old know the sting of a belt? I knew it well. You learn quickly how to hide, how to plead, and, most of all, how to shut out the world.
It wouldn’t be fair to say I’m a nice person because I’m not, not really. I know I’m cold and distant. It’s the fail-safe that keeps my mind taped together in its fragile state.
Remember when I told you I was murdered?
It’s not pretty—the thorns are sharp, and they will pierce you.
This is the beginning of the end—the story of how I died.
Will you hear it?
I lower the note, crinkled where my thumb has pinched it. Seeing that my emotions must have gotten the better of me, I loosen my grip.
Who killed you, Ophelia, and why?
The rain eases and the sky shimmers with the last of the cold droplets. Ophelia’s note is snug in my pocket, waiting to be read again and again. Her rose still between my fingers, piercing my skin and drawing a slight sting.
Her thorns are prickly, but I’ll keep the cuts they leave forever.