Chapter 18
MILES
I start by unknitting her arms from their protective stance.
I hold her hands in mine, and when she leans in to kiss me, I don’t just take the kiss; I take all of her.
I inhale the scent of rain dried on her skin, all the heartbreak I caused her, and all the heartbreak anyone else gave her, and I keep it for myself, giving back only what she deserves.
Her energy shifts, and with an urgency she didn’t have before she clings to me, like she needs me to be closer, like she needs more of me.
She can have all of it.
Her needy hands find their way down to the parts of my body that still have clothes on.
Once she digs her fingers into the waistband of my shorts, I hook my elbows on the edge of the bench and lift my hips with the aid of a push from my good leg.
Abby manages to remove my shorts, taking her place on my lap again.
Whatever hardness I’d lost during our conversation is already back, more insistent than before, and with one less layer of clothing between us, the ache to be inside her only intensifies.
I run the backs of my fingers along her throat, over her collarbones, down the middle of her chest and stomach to where the line of her workout pants hits her just above her belly button.
On my way back up, I brush my fingers over one of her nipples, and she lets out a ragged breath from slightly parted lips.
I trace the same pattern with the same intentional and slow movement, down and back up, brushing over the other nipple.
Her chest rises and falls, quick with each breath.
She arches her back ever so slightly, begging without a word for more of my touch.
I trace the pattern one more time, down her chest and stomach, and this time my upward trail goes to her tattoo, lifting one of her arms and placing it on my shoulder.
She moves the other arm there as well, her fingers grazing the back of my neck.
I trace my number on her skin and tilt my head to press my lips against it.
I kiss her tattoo, and then the space next to it, trailing soft, wet kisses to her breasts.
By the time I take her nipple into my mouth, Abby is panting, and when my tongue flicks over that tender peak, the soft moan that escapes her lips nearly knocks all sense out of me.
I have to remind myself to take my time with her and not give in to my baseless, animal instincts.
While I play, mouth and fingers at work, Abby starts grinding on me. Rolling her hips against my cock, seeking relief from me. Even through the fabric of her leggings and my boxer briefs, it feels good. I love the way she’s using me, and I want more of it.
“Tell me how wet you are,” I say, my lips moving against her chest.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” she says, breathless. I can hear the smirk on her face.
“Cute,” I say, holding her hips still with my hands and lifting my face to meet her gaze. Her jaw hangs a bit slack from the sudden stop, her perfect lips pouty now.
“How about you find out for me?” I suggest.
It’s a question, an invitation, and—if she wants it to be—a demand.
Her eyes flicker with something dark and heady, her eyebrows raised in challenge. With one hand still on my neck, she maintains eye contact as she snakes the other down the front of her pants until the fabric covers about half her forearm.
Her arm reemerges and she holds up two fingers at eye level, wet and covered in her arousal. My cock stirs at the sight of it. Without a word she angles her fingers to my face and I part my lips as she slides her fingers inside my mouth.
Her salty, earthy taste is better than anything my memory could have conjured.
If I wasn’t already losing my grip on my self-control, this put me right at the edge.
I suck her fingers clean, drawing them deeper into my mouth, winding my tongue around her fingers.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, her eyes glazing over with pleasure.
She yanks her fingers out and drops her mouth to mine, kissing me violently, all heat and desire, pushing against me hard enough that my back digs painfully into the bench behind me.
I don’t care. The pain fuels my pleasure, something about it tapping into the athlete in me, where pushing myself to my limits felt like a reward.
I bruise her hips with my fingers, moving her against my aching cock.
I need to taste her. I need to be inside her. I need more than what we’re doing right now.
With great effort, I break away from our kiss, trying to catch my breath.
I push her hips up, off my lap, driving Abby to a standing position.
She steadies herself, looking down at me, brow furrowed.
I slide her pants over her hips, and she steps out of them.
Her pussy is eye level with me, her mint-colored thong soaked, the way I knew she would be from her fingers.
I catch her thighs, pulling her closer. I bury my face between her legs, inhaling the scent of her. My dick aches for her, but I exercise my last bit of self-control. I hook my fingers around the straps of her thong, pausing.
“May I?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod, running her fingers through my hair. I slide the thong down her legs, helping her step out of it.
I cup her ass, bringing her even closer. Understanding what I’m trying to do, she braces herself on the wall behind us, propping one leg on the bench, and straddles my face as I tilt my head backwards. My lips are right against hers. I am in heaven.
I tease her, sliding my tongue along her opening, wet and swollen just for me.
The noise she lets out makes my dick throb, and I take it as encouragement to do more.
I probe deeper with my tongue, sliding the tip of it over her clit.
She moans again, gripping my hair. I dig my fingertips into her ass, and this time I go all the way.
I taste her with the fervor of a starved man.
Because I am starved. I have wanted this woman from the day I saw her over a decade ago, and I couldn’t get enough of her then. I can’t get enough of her now.
I’m about to adjust to sit taller when she widens her stance, allowing me to bury my face inside her. I groan against her in approval, rocking her hips, encouraging her to take her pleasure on me, to use me.
She does, and I keep up with her motions, sucking and licking to elicit the most stunning noises out of her. I could come right now just from this, and eventually I have to stroke myself because this is too good. My dick is aching and I need some relief.
“Are you touching yourself?” she asks around panted breaths.
“Mhmm,” I murmur, creating a vibrating sensation against her.
“Don’t,” she says.
I slap her ass hard enough for her to cry out. It’s a cry of pleasure, with just a hint of pain. I would never have done it, except that I remembered Abby liked being spanked back in college. I was banking on her still liking it.
I grip her hips and move her back, giving me a little space. Her eyes meet mine.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be telling me what to do right now,” I say.
“Says the guy with the bad knee,” she quips.
“I don’t need two functioning knees to bring you to yours.”
With that, I position her over my mouth again, giving her one slow, long lick.
I do it again. And again and again until her legs are shaking and her cries of pleasure are echoing through the lighthouse.
Her climax is delicious. The taste, the sound, the way she literally can’t stand afterwards and sinks down onto my lap again.
She rests against me, her head on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around my waist, and I hold her, resting my cheek against her head. We sit like this in silence for a couple of minutes, and I realize the rain has let up outside.
“It’s not raining as hard,” I say. “Do you want to go back?”
She sits up straight, my arms falling off to the side.
“We’re not done here,” she says and starts to pull at the waistband of my boxer briefs. I lift my hips again so she can remove them fully, and when she settles back on my legs, her wetness coating my thigh, and wraps her hand around my still-aching cock, I nearly black out.
It’s not like it’s been a long time since I’ve been touched, but being touched by Abby is something else entirely.
She seems to remember exactly the kind of pressure I like and how fast or slow to stroke me.
I’m not a complicated man, and the truth is that Abby could touch me any way she wanted and I would probably find it pleasurable.
I tangle my fingers in her hair, bringing her neck to my lips. I suck at the sensitive skin there, knowing damn well it’s going to leave a hickey when I’m done.
“Are you leaving marks?” she asks, her voice laced with pleasure.
“Mmhmm,” I murmur against her skin
“Why?”
“To mark my territory,” I say into her ear.
“But I’m not yours,” she says, her voice a sultry whisper.
“You are right now.”
I claim her mouth then, kissing her in a way that shows her exactly how possessive I feel. To her credit, she meets my fire with her own. She tightens her grip on me, stroking with urgency, like she’s chasing her own pleasure by working me.
I’m losing my grip, feral and clutching the blanket for some semblance of control. It feels so good to be touched like this. To be touched by Abby. I want more, but I want her to decide if she wants more.
“I’m going to come, Abby,” I say, raspy and desperate.
“And if I want you to come inside me?”
I meet her gaze then, searching her eyes for any hint that she’s teasing or doesn’t actually want that. But she gives me a slight nod.
“Say it. Tell me what you want, Abby.”
“I want you to come inside me.”
“Do you have—”
“I have an IUD,” she says. “And I got tested after Todd, and I’m all clear.”
“I got tested after my last partner as well. Clear for me too.”
“Good.” She plants a soft kiss on my lips.
“You want to do this?” I ask.
“I want you.”
Whether she just means she wants me right now, like this—sexually—or whether she means she wants me…like, all of me, including the physical bit…my head can’t sort that out. It sounds like she wants all of me.
But now’s not the time to clarify.
Now is the time to make her desires a reality. And it doesn’t matter, really, because however she wants me, she can have me.
“I’m yours,” I say.
As I say it, I realize I don’t just mean I’m hers in this moment. I mean I’m hers whether she wants me or not. I’m hers if she never speaks another word to me. I’m hers if she asks me to wait another ten years for her. I’d wait a lifetime even if it means I only get another eight days with her.
There isn’t a multiverse or a timeline where I don’t belong to her body and soul. So if this is the last of what time I get with her in this one, I’m not going to waste a second of it.
I guide her hips to the right position. She hovers over me for a second, and then she touches her forehead to mine as she lowers herself onto me.
Both of us let out a quiet noise between a moan and a sigh.
It’s filled with the relief of this moment, days of tension, maybe even years of it, breaking at our reunion.
A small voice buried deep in my chest whispers, finally.
As Abby moves on me, controlling the pace and intensity, her hands holding my neck, my face, running over my shoulders and chest and back up to my neck, looking at me like I’m the best part of her day, it becomes crystal clear to me that I will never be able to do this with another woman ever again. Nor do I want to.
It isn’t just that she feels good on me, or that she seems to know exactly what we’ll both like—it isn’t just physical. I feel as if my soul is stretching outside of me to tether itself to her.
Her breathing quickens and hitches, the furrow of her brow deepening. She tightens her grip in my hair to stay grounded, reflecting the building tension in both of us. She’s gorgeous like this, sweaty and trembling; I know she’s going to come again, and I want to come with her.
She lets me take over as I intensify my hold on her, sinking my fingers into her firm, muscular hips.
I watch as she cries out, relishing in her clenching and squeezing around me.
I can’t help but let go too, clutching her to me as I tip over the edge.
I dig my teeth into her shoulder to try to muffle my cry, but it only makes her pull my hair harder.
The pain and pleasure of it all is pure ecstasy.
I hold her to me as I come down from where that orgasm sent me, focusing on her steady breaths against my chest and the way all my muscles finally seem to relax. Neither of us moves for a long time.
I couldn’t name the feeling at the time, but it dawns on me as our labored breathing echoes around us, absorbing into the walls, our pleasure etched into the history of this landmark.
Familiarity. This was so familiar to me, but not in the déjà-vu way.
Not in the “I’ve been in this moment” before kind of way.
It’s the feeling I had every time I stepped onto an ice rink. It’s the feeling I had walking into my childhood bedroom. It’s the feeling I have felt every time I’ve been around Abby for the last eight days.
It feels like coming home.
Abby feels like home.
Call me a believer or a conspiracy theorist, but I get it now. Home is a real feeling. The feeling I’ve been looking for for years is right here and it’s real. It’s not a myth and it’s not in a city, a state, a building, or a career. It’s in a person.
It’s in this person.
“Did this count?” I ask as Abby readjusts, nestling her head onto my shoulder.
Her hands skim down my arms, finding my hands. She interlaces our fingers. Her lips rest against my pulse point.
“Yes. This counts.”
Her words are whispered against my skin, my heart expanding as I take them in. She’s been fighting her own desires to be with me, and it sounds like her fight is over.
Maybe this means she is on the same page as me. That she wants me as much as I want her and all we need is to have a conversation and make it official. If we want to be together, why wait?
I know I don’t want to wait. Abby is it for me, and I’m not going to risk losing her again. I’m already hers and I want nothing more than to make her mine again.