105 Ginger

105

Ginger

We spent the next two days in a bubble. We only went out in the evening, to take a walk on the beach as the sun was hiding behind the horizon. We’d have an ice cream on a patio somewhere. The rest of the time, we enjoyed ourselves as if we were on vacation and the years before had been a fleeting mirage.

In the mornings, Rhys would take Leon to the pool. The boy splashed, smiled, and laughed. He loved the water. I would lie on a towel in the grass and pretend to read, but really I was just watching them. I couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t help it at night either when Rhys would read him Peter Pan out loud after dinner before putting him to bed. Leon would breathe evenly, relaxed, as he looked at the two of us sitting next to him.

“You know he can’t understand anything you’re saying, right?

“He’ll retain something,” Rhys replied.

“Rhys, he’s a year old.” I laughed.

He ignored me and opened the book. He read for a long time, maybe for Leon or maybe for himself, because once the baby was asleep, he continued awhile longer, following the lines with his finger the way children do, so absorbed I didn’t dare interrupt him. I recognized that edition, the golden edges of the pages, the hardcover, but I didn’t say anything until we were back in the living room.

“I thought it never reached you.”

“It didn’t. I managed to get it back later.”

“Later? When?”

“It’s a long story. Forget about it and come here.” He pulled me, but I tripped and wound up sitting on his lap on the sofa. I didn’t get up as we stared at each other. Then Rhys leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. “How many times have we said goodbye, Ginger?” he asked, and his warm breath made me tremble.

Goodbye. We would hear that word again the next day, when he left us at the airport at noon. I shook my head. This was different than it had been last time, less intense, but more painful in a way I wouldn’t know how to describe. Sadder.

“This is the fifth one, I think…”

“And maybe the last.”

“Maybe…”

We were so close that I barely had to move to find his lips, graze them, savor them again. Rhys grunted, leaned back, and reached up my shirt. And this time I was the one who lost control. Who needed it more than him, sooner. I felt for his belt buckle as he bit me on the neck, leaving marks on my skin. I pulled his shirt over his head and straddled him. I don’t know how we got the rest of our clothes off. All I remember is…what I felt. Touches. His fingertips pushing between my legs. My sex seeking his, taking him in. My hands in his hair. Me riding him back and forth. Strength. Intensity. Moaning into his mouth, unable to abandon his lips until I had reached the sky with my fingertips.

Sweating. Holding him.

And kissing him the whole night through.

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