Chapter 15 #2
“I'm serious. Anyone else. Literally anyone. I'd take you running off and eloping with Jamie before Harper.”
“Zach.”
The shift in her voice straightens my spine.
“Yeah.”
“There's something I should've told you a long time ago.” She stops. I hear her pull in a breath.
Fuck me.
This is it, isn't it?
This is where she tells me she's already dating Chris. That she has been since she left St. Michael's and broke my heart.
I knew he was lying at the wedding.
“Chris kissed me at St. Michael's the night I told him I was leaving.”
“Oh.”
I'm going to kill him, and it's not going to be quick. It's going to be slow, painful and involve his hockey stick being shoved up his—
“For a second, I let him. I thought I might feel better.”
Feel better? Because I can't do that for her. Not yet, at least.
“Did you?” I ask, trying to hide my annoyance. Doubt I'm doing a very good job at it. Not my fault. I'm literally planning a man's demise while trying to listen to the love of my life.
“No,” she says sadly. “I pulled back and ran home crying because I felt nothing with him. Nothing.” She sniffles. “It's why I kissed you the next day, because I needed to know I could still feel something.”
She doesn't say anything more, and I squash the coaster against the table.
She's telling me this because she trusts me... and because Chris is miles away somewhere I can't punch him.
“I'm sorry,” she says quietly.
“You don't need to be sorry.”
“So, you're not upset with me?”
“I could never be upset with you, Honey. Fuck, I love you so much, it’s eating me from the inside out, but I can't be angry about you trying to find yourself.
You need that, and I don't want to be someone you're too afraid to tell the truth to. I want to be the first person you talk to. I want to be the one you tell about the first chapter you write, and the person you never run away from.”
I pause.
“I want to be the first person you tell when you've figured out what you want your life to look like; not be the reason it took you longer to figure it out.”
The ocean crashes against the ship as she takes it all in.
“That's why I'm going to leave you alone,” I say, meaning every word of it, even though it’s killing me. “I’m going to Rome, and I’m not going to ask you for anything before I go, because you deserve the chance to choose your own life first. I can’t give you that if I’m right here on the other side of a four-foot partition every morning. ”
Silence.
Long enough that it aches.
“Zach?”
“Yeah?”
“What if I don't want you to go?”
Everything stops except the waves.
She can’t be serious, can she?
The second I finally build up the courage to tell her that I’m backing off, she hits me with that?
“I'm so tired,” she says quietly. “Not of you. Just of... all of it. Of being this far into my life and still not knowing what I'm doing.” She exhales, and I hear it shake on the way out. “I’ve been on this ship for a week and a half, and the only time my brain actually goes quiet is when you’re nearby,”
My chest tightens.
“Which is inconvenient,” she adds, and I can hear a soft laugh after. “Obviously.”
“Honey—”
“I’m not saying I have it figured out. I don’t. I’m still the same mess I was when I got on this boat. I still can’t write. I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life.” She pauses. “I know I shouldn’t ask you this.”
I go completely still.
“Ask me what?” I say, even though I already know.
“Don’t go.”
The waves keep moving underneath us, and I stare at the partition like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
I already made this decision, but she’s sitting three feet behind a piece of fiberglass, asking me not to.
Fuck.
“Honeycomb,” I say, my voice rough.
“I know,” she says quickly. “I know, I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. Forget I—” Then, barely above a whisper. “I just don't want you to go.”
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
I hear her move on the other side, and when I look up, she’s at the railing, right at the angled edge where the partition drops low between us.
I push my chair back and make my way over to her. She watches me every step, and by the time I get to her, I can see just how glassy her eyes are.
Beautiful. She’s so fucking beautiful.
I cup her cheeks and she rests her hands on my arms.
“Honey,” I whisper, and that’s all it takes.
She tips on her toes to lean over the partition.
I meet her halfway, my lips crashing against hers.
Eighteen months. I’ve waited eighteen months for her to be this sure. Her hand comes up to grip the front of my shirt as she tries to pull me in. Unfortunately, the damn partition is in the way.
She makes a small, broken sound as she falls back onto her feet, forcing us apart. Her lips are swollen and glistening, and when she opens her eyes, all resolve is gone entirely.
“Come here,” I growl, reaching over the partition and resting my hands on her waist.
“What are you—”
I don’t let her finish the question. I just lift her clean over the balcony, earning a squeal from her as I bring her over to my side.
“Zach—”
I don’t let her finish. I kiss her again, swallowing her words. The kiss is instantly desperate, filled with all my pent-up hunger. My hands fist in her hair, tilting her head exactly how I want it as I devour her. She moans into my mouth, the sound shooting straight to my cock.
I walk her backward until her back hits the wall.
My hands slide under her thin T-shirt, and a rough groan tears from my throat when I realize she’s not wearing anything underneath.
Her breasts are soft and heavy in my palms; her nipples are already tight.
I pinch them lightly, rolling them between my fingers as she gasps and arches into me.
“Fuck, Honeycomb,” I rasp against her lips, grinding my hard cock against her stomach. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”
Her hands are all over me. She tugs at my shirt, and when she slips her hand underneath it, she scrapes her nails down my chest before boldly palming the thick ridge of my erection through my pants. She squeezes, and I curse, my hips jerking into her touch.
“Inside,” I mumble against her neck. “We need to go inside.”
“Why?” She breathes, her hands working on my belt. “No one can see us.”
I growl, kissing her fully as she slips her hand into my jeans and grasps my cock.
“If I fuck you against this wall,” I say against her lips, “the whole damn ship is going to hear you screaming my name.”
She gasps, her eyes darkening. “Maybe I want them to.”
Fuck it.
I hoist her up, and her legs wrap around my waist, her ankles locking behind my back. I carry her inside, kicking the door shut behind us. The room is dark, lit only by moonlight, and the second I lay her on the bed I’m on top of her, covering her body with mine.
She arches her back, rubbing her center against my cock through our clothes, desperate for friction. I shove her T-shirt up and latch onto one breast, sucking hard and flicking my tongue over her nipple while my hand squeezes the other.
Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me there as she whimpers.
“Zach,” my name comes out breathlessly. “Please.”
I release her nipple with a wet pop and look down at her flushed face. “Please what?” I grind my hips slowly against her, letting her feel every inch of how hard I am. “Use your words, Honeycomb.”
“I need you inside me.” She tugs at my shirt, trying to get it off. “I need you. Now.”
I sit back, yank my shirt off, and her hands are immediately on me, greedy and reverent. When her fingers brush over the honeybee tattoo on my left pec, she freezes for a second, taking it in.
“I didn’t know you got this, too,” she whispers.
“Got it after you told me you were leaving St. Michael’s.” Her eyes connect with mine, her eyes widening. “It’s you,” I say roughly, catching her hand and pressing it harder against my chest, right over my thundering heart. “It’s always been you.”
Her eyes water, but before the tears can fall, I’m kissing her again.
I take my time undressing her. Sliding that T-shirt over her head, revealing inch by inch of skin I've memorized but missed desperately. Her shorts and panties come next, and when she's finally bare beneath me, I just look at her.
“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious.
“You're so fucking beautiful it hurts.”
She reaches up, cupping my face. “Then stop staring and do something about it.”
I don't need to be told twice.
I kiss her neck, working my way down, sucking and biting until she’s squirming and panting.
“Zach—” Her hands are in my hair, tugging hard enough that it stings. “Stop teasing.”
I chuckle against her skin. “But you're so pretty when you’re desperate.”
She glares at me, but it's undercut by the way her hips are rolling, seeking friction that isn't there. I grin and continue my path downward, kissing across her stomach, her hip bones, the inside of her thighs.
When I settle between her legs, she's already wet. Glistening, and perfect.
I glance up at her, making sure her eyes are on me, and drag my tongue in one long, slow lick from her entrance to her clit.
Her reaction is immediate. Her back bows off the bed, her thighs try to clamp around my head, and she makes this broken, desperate sound that I want to record and play on repeat for the rest of my life.
“Fuck—Zach—”
I groan at her taste, then dive in. No more teasing. I seal my mouth around her clit and suck, flicking my tongue, then circling. She's writhing beneath me, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in my hair.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling to find that spot I know she likes. When I do, she’s loud, moaning and cursing and whimpering my name. It’s hot as fuck. Her thighs shake around my head, her hips grinding against my face as she chases the pleasure, and I let her.
I add a third finger, stretching her, fucking her deeper with them while my tongue works her clit with no mercy.
“I'm—” She can't even finish the sentence. “I'm going to—”
“Come on my tongue, Honeycomb.” I growl against her, my fingers never giving up. “Let me taste you.”
That's all it takes. She shatters, clenching around my fingers, her whole body going taut as the orgasm rips through her. I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs while she tries to catch her breath.
When I finally pull back, her chest is heaving, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are glassy with lust. She looks wrecked.
Exactly how I feel inside.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I crawl up her body, and she kisses me greedily, tasting herself on my tongue. Her hand dives between us, wrapping around my throbbing cock and stroking with urgent need.
“I need you inside me,” she begs against my mouth. “Right now.”
I kick my pants and boxers off and the second I’m bare against her; I nearly lose all my shit. She’s so fucking perfect.
She guides me to her slick entrance. I push in with one slow, deep thrust, groaning as her tight, wet heat squeezes around every inch of me.
“Fuck...you feel incredible,” I rasp, burying my face in her neck.
She wraps her legs high around my waist. “Move, Zach. Fuck me. Please.”
I pull out almost completely, then thrust back in. The bed creaks as I set my rhythm, diving deep with every thrust. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. I do it again, harder this time, and she moans.
“Yes—” She's panting now, her eyes squeezed shut as her nails rake down my back. “Right there—don't stop—”
I grip her thigh, spreading her wider, and pound into her exactly how she likes. I can feel her tightening again, fluttering around my cock.
“There?” I ask, doing it again.
“Yes—fuck—yes,”
I slip a hand between us, finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles while I keep thrusting. She's close. I can feel it in the way she's clenching around me, in the way her breathing has gone ragged.
“Come for me again,” I growl in her ear. “Want to feel your pretty pussy milking me.”
That’s all it takes.
She comes with a sharp, broken scream, her body seizing up as her walls clamp down around me. The feeling rips my own orgasm out of me. I bury myself to the hilt and groan her name as I spill deep inside her, pulse after pulse until I’m empty and shaking.
I pull out carefully and roll onto my back, pulling her against me, so she's curled against my side. She fits perfectly there with her head on my chest and her hand over my heart. She was made for me. I already know this.
I press my lips to the top of her head, listening to her breathing slowly even as she drifts off.
I lie there in the dark with her warm against my chest, staring at the ceiling with the gentle rock of the ship beneath us and the same thought circling my head.
I fucked up.