Chapter Eighteen
“Well, this isn’t a crypt at all,” said Josie, her brows dipping so low they nearly touched her eyelashes. She scanned the outside of Peyton’s house, taking in the lemon tree and lavender bushes. “I’m actually disappointed. Where’s the iron gate, the foreboding gargoyles and the overgrown ivy?”
Peyton pulled a face, then smiled to herself as she slipped the key out of her pocket and unlocked the front door. “It wasn’t you I was protecting from my house. It was my house I was protecting from you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” chuckled Peyton, keenly aware of Josie’s hands on her waist. There hadn’t been a moment after they had snuck out of the party that Josie’s hand wasn’t on her body. Her hands were either resting on her leg, smoothing down her arm, or trailing along her lower back.
They were like opposite poles of a magnet, stuck together in the most delightful way, and Peyton had zero intention of breaking free.
Sorel was never very affectionate. Her love language was more gift-giving and less touching.
There were times when hours passed, and the most Peyton could get was a peck on the lips.
Which was hard for Peyton, given that she was actually a touchy-feely kind of person.
People never knew that about her. Even Sorel had been slightly stunned when she had found out Peyton liked to fall asleep cuddling.
Like bodies tangled kind of cuddling, while Sorel preferred sleeping on the far end of the king-sized bed.
Peyton caught herself mid-memory and tried to push it away.
But then she stopped. It wasn’t a bad memory. It didn’t have to be pushed back.
None of them did because they didn’t matter anymore. That well of anger had dried up as if overnight. It was as if Josie had stood there holding the sun, evaporating every last drop.
The front door swung open, and Peyton flicked on the hallway light. “Welcome to my—”
But she was cut off by Josie’s lips on hers, by the woman pushing her up against a wall while simultaneously kicking the door shut with her foot.
“Bedroom?” mumbled Josie, moving her mouth lower. Her hot breath was wet against Peyton’s neck while her fingers were hitching the skirt up and feeling Peyton’s thighs. And then she was running a palm over Peyton’s panties, making her squirm.
“Down the hall,” muttered Peyton, curling her fingers behind the woman’s neck and bringing their lips back together. She stuck her tongue into Josie’s mouth, tasted the sweet candy canes she had sucked on earlier, and directed them to the bedroom.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Peyton found the switch and flicked it on since there was zero time for darkness—not when she wanted to admire every soft, tasty curve of Josie’s body.
“It feels like an honor to be in your bedroom,” Josie muttered. She had just unzipped Peyton’s skirt and had dropped it to the floor and was now hooking her fingers into the top of her panties, tugging them down to her feet.
“You’re making it sound like it’s a sacred place,” Peyton said, pulling Josie’s top over her head. She gave an enormous smile when Josie’s breasts bounced free.
Nothing sexier than a sexy elf costume with nothing but a silky pair of panties underneath.
“Well, it kind of is,” said Josie, glancing around the room. She pulled Peyton’s hips until they were flush with hers. “I think I’ve had several wet dreams taking place in this room.”
“And? Does this feel similar?”
“Pretty much.”
When all the clothes fell away, discarded to the floor like they were hindrances, Josie gripped either side of Peyton’s waist and guided her onto the bed.
When Peyton inched to the top, she fluffed a pillow behind her head, opened her legs a little wider, and watched as Josie climbed on top of her, settling between Peyton’s thighs.
“I lied,” whispered Josie, running a palm over Peyton’s cheek, and then coiling her hand behind her neck. “The real thing is a hundred times better.” Then she pulled her face closer until their lips locked once more, tongues slipping and sliding over one another.
For a while they just made out, enjoying each other’s company.
Taking their time. They had all night, after all.
The morning was hours away. But then that feverish sort of ache settled in without notice and things sped up, moving into something more, something wild and intimate and desperate.
It felt different from the last time they had sex.
It was like there was a depth to their movements, as if they weren’t two bodies working against each other, resisting, fighting the attraction—more so on Peyton’s part—but rather two entities moving together in a seamless natural union.
It felt like they were always meant to exist together.
If Peyton didn’t know any better, she’d think they were making love.
Josie adjusted her body, moving one leg over Peyton’s until her hot center met Peyton’s equally as hot core and slid over it.
People often spoke about seeing a blinding white light during a near-death experience.
But Peyton wasn’t dying. In fact, she hadn’t felt this alive in ages. It was a sensation that only grew tenfold when Josie began to roll her hips, circling harder, faster, so that her pelvic bone hit Peyton in that exact spot that made her body shiver and shake and scream.
Driving her hips in faster circles, their wet heat sliding over each other, Josie gripped Peyton’s hardened nipple between two fingers, amplifying all the feels.
“Fuck. That’s so good,” Peyton moaned, closing her eyes, wishing time would stand still. She wished that whatever was happening between them would go on in an unending loop.
“Don’t come,” Josie instructed. Given that Peyton’s stomach was already a tight coil, and an earthquake was basically thrumming through her hips, she was doomed to fail.
As if Josie read her mind, the woman stopped, and then moved herself down, kissing Peyton’s navel, trailing the tip of her tongue all the way down to the end of her stomach.
“Open your legs,” whispered Josie, guiding Peyton’s legs up, her knees slightly bent. When Peyton’s heels were digging into the bed, she let her legs fall apart, opening herself up as much as necessary for Josie to lick a slow, teasing path from her clit to her entrance.
Peyton’s body shivered like a violin string plucked by an unseen hand.
But Josie didn’t eat her up like Peyton had expected, at least not yet. Instead, the woman brought in two fingers, both playing in Peyton’s wet heat, moving to her thighs and then back again, as if she wanted to prolong the moment, stretch it out forever.
But Peyton couldn’t handle the wait. Her body was on fire, and every inch of her was screaming in want, in need. She was desperate not just for a good fucking, but for something more.
Josie curled her fingers deeper in Peyton’s sex and began to pump, slowly at first, then speeding up as Peyton’s hips rolled with the movement. She was desperate for that pressure that would take her over the edge.
But then Josie stopped.
Again.
Peyton wanted to shout at her. She was so damn close. Her orgasm was building brick by brick, and she was beginning to run out of bricks.
But then the woman stuck out her tongue and lapped her up like she was the last bit of pudding in the bowl, and a few more bricks came falling out of the sky.
Tangling both hands in Josie’s soft hair, Peyton guided her to the mind blowing spot.
Though Josie didn’t need any guidance. That was clear when less than a minute later, that blinding light of pure unadulterated happiness struck Peyton right in the center of her chest.
Taking a deep breath in, hoping it would settle her racing heart, Peyton was just about to shift her weight to climb on top of Josie when the woman giggled. “I already finished.”
“When?”
“When I told you not to.”
Laughing, Peyton collapsed onto the mattress beside Josie.
The back of her hand rested on Josie’s bare stomach, pulling air back into their lungs.
For a few minutes, they both lay like that, eyes on the ceiling.
And then Peyton, who was feeling far too light and fuzzy, asked, “Will you tell me the rest of that story?”
Josie turned onto her side and ran a finger along the contour of Peyton’s waist and hips. “How much of the story do you remember?”
“All of it,” said Peyton honestly. Captain Sebastian had lost his wife to the sea and during one severe storm, his pirate ship had moored at the cave, which Peyton assumed was Smuggler’s Cave at Avila beach—or something along those lines.
“Okay then,” Josie said. “I’ll continue where I left off.”
But first Peyton rolled over on top of Josie, settling between her thighs, cheek resting against the woman’s sternum.
This was the closest she could get to her at that moment.
She listened to Josie’s heartbeat, and smiled when Josie smoothed her palms over her bare back, pressing them even closer together.
Josie kissed the top of Peyton’s head, her mouth lingering for a second before she skated her palms up and began the story.
“While Sebastian’s crew slept, he ventured deep into the cave, armed with only a sword and an ancient map passed down by his father’s father.
Hours had gone by when he finally came upon a chest. But there was nothing but a golden locket and a slip of parchment within its barrel.
Angry, he cried out to his father’s father for misleading him, and kicked the chest, watching as the locket fell open, revealing his wife’s beautiful face.
Stunned, Sebastian fell to his knees and found the parchment.
It unfurled itself within his hands, revealing a message written in Elsa’s delicate writing: ‘To my dearest Sebastian. Though the sea took me, our love endures. Seek the heart.’ Overcome with emotion, confused by the instruction, Sebastian stumbled further into the cave and fell to his knees when he reached a crystal-clear pool lying undisturbed.
In the center was a heart-shaped gemstone, pulsating with an otherworldly light.
As Sebastian reached for the gemstone, gripping it in his trembling fingers, he felt a hot liquid-like warmth flood through his veins, a sense of peace like no other.
It was an assurance that Elsa’s spirit would always be with him.
But then the gemstone dissolved into ivory white sand, and suddenly, as if a dream had erupted into nothingness, he was standing back on the deck of the Elsa, the storm gone, the ship miraculously repaired, and the crew embarking on a new voyage—a brighter one. ”
The story ended.
Peyton didn’t know what to say at first. Parts of the story—Elsa being lost to the sea, her constant presence, Sebastian’s pain, Elsa’s resurgence, and the resolution that she was never coming back—hit her closer to home than she would’ve liked.
But maybe that was the point. Sorel was gone and Peyton had to move on.
If fate had decided to take Sorel away, then perhaps it was guiding her toward something new, something far better.
Peyton tilted her head up until her chin was resting on Josie’s chest and gazed into her honey-brown eyes. It was too dark in the room to count the freckles on her nose, but she already knew there were fourteen, give or take. “I think I understand the story.”
“You do?” asked Josie, a soft smile on her lips.
Peyton nodded. “I do.” She then curled her fingers behind the woman’s neck and pulled her closer.
She inched up to her at the same time, and then kissed her harder than she had ever kissed anyone.
She was determined to memorize Josie’s lips, her tongue, her touch.
Not that it was necessary. Peyton wanted to kiss her again tomorrow and the day after and the week after that.
A little presumptuous, yes, but that fuzzy, intoxicated, supremely happy feeling coursing like adrenaline through her veins made all things seem possible.
“I know you don’t believe in fate—”
“If fate does exist,” interrupted Peyton. “I think I owe her a thank you.” She slid down the bed, placing her face between Josie’s legs to show her just how grateful for fate she really was.
For the next thirty minutes, she made sure neither of them had a moment to catch their breath, not until they were both blissfully broken.