Chapter 5 #4
She pulled back slow, lips tight, then took me deep again—deeper—humming low so the vibration shot straight through me. One hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach, the other braced on my thigh.
Water poured over us, steam thick, the boat rocking like it was urging her on.
She set a rhythm—slow, then faster, relentless. Taking me to the edge and holding me there, eyes burning into mine the whole time.
“Come for me, Ethan,” she whispered against me, voice husky, demanding. “The way you made me come for you. I want it. Now.”
That was it.
The command in her voice, the heat of her mouth, the way she took me so deep—everything shattered.
I came hard, groaning her name, hips jerking as pleasure exploded white-hot behind my eyes. Stars. Actual fucking stars. Wave after wave, pulsing into her mouth while she swallowed around me, milking every last shudder.
When it finally eased, she pulled back slow, lips swollen, eyes triumphant and soft all at once. I hauled her up instantly, crushing her to me under the spray, kissing her deep and breathless.
“Best late night ever,” she whispered against my mouth, echoing her earlier words.
I laughed, ragged, forehead pressed to hers. “Yeah,” I said. “And it’s not even over.”
I grabbed the towels again, rubbing her arms first, brisk and warm, drying her hair with the edge like she was something fragile I didn’t want to break.
Then myself, quick.
I dug around under the starboard bunk and found it.
My old flannel.
Faded red.
Paint stains. Sawdust ground into the sleeves from two summers ago when we rebuilt Artemis.
Should’ve thrown it out.
Never did.
“Hold up,” I said.
She lifted her arms automatically.
I slid it over her head.
Buttoned it slow.
One button.
Two.
Three.
The sleeves swallowed her hands.
It hit mid-thigh.
She looked ridiculously small inside it.
And way too cute for my own good.
She smiled up at me. “This yours?”
“Yeah.”
“Smells like you.”
My heart did something stupid and painful and warm all at once.
“Good,” I said.
Below deck, the cabin lights stayed off.
Just the bow porthole cracked open.
Night air drifting in.
Stars blinking through like we were floating through space instead of Boston Harbor.
The boat rocked soft and steady.
Like breathing.
Like a cradle.
We crawled into the berth under the thick blankets, still a little damp, still smelling like salt and soap and each other.
She curled into me without asking.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Head on my chest.
Hand flat over my heart.
My arm wrapped around her waist.
I could feel every inch of her through that old flannel.
Warm.
Real.
Alive.
She kissed my neck absentmindedly.
Slow.
Lazy.
Not trying to start anything.
Just… there.
My fingers traced her back.
Up and down.
Up and down.
The boat creaked.
Water tapped the hull.
City noise miles away.
“We’re safe out here,” I murmured into her hair. “No one’s gonna bother us. It’s just us.”
She exhaled soft.
“This is perfect.”
God.
The way she said it.
Like she meant it.
Like she wasn’t chasing the next thing.
Like this — right now — was enough.
“I couldn’t have dreamed someone like you,” I said before I could stop myself.
It slipped out.
Too honest.
Too real.
She lifted her head.
Eyes searching mine in the dark.
“It’s the same for me, Ethan,” she whispered.
And then she kissed me.
Slow.
Deep.
Hands sliding into my hair.
Mine tightening at her waist.
Heat building fast.
Too fast.
That dangerous edge again.
Her leg hooking over mine.
Her breath hitching.
My brain going white.
Everything in me screaming yes.
Now.
Right now.
But—
No.
Not like this.
Not because the night was magic.
Not because the boat was rocking.
Not because we were both high on adrenaline and salt air.
I wanted tomorrow.
I wanted breakfast.
I wanted daylight.
I wanted to actually know her.
I pressed my finger gently to her lips.
She blinked up at me.
Confused.
Breathless.
“Hey,” I murmured, brushing my nose against hers. “Too soon, baby.”
Her mouth curved. “Too soon?”
“Coffee in the morning,” I said. “Breakfast. A real date.”
She laughed soft. “Oh… you’re gonna wine and dine me, huh?”
I smacked her thigh lightly through the blanket.
“You bet your sweet ass I am.”
She snorted, then buried her face in my chest.
And just like that—
The fire cooled into something softer.
Better.
She tangled herself around me like she planned on staying.
And we fell asleep to the slow rock of the harbor.
Like two kids hiding from the world.
Like nothing bad had ever happened.
Like nothing bad ever could.
We stretched like lazy cats when we awoke that morning. There was no chance of sleeping in—the marina was already bustling with people going sport fishing, going sailing or just taking their kids out for a day on the water.
I tucked a piece of her honey blonde hair behind her ear, “I want to take you out later. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to see you again.”
She leaned into my touch. “Okay.”
We left the boat, hand in hand. She still carried her shoes down the dock. The early morning breeze went over us bringing the scents of Sunday morning—percolating coffee, baking bread and salty air. I’d never felt so many perfect moments as I did with her and it was just starting.
I hailed her a cab and we kissed slowly before she climbed in. “I’ll call you in a few hours…”
She smiled softly. Her lips swollen from mine. For such a firecracker she had soft sides. A vulnerability that made her sweet even though I had also seen her thorns. I was so far gone already for this girl.
I watched the cab until it disappeared. Whistled as I walked back to the bar form the night before to grab my car—one hand in my pocket, feeling like I owned the whole damn world.
I couldn’t wait until dinner.
That was the problem.
All day, my BlackBerry felt heavier in my pocket, like it knew something important was coming.
Every email I sent, every meeting I half-listened to, every glance at the clock—none of it mattered.
All I could think about was her mouth when she smiled like she wasn’t trying to, the way she tilted her head when she listened, like she was cataloging me for later.
Mike had called they already had someone else lined up for today, I was a bit disappointed but seeing Sage eclipsed playing for a few hours at the bar.
Now all I had to do was figure out a perfect first real date,
Dinner felt too… expected. Candles. Reservations. A version of myself I didn’t want to be with her.
I wanted something quieter. Something real.
So I packed my trunk like I was planning to disappear for an afternoon.
The bakery on Charles Street still smelled like warm yeast and butter when I walked in.
I bought bread I knew would tear instead of slice.
Cheese that left oil on my fingers. Grapes still cold from the fridge, strawberries so red they almost looked fake.
A bottle of white chilled enough to fog the glass, sparkling water because she’d mentioned once—just once—that she liked bubbles more than soda.
The blanket came last. Blue and white, soft enough to sink into. I slid the guitar case in beside it—my acoustic, the one my mom had just gotten me. The wood was worn smooth where my hand rested when I played, familiar, grounding.
By the time I parked, the air had that early-summer trick to it—warm, lazy, like the city had decided to stop pretending it was spring. May, but it felt like July had jumped the line.
I emailed her instead of calling. Slower. Intentional.
Meet me at the Public Garden. Big willow tree near the water. 4:30.
Her reply came a little while later.
I’ll be there.
I spread everything out beneath the willow, its branches hanging low like they were keeping a secret.
The blanket settled into the grass. The food looked almost obscene laid out like that—too much, too thoughtful.
I wiped my palms on my jeans, adjusted the guitar case for no reason, checked my watch.
Then I saw her.
She came down the path like she didn’t know she was being watched, sunglasses pushed into her hair, dress moving with her steps. She slowed when she noticed the setup. Stopped completely when she saw me.
Her eyes did that thing.
The flicker. Surprise first. Then appreciation. Then something warmer that hit me straight in the chest.
She smiled like she was trying not to make it a big deal, and that’s when I lifted my hand and crooked my finger, beckoning her closer. Come here. This is yours.
She kicked off her shoes at the edge of the blanket, toes sinking into the grass. I caught the faint scent of citrus and something floral as she passed me, the brush of her arm sending a spark up my spine.
“You did all this?” she asked, soft, like she didn’t want to disturb it.
“For you,” I said, and meant more than the afternoon.
She sat, smoothing her dress beneath her, eyes taking everything in again—the bread, the wine, the guitar. Her gaze lingered there, curious.
“You’re serious,” she said.
I laughed under my breath. “Terrifies me too.”
She reached for a grape, popped it into her mouth, watching me like she was filing the moment away.
The sun filtered through the willow leaves, dappling her skin in gold and shadow.
Somewhere nearby, water moved. The city felt far away, muted, like we’d slipped into a pocket of time that only existed for us.
I poured the wine, handed her the glass, our fingers brushing just long enough to feel intentional.
This wasn’t a hookup.
This was the part of the story you don’t realize is dangerous until it’s already over.
And as she leaned back on her hands, smiling at me like this was exactly where she was supposed to be, I had the strangest thought—
That if I wasn’t careful, I was going to belong to her.
The afternoon light in Boston Public Garden had gone syrupy and slow by the time we stopped pretending we were hungry.