Beautiful.
Fucking perfect.
She’s wrecked. Ravaged.
Satiated.
We lay there for a moment. An eternity.
Then I carry her to the bathroom. Start the shower. Get us both under the spray.
Afterward, we tower off, and I find lotion in the cabinet. The unscented kind.
I lead her back to the bed.
“Lie down,” I tell her.
She does. Face down on the bed.
I work the lotion into her skin. Shoulders. Back.Hips. Buttocks. All the places that will remember me tomorrow.
“You had to use the bathroom, huh?” she murmurs into the pillow.
I smile, remembering our earlier wordplay. “Absolutely.”
She laughs. Soft and satisfied.
When I’m done, I pull the blanket over us both. She curls into my side. Head on my chest.
“The cabin tomorrow,” she says sleepily. “We’re going to be safe, right?”
“Boringly safe,” I promise. “I’m a billionaire, remember? We have resources.”
“Good.”
I hold her until her breathing evens out. Until I’m sure she’s asleep.
Then I lie there in the dark thinking about tomorrow.
The cabin. The woods. The shotgun locked and cased and waiting.
Everything ready to go.
But for the first time in years, I’m not thinking about control.
I’m thinking about trust.
About letting go just enough to let her in.
About the fact that maybe, I’m allowed to have this.
Notinsteadof Isotta. Not as areplacement.
Just.
This.
A new chapter.
