Sorry to hear that, Dad. I’m always just a phone call away.
And a flight.
I freeze. Klein rubs circles on my thigh, a majority of the skin left bare by my shorts. He pauses the movement, replacing it with the gentlest squeeze. I know what it means.I’m here for you. It’s ok.
I type my response.
You’re welcome in the desert anytime. The saguaros and I would be happy to have you.
I love you, Paisley.
I love you, Dad.
I look up at Klein. The porch light is on behind him, but the navy blue night casts his face in shadow.
He motions to my phone with his chin. “How do you feel about that?”
“Good,” I answer, reading over the conversation.
“Good,” he repeats.
Soon after, Klein and I head for bed. After hastily packing because neither of us feels like being neat and methodical (our own rebellion against the end of our trip), we slip under the covers one last time.
This week has been a roller coaster from start to finish, but I’m ending on a high note. For the first time in a long while, my heart feels like it’s heading in the right direction.
We have a long day of travel tomorrow, and it begins early. But when Klein’s fingers trail up the inside of my thigh, I respond with vigor.
One more time with the window cracked, listening to the waves hit the shore at the same time Klein’s hips roll against me.
Another opportunity to have Klein in my favorite place, to let him carve himself into my memory of this room.
He holds my hips, my legs thrown over his shoulders, fingers disappearing into the crease at my thighs. His abs flex and ripple with the effort, and I trail a hand over his chest and midsection, feeling the muscles under my palm.
“Paisley,” he groans almost soundlessly, letting go of one hip only to capture a hardened nipple between twofingers and pinch it lightly. He bottoms out inside me, leaving me and then filling me again, until I press a hand to my mouth but keep wide eyes on him.
He drinks in my orgasm, his lips open and his eyes half-closed. With a chin tipped to the ceiling, he finishes with jerky movements.
We go to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and Klein presses a warm washcloth between my legs.
When we get in bed, he wraps an arm around my waist and tucks me into this front.
It’s the perfect ending to a tumultuous week.
CHAPTER 45
Klein
A golf cart.
A ferry.
An automobile.
An airplane.
Those are the modes of transportation that land us back at Sky Harbor International Airport in hot and dry Phoenix, Arizona.
We stand in baggage claim after collecting our bags, hands intertwined. I can tell Paisley doesn’t want to let me go. I don’t want to let her go, either.
