“Grandpa built the house when he remarried, but it’s not big enough for more than two, so when Mom moved back here, he bought the camper for her. And now it’s mine when I come here to visit.”
This would be fun, exciting, I told myself. I was going to spend the night in a camper with Trey in the woods on an island. I had an idea for a book now. A suspense story, full of love and sex.
I kept thinking silly things like that while I showered, and even when I climbed into the clean sheets Elaine had laid out for us, I couldn’t stop. She’d left a note wishing us a good night. What a lovely woman.
I looked up at the roof of the camper, lit up by the lantern Trey had taken from a trunk that he used as a table. Outside, an owl was hooting and the wind was rustling the trees. I thought I could hear plunking sounds—scattered at first, then rhythmic. I listened closer. It was starting to rain.
The door opened and Trey came inside wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. In the soft light, I could see water droplets shining all over his body, dripping down his arms, his chest, and his belly, falling and soaking into the white cotton of the sheets.
“It’s raining,” he said.
“I realized that,” I responded, not taking my eyes off of his body.
I was almost ashamed of the scenarios that played out in my head. When I looked into his eyes, I realized he must have known what I was thinking. He was serious, very serious. I felt exposed as he kneeled on the bed, his eyes telling me of his intentions, of promises of future kisses and caresses, of knowing, smelling, tasting each other in a perfect embrace.
Sparks of tenderness flew.
Madness overtook us.
My body yearned for his.
And his shouted out for me.
I got on my knees in front of him, grabbed the edge of my T-shirt, and pulled it over my head. He observed every inch of my nakedness as though peering into my soul.
“I can’t believe I ever forgot this.”
My nerves were raw, waiting for him to touch me, to see his hands on my body. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to know him again.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me. My hands on his firm back, his tight waist, his abs contracting as I tore off his towel. It was all so different from that first night. He was so different. I was.
His lips touched mine, and we fell down on the bed, panting. I moaned as he touched me. He tickled my belly button and reached into my underwear, and I arched my back. I could feel him smiling as his lips traced a line from my neck to my stomach to my thighs. He kissed them, giving me goose bumps.
I felt it all: every soft touch, every stroke, so sweet it was painful. I melted in his mouth like molasses. He took me to the limit, tormenting me. I wanted to cry, to beg him to free me so I could touch the sky. Over and over, he took me to the edge and then drew back.
Then he climbed back up me, leaving a trail of kisses that led to my lips. I could feel his torso heavy against my breasts. I trembled inanticipation, wriggled my hips, tempting him, and he groaned into the hollow of my neck. Then he slipped inside, slow, but deep.
And just as the storm broke out above us, a storm of kisses, caresses, and moans broke out in the camper: whispers, breathing, groans, hips grinding, bodies touching, rocking, swaying, faster and faster, harder and harder, letting go.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
21
Between You and Me, There’s Nothing But Us
I had the feeling I’d done and lived more things in a week than in the rest of my life combined. And that past life looked so far away from me in that tiny camper—that tiny space of belonging—where our bodies lay, full of peace.
I closed my eyes and held my breath when he moved, grabbing my waist and pulling me in to him. I could easily imagine a world inhabited by just the two of us. Two people lucky enough to find each other. Two people whose kisses and whispers told each other they had decided not to part. To give it a go. To see what would happen. To keep trying a thousand times if necessary until they got it right.
I smiled. When he exhaled, I could feel it on my neck, a perfect rhythm, like a soft pounding of drums. Outside, the birds were flitting about and chirping. One of them lighted on the camper. I could hear its tiny feet scratching the metal. The forest was full of life.
Trey kissed the back of my neck, and I turned around to look at him. We didn’t say anything. There was no need to, there were no words that could explain what we felt. Sometimes the lips, the hands can say it all… As we traced each other’s features in the bliss of the day after, a day that had followed a night that still felt as fresh as though it had only just began, I thought of how precious momentswere: a thing could break, a thing could disappoint you, but a moment preserved in time was something that would last forever.
“Breakfast is ready!” Elaine yelled from the cabin.
“You hungry?” Trey asked.
I nodded, finding the question funny, somehow.
