Miracles happen.
Sage tugs on my sleeve.
“Downstairs?” she asks.
Not even a question.
I nod.
We leave the main cabin for them and duck below deck.
The door slides shut behind us with a softthunk, sealing off the noise of the harbor.
Instantly it’s warmer. Smaller. Quieter.
The air feels thicker down here.
There’s barely room to stand straight.
She presses into me before I even turn around.
Hands in my shirt. Fingers curling into fabric like she’s afraid I might disappear.
Her mouth finds mine and everything else?—
the week
the office
the questions
the Yellow Book
my friends
my past
—all of it just…
gone.
Like someone cut the power.
The bunk is too small for anything graceful. We half fall onto it, tangled up, laughing against each other’s mouths before it turns into something hungrier.
Her breath hits my neck.
“I want you,” she whispers, voice rough.
My brain short-circuits.
It’s too tight, too dark, too close.
Skin on skin. Hands everywhere. Her legs sliding over mine. My fingers tracing her waist like I need proof she’s real.
Every time I’m with her, it’s like the world shrinks down to just this.
Just us.
