SUMMER
Iwake to the stir of Everett’s arm leaving my chest.
“I fell asleep,” I say, disappointment leaking into that admission.
My intentions were noble—wait for Everett to get back to the room and finish the apology I started—but my anxiety-high must have plummeted post-concert and emotional exhaustion took me under before he got back.
“I didn’t want to wake you.” The warmth of his breath skitters across the exposed skin on my neck. I didn’t fully realize how attached I’ve grown to that sensation until I began counting how many opportunities I had left to feel it. The final grains of sand in the hourglass of five weeks together. A sudden ache develops at the thought of this being the last time.
With the room cloaked in blackness from the curtains, I have no idea what time it is. I’m going to guess early by the morning wood that is pressed to my backside. Now that I’m more alert, I recognize our legs are also tangled. His hand is splayed on my bare stomach, and fingertips skate across the smooth surface. A shiver passes through me.
“You cold?” He reaches for the covers that we seemed tohave kicked halfway down the bed while sleeping. Despite my bare feet, with the human furnace next to me, I didn’t miss them. He drapes the thin sheet over my shoulders anyway before his hand returns to its spot, drawing circles that are scooting dangerously close to the waistband of my pajama shorts.
I lose all reason when his hand dips beneath the thin cotton. Forget all we had to discuss as it travels further south. This isn’t why I came here, but I can’t expect to carry on a conversation with the back-and-forth glide of his finger. My hips rise off the bed to meet his movements, my grip twisting the edge of a pillowcase, eyes pinching shut. Heat coils exactly where I need it to.
“You’re sooo good at this,” I draw out, then turn to kiss him. I’m soaking his hand, my pajamas, the sheets, his thigh as he wedges it between my legs. I may be sorry for the panic I caused him last night, but I can’t apologize forthis. For coming here when I’m so glad I did. For stealing more time with him. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to tell him how I feel. That I’m going to miss him more than I can imagine.
“I’m not ready for this to be over,” I say, clinging to his body.
He pauses. Knows what I mean. Confirms it when he rests our foreheads together and grips the back of my neck. “I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear you say that.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”Has he thought about that? What waiting for us will look like?
Tortureis all I can imagine.
“I meant what I said, Summer. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m in this. It’s only you for me.”
“It’s only you for me,” I repeat back, losing myself in his kiss, drowning beneath the pressure of my arms pinned above my head. He threads our fingers together before towing hismouth down my neck and dragging his tongue over the inked heart on my chest.
“Fuck, this tattoo is sexy,” he says. His voice sounds rough like the scrape of sandpaper. I’ve never had to explain its meaning to him. Even now, he doesn’t ask. A part of me wishes he would. The word in the middle of that heart is all I want to utter.
Stay.
Stay.
Stay.
We’re living in a fantasy world, pretending we never have to leave this room. Never have to stop touching and tasting and exploring each other. Memorizing the way we fit together.
“I need you,” I beg as he hooks a finger under the thin strap of my tank top. It drops off my shoulder and exposes my right breast. I expect him to linger and watch in the same way he has every other time he’s touched a part of my body this morning. Not this time.
Impatient fingers, calloused from years of rubbing against guitar strings, scrape up my sides and tear off my shirt. It flies and falls somewhere on the hotel floor. His boxers get kicked off next, my sleep shorts too. Then there’s nothing but perfect stretch as he buries his cock inside me.
“Look at you, taking what you need.” He watches proudly as I meet every one of his thrusts. He sweeps the hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes so he can get a good look at the picture of pleasure that’s undoubtedly painted across my face.
What I needed to see is if everything that transpired in the last twelve hours would be a deal breaker for him. If our conversation would derail everything we built. He said he was okay after the concert, but I’m not sure I believed it yet. Words don’t hold a lot of meaning without action, and his actions tell me we’re going to be just fine. I believe if wecan make it through this—the threat of an ex and his secret exposed—we can make it through anything
In one swift motion, he drags me to the edge of the bed and hooks my legs over his shoulders. He enters me once more. It’s everything I need, his hands squeezing my breasts and my own drawing out the aroused state of my clit. Muscle tension builds and builds for several minutes until finally combusting. A volcanic rush surging through my system and melting us both into the mattress. We stay that way, spent, for a long time. Only parting for a minute or two to clean up and return right back to bed.
“I’m glad you came.” He sighs.
I’m glad I came too.
When I wake a second time, Everett’s shadow flickers in and out of the strip of bathroom light reflected on the opposite wall. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the room’s not huge, and he didn’t shut the door.
“Yes, Can I please get a dozen roses? Harrison Boulevard. Thank you.”
I lean back, tucking my legs to my chest. He approaches the bed in my favorite glasses with his hand tethered behind his back.
