“Not everything.” I haven’t figured out how to keep her at my side in a way that doesn’t appear transactional on the surface.
She glances toward the lodge, where Mariel and Joel are standing on the porch talking to a group of volunteers, and I realize she thinks I’m talking about the NorthStar partnership.
That’s fine. She doesn’t need to know yet.
On our walk this afternoon, she talked about joy like it’s a foreign language she’s teaching herself to speak. What does joy mean to you, she asked me, and I fumbled for an answer. Until recently, I would have rolled my eyes at the idea of joy beingsomething worth pursuing. I measure satisfaction through deals closed and influence asserted. I don’t think joy is something you pursue. It’s more a feeling to recognize and appreciate, like the contentment of sitting on a dock with someone and not having to say a word.
I built my adult life around the certainty that if I never let anyone close enough to disappoint me, I’d never get hurt. Stockpiling money and power the way I used to collect Lego sets seemed like a foolproof strategy. It worked for years. Then I carried this woman into my villa, and she took me apart, brick by brick. I’ve realized there are things in the world that matter more than being in control. And she could wreck me as easily as a toddler topples a block tower.
Across the fire, Glenn finishes the song to muted applause, no one willing to break the spell he’s woven with his voice. Avah yawns, and I pull her to her feet.
“Come on. You’re falling asleep.”
“I am not, and he hasn’t even gotten to “Sweet Caroline”.”
“We’ll add it to the playlist on the way home.”
I take her hand as we leave the circle like it’s totally normal, and no one gives us a second glance. The path back to our cabin is lit by solar lanterns staked into the ground every few feet. The sky above us shines with an absurd amount of stars, similar to that tropical night that changed everything. But it’s different now. I’m different. Because of her.
“So tomorrow should be fun,” she says, swinging our hands between us.
“Or torturous, depending on your purview.”
“No need to flex with the fifty-cent words, Stanford. We’ve got this. I’m a huge asset in a team competition.”
She’s an asset, full stop, and I’m for sure going to be a disappointment. I hate doing things I don’t excel at in front of people I want to impress, but Avah makes me want to do it anyway. She’s not about to blow sunshine up my ass and tell me I’llbe great, but with her, failing feels survivable. Like the worst that could happen is we capsize a canoe and she’ll laugh and call me useless, then look at me like I’m the only useless person in the world she cares about.
I shut the cabin door behind us as she moves into the room ahead of me, reaching for the hem of her fleece.
But I catch her hand. “Let me.”
The shades have been drawn, and when I turn off the overhead light, the room goes dark other than a sliver of pale moonlight filtering through the curtain and the dim glow from the porch lamp outside. But it’s enough to see the way her eyes darken when I step closer.
I pull the fleece over her head—slowly, so that she knows every layer I remove is a choice—then set it on the chair by the bed. Underneath, she’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, and my fingers graze the warm skin of her stomach as I lift it, causing her breath to stutter.
The simple cotton bra falls from her shoulders as I unclasp it and step back. I watch her chest rise and fall as she stands in front of me, bare from the waist up, eyes blazing like we’re playing a game and she isn’t going to be the one to tap out first. That’s okay. She’s already won everything that matters.
I lean in and trail my lips across her collarbone, so fucking grateful when she tips back her head to give me better access. I take one nipple and then the other into my mouth as I unbutton her jeans and ease them down her hips along with her underwear. I’m suddenly desperate to be worthy of the fact that she’s willing to be exposed in this way while I stand here fully dressed. It’s a level of trust that I’m damn sure not going to make her regret.
I also can’t stand not to feel her skin against skin, so shrug out of the flannel and pull my T-shirt over my head. The moment the fabric is absent, her hands are on my chest, my muscles tightening at the contact. Fingers trembling, I undo my jeans and shove themdown along with my boxer briefs, the self-control I pride myself on dangling by a single thread.
She pushes me back onto the bed and straddles me, her knees on either side of my hips. The heat of her body against mine is enough to make my thoughts blank out. Her hand wraps around me, positioning me at her entrance. And when she sinks down, the sound I make is raw and embarrassing and I don’t care.
She starts to move, and I realize I’m not alone in wanting to savor this. Her hips roll in an agonizingly slow rhythm. I grip her waist, not to control the movement, but because I need to touch her. Her head falls back and I raise up enough to kiss the hollow of her throat, tasting salt and the campfire smoke that clings to her skin.
“Look at me,” I command gently.
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, those rosebud lips parted, and the unguarded expression on her face guts me. I understand the walls she’s built to make sure no one gets close enough to leave a mark deeper than skin. But she’s letting me inside her fortress and I’m going to treat it like the precious fucking sanctuary it is.
Her breathing goes ragged as she picks up the pace, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave tiny crescents in my skin. I match her speed, a hand splayed across her back while the other slides between us. When one finger finds her clit, she jerks and bites back a moan. I keep the pressure steady, letting her grind against my hand while she rides me.
I know she’s close when her thighs start to tremble, and her body tightens around me. I press harder against that swollen nub and her body arches, and then she’s coming. It’s hard and pulsing and pushes me toward my own release. Her nails score my shoulders, and then suddenly, before the wave has finished cresting, she leans down and fuses her mouth to mine.
My brain stops functioning.
She tastes like marshmallow and something infinitely sweeter. For a full second, I don’t move. Because this is the thing she said noto. The line she drew that night in Bora Bora when she needed to keep a piece of herself safely locked away. The rule that kept the last wall standing.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, the breath mingling between us so that I’m not sure where I end and she begins.
