The words he withheld earlier are finally returned, direct and unguarded, and they’re preached like a testimony tattooed on his heart.
“I love you in a way that a sinner shouldn’t, like you’re an idol and I’m brought to my knees. I worship you above any god. I worship you when you don’t know I’m looking. Because I love you.”
I can’t breathe. My body freezes as his shaft tortures that sensitive spot within. My body ignites as I reach my apex, high on his words and his touch.
“Ohhh, God. Oh, Jack!” I moan loud and raw.
After I catch my breath, he makes love to me longer there, into the night as I suck his fingers. I cling to his muscled forearms, and bare his weight when I need to. I feel absolutely loved, physically and spiritually.
How can this not be right? How can this not be divine and holy? How can my atheist not know love?
In the morning, I find myself in his arms. The blankets are damp with the ocean’s mist. Seagulls caw above, and the scent of sand and surf fills my nose.
Lightly, I brush a black strand away from his ocean blue eyes, waking him.
“Good morning, sleepy head.”
“I always sleep well with you.” He grins, sweet and warm. “And now we can go to breakfast and you won’t have to blush. Only the stars heard us.”
My stomach tickles with a flurry of butterflies.
“I love you, Jack,” I reply,shameless.
He kisses my forehead but doesn’t say it back. Yet somehow, this feels like more progress.
We have another perfect day until the moment I dreaded arrives. The sun sets in the distance and Jack stands outside the truck, giving me a final kiss after I buckle my seat belt.
He studies me quietly.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
He smirks. “Whether you’ll fuck this up.”
“I won’t! I’m telling my dad as soon as I get back that I am not marrying Blake.”
He chuckles softly. “You should probably tell Blake first.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s true.” I frown, nervous.
He takes my hand and holds it to his cheek. “Text me tomorrow, either way. Just let me know.”
“Jack! I am serious. I am leaving him for you.”
He nods, his expression unreadable.
“Drive safe,” he says.
He steps back and shuts the door. His palm lays flat on it for a moment, like the second he pulls away, it’s over.
Or maybe that’s what I’m feeling.
He’s first to move, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he backs to the sidewalk.
I roll down my window as the truck pulls onto the road.
“You’ll see!” I call out, and drive away before he can respond.
Our three days are over. It’s time to face reality.
