“I know,” she says, lips brushing over mine.
Her nails bite into my shoulders when I shift my hips.
“Fuck.” I drop my head back against the seat, and her hands paint down my chest when she starts to move.
“Do you like—” Nervousness flashes across her face, and her teeth dig into her full bottom lip when a moan catches in her throat.
“I like you.” I groan, hands digging into her waist. “Whatever you want, Ren. Use me.”
She does.
Slowly, at first. Hesitant, almost, until I guide her hips with my hands while she learns what she likes all over again.
“Fucking perfect.” My fingers bruise her skin, and I sink my teeth into her neck when her chest arches into mine.
I swallow her moans when my thumb finds the centre of her, moving in slow circles.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, tongue tracing along the shell of her ear.
She likes it, when I talk to her. Noises get louder, her fingers scrape my skin, her teeth catch my lip, her hips move faster.
So I keep talking. Telling her all the things I wish she knew about me and mostly about her. How good she is. How she feels wrapped around me. That I could do this with her forever. That I’m so fucking lucky.
There are these other things I wish she knew, too, but I keep those to myself.
“Miller—” she breathes when I can feel her start to tighten around me. “Are you—I want you to feel good, too.”
“I do. Really, really fucking good,” I tell her through panted breaths, hands still on her waist, hips moving to meet hers.
“Are you sure?” she whispers against my neck, fingers scrambling across my shoulders.
“I’m good to go anytime.” I look down to where our hips meet; another groan scrapes up my throat when I see my cock, entirely soaked with her.
She slows, a tiny noise of disbelief in the back of her throat, and my eyes, hazy and blown out entirely, flick up to hers. She looks like I feel—swollen lips and flushed skin, but so, so beautiful. My fingers grip her chin. “Baby. Trust me. I’ll go when you do.”
She gives a tiny nod, but her eyes never leave mine and mine never leave hers. Not when her hands slide up my shoulders, fingers skating over my neck until she cups my face. Not when her forehead falls against mine again and she tightens around me when I drag my teeth and mouth against the sensitive skin of her wrists, telling her to ride it out. Not when she finally lets go and when she does, she makes me come so hard I can really only see the stars that live in her eyes.
And not afterwards, either, when she blinks at me, fingers twirling in the waves at the nape of my neck.
“I’ve never—” she says softly, clear eyes surveying my face. “I’ve never had—it’s never been like that for me.”
I press my mouth to the inside of her wrist, and I feel her pulse, this thing made to keep her alive by a heart that sits in her chest I want so fucking bad, and I whisper, “Me either. It’s never been like that for me either.”
Her teeth scrape into her bottom lip, her fingers carve across my forehead, pushing back my still sweat-damp hair, and she places one under my chin, so she can tip my face up to hers.
“Miller,” she breathes.
“Ren,” I murmur.
It’s just us, all alone, and there’s no way that out here—in this place, on the water, sitting in a boat—the scene of the worst crime where the universe stole something from me, that I’d be lucky enough for it to give me something I’d get to keep. It feels a bit like I might get to keep her when her mouth moves against mine, and I think, maybe, she was supposed to belong to me and I was supposed to belong to her all along.
Ren
I feel a bit like they do on TV or in the movies, entirely changed, padding on quiet feet across the sun-soaked living room to make coffee in the kitchen.
Except, I’m not a young girl who spent the night with a boy for the first time.
I’m a thirty-two-year-old PhD-less nothing who spent the night with someone who actually seemed to enjoy her company.
