Page 113 of River & Rue

“Break for me, Rue. Say my fucking name.”

I sob it, my body taut and shaking violently as I come harder than I knew was possible. Just when I think I can’t take any more, he reaches between us and pinches my clit. I break all over again, clawing at his shoulders.

“Yesss, fuck. Made for me. My beautiful ruin.”

He falls into me, or maybe I fall into him. My arms wrap around his neck. Our open mouths collide. His thrusts grow rougher, faster, before his hips punch forward and still. Every muscle above me tenses. The throb of his cock is tangible inside me, his raw, stuttering moan sweet nectar on my tongue.

Holding him tightly, I absorb as many details of this moment as I can. Our slick, heaving chests. The tickle of his hair and the scrape of his jaw. Our mingled scents, delicious and heavy. The sensual glide of his hands across shoulders and down my arms. His flexing thighs under my heels as he rolls his hips lazily.

I collect them all and tuck them deep inside like tiny glowing pearls of treasure.

He nuzzles my nose.

“Feel it?”

My voice lost to the maelstrom of us, I answer him with a kiss.

38

river

​. . .​

eye of the storm

Every bird in the forest comes awake with the sun. One feathered bastard in particular has been splitting my head with a rusty saw for the last thirty minutes. I can’t pretend to be asleep much longer.

I’ve been awake since Rue slipped out of the tent as the shadows lifted from black to gray. She hasn’t come back, and I’ve been telling myself I haven’t followed because I respect her independence and need for alone time.

But that’s a lie. The real reason is responsible for the pit in my stomach. As the tent brightens, the truth sharpens and the chasm widens.

There’s a stain on the outside of her sleeping bag. Beneath a layer of fine condensation, the darker spot stands out like an accusing eye. I fucked her without a condom, so hard my pelvis, glutes, and abdominals are sore. Even my fingers ache from gripping the nylon for leverage as I rutted into her like an animal.

I’ve never lost control like that. Given my own soreness, she needed aftercare badly, but all I managed to do was bundle her into my arms and yank the other sleeping bag over us before passing out.

The worst of my shame, though, is that I’d do it again.

When my muscles itch with the need to stretch and move, I finally throw off the sleeping bag. Despite the warmth of the sun cooking the walls of the tent, the air clings to the night’s chill. I shiver my way into a pair of pants and a thermal, pull on socks and hiking boots, and tie my hair back.

Pausing at the door, I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m a mature man who can handle emotionally complex situations.

The pep talk doesn’t do shit.

But one of Gideon’s little wisdoms does.

“Courage isn’t something you wait around for—you take it for yourself by abandoning desired outcomes. To be fearless, embrace recklessness. Say ‘fuck it’ and throw yourself into the unknown.”

I mutter “fuck it” and unzip the tent, ducking through the opening. Like Rue is my personal magnetic north, my eyes veer to her. She’s about thirty feet downstream, sitting on a low, flat boulder and writing in a notebook.

My heart lurches toward her, my feet eager to follow, but I don’t think she’d appreciate me taking a leak right next to her. I head into the woods behind the tent instead, snorting at the thought of marking my territory like a coyote. Once that’s handled, I clean my hands, brush my teeth, and grab granola bars from the food locker. I eat one, toss the trash, and pocket the other two.

Then I abandon the desired outcome and throw myself into the unknown—or in this case, walk with counterfeit composure into the unknown.

When Rue hears me, she closes her notebook and turns. With the glare off the water, I can’t tell if her smile is strained or welcoming until I’m ten feet away. Then I see that like her eyes, her smile contains a contrast of warmth and wariness.

I keep walking. Keep breathing. Keep smiling with my heart in my throat. Privately, I wonder if when Gideon said to abandon outcomes, what he really meant was abandon hope.

Stopping a few feet from the boulder, I present my offering.