Page 136 of River & Rue

“Love the feel of you gushing around my cock. Love you gripping me like you’ll never let go. You want my cum in this perfect pussy?”

I gasp for air. “Yes. I want you dripping out of me all day.”

He hisses, his cock jerking. “Fuck. I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.”

I sink my fingers into his hair and take his mouth in a deep, sucking kiss. His control unravels, his hips punching up in erratic thrusts. I pull his hair, bite his lip, and clench around him.

“Oh fuck, fuck.”

He thrusts one more time, hard and deep, and comes with a low groan. As his cock throbs, he whispers between kisses how much he loves me. And I whisper the declaration back, over and over again.

We relax in increments, our sweat cooling, our kiss mellowing to a slide of lips and exchange of breath. I play with his hair, teasing my nails over his scalp; he caresses my back, circling and kneading.

When he stops, tensing slightly, I immediately know why. And for the first time in memory, I don’t flinch at the thought of someone touching my scars. They’re mementos of the past. Nothing more.

Holding his gaze, I reach behind me and guide his hands lower.

“It’s okay,” I whisper.

He swallows hard. Heartbeat thudding fast against my chest, he smooths his palms over the small patches of raised skin.

Tears glisten in his eyes. “So strong. So brave. So beautiful.”

Glowing warmth builds in my chest. As it spreads through my body, buoyant and energizing, I realize what I’m feeling.

Happiness.

And when I look over my shoulder a few minutes later, my happiness condenses into stinging pressure behind my eyes.

“Oh my god.”

River grunts as I jump off his lap, but I’m too distracted to say more than “Sorry” as I skirt around stray palettes and paint-smeared rags, drawn like a magnet to the tall easel in the corner of the room. The displayed painting has River’s signature blend of expressionism and realism, but the tone and style are completely different from the rest of his work.

Halting a foot away, I stare, teary and transfixed. I don’t realize I’m shivering until River pulls his T-shirt over my head. His arms wrap around me from behind, warm and solid, and his chin comes to rest on my shoulder.

“H-how did you know he was blond?”

“No idea. I just did.”

I laugh weakly. “Magic.”

He kisses my shoulder. “Of course it is—it’s yours. What do you think? Did I get the maple right?”

The maple—my maple—dominates the vertical canvas. The background is perpetual dusk or dawn, faint stars shining, an unseen sun glowing behind the tree. In the foreground is a field of flowers.

On a branch near the top of the giant tree, a ray of sunlight illuminates two small figures sitting side by side.

Fearless. Smiling.

They wear daffodil crowns.

epilogue in vignettes

​. . .​

part 1

rue