As long as the orgasms don’t kill me.

Seventeen

Lincoln

When I finally push inside Whitney, my balls are drawn up so tight, I’m afraid I won’t last beyond the second pump. I force myself to slow down and look into her eyes. They’re hazy with the remnants of her last orgasm, and her lips are curled into a feline smile.

I will never tire of that expression for as long as I live.

“I love you, Blue, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving to you just how much.”

“I told you, you don’t have anything to prove.”

“I do, and I will. Just wait.”

I drive into her three more times, and when her inner muscles clamp down tightly on me, I lose myself in her body.

The rest of my life won’t be long enough. I need forever with this woman.

When dawn breaks, I regret the fact that I didn’t pull the drapes closed last night, because the bright morning light is impossible to sleep through. My body is curled around the woman I never want to let out of my arms again. The woman who gave me solace last night when I would have otherwise sworn I wouldn’t find it.

As much as I want to avoid the feelings of grief trapped inside me forever, I know I’ll have to deal with them eventually. But not yet.

Whitney stirs and lifts her head. “So bright.”

“I know. I’ll close the curtains, and you keep sleeping. I’ll come back to wake you up in an hour.”

She must only be partially awake, because she mumbles something and tugs the blanket closer to her face. In seconds, her breathing shifts back to the even pattern I’ve memorized.

I wish we could rewind to the morning we were at my house, and I could leave her sleeping in my own bed, except this time I wouldn’t fuck everything up by jumping to conclusions when I read the news headline.

What’s done is done. The only thing I can do is move forward and prove to her that I’m not going to fuck up again. Never again.

I pull on a T-shirt I left in the drawer the last time I stayed here and my pants from yesterday, then leave the room quietly. When I venture downstairs, I find my grandfather and my sister both in the dining room. McKinley has her laptop next to her plate, and she works while stealing bites of toast. Commodore reads the paper as steam rises from his coffee. Both of their heads lift when I step into the room.

“Anything new this morning?”

McKinley glances up at me. “Not yet. I have an idea I want to run past you, though.”

My grandfather narrows his gaze over the paper at her. “What kind of idea?”

“The kind that both of you are going to think is crazy, but I think is smart. And since I’m in charge of the resort . . .”