Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
But that was pointless. Time was not on my side.
She caught me looking at her in the mirror and smiled over her shoulder. “Hey.”
I went into the bathroom and wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, pressing my lips to her shoulder. I needed to make the most of every moment we had. “Hey.”
She wrung out her things and spread them on a hand towel to dry. “There. That’s a little better. Want me to rinse yours?”
“No. I don’t give a fuck about them.” I kissed the back of her head. “Your hair smells good.”
“Thanks.” She rested her arms on top of mine, leaning back into my chest. “You feel good.” Then she turned to face me, ran her hands up my chest and down my shoulders. “Tell me about your tattoos now.”
“That could take all night, and I have better ideas.” Already my dick was showing interest in how close her hips were to mine.
She smiled as she traced the Arabic lettering on my left deltoid. “Indulge me a little. What’s that say?”
“It says, ‘I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.’”
“That’s beautiful. But also sort of sad. What is it from?”
“The Madman, by Khalil Gibran. He actually wrote it in English, but I liked the look of the Arabic better.” I also liked that most people couldn’t read it. My connection to the sentiment wasn’t something I enjoyed explaining to anyone.
“Did you design it?”
“I draw all my tattoos. But someone else does them.”
“What about this?” Her hand moved over the tiger on my left forearm. “Why a tiger?”
“I like the way they move.”
She nodded, running her palm over the ink covering my right shoulder and upper arm. “And this one?”
“A Maori tribal design.”
She drew a line with her finger down the center of my chest and over to the side of my rib cage, where I had decided to put the one tattoo I thought of as hers. It was an abstract drawing of a mermaid, done in sweeping minimalist curves. She’d once told me her name meant sea and she thought of mermaids as her spirit animal. “Ooooh, I love this. Did I ever tell you how much I love mermaids?”
“I don’t remember,” I lied.
“Does it mean anything?”
It means part of you is always with me. “No. I actually drew it for someone else, but he decided on a different design, something more traditional. So I kept it for myself.”
She bit her lip, nodding slowly as she studied it. “It’s beautiful.” Then she looked up at me wistfully. “Maybe you’ll design a mermaid tattoo for me someday. Maybe you’ll even do it.”
I swallowed hard. Heard my neurologist’s voice.
You should be prepared to lose some fine motor control on your right side.
She focused on her fingers moving across my chest again. “I could come visit you in Portland or something.”
I didn’t say anything, and she looked up again.
“Would that be okay? To come visit you sometime?”
Words refused to form. I knew my silence was worse than a lie, but I couldn’t speak.
Her cheeks went pink. “Sorry. That’s probably too forward of me.”
“I just—can’t make any promises,” I managed, hating myself.
She put on a face so brave it nearly broke my heart. “I get it. Really. And if all we have is tonight, so be it. I’ll think of it as an unexpected gift. A second chance for the goodbye I wanted back then.”
Because I didn’t trust myself with words, I kissed her, and felt desire stir inside me again. Heat spread from the center of my body. My heart began to pump harder. My cock began to stiffen, tapping against her thigh.
She smiled and reached down, taking it in her hand. “Already? I’m impressed.”
“Good.” And because I didn’t want to spend the entire night fucking her in my hotel bathroom, I took her by the shoulders and steered her out into the room. Then I swept her off her feet and carried her over to the bed, laying her on top of the sheets where I’d rested earlier. The bedside lamp was on, and I reached to switch it off, but she grabbed my arm.
“Leave it on,” she whispered, reaching for me. “I like seeing you.”
I stretched out above her, settling my hips between her thighs, sealing my lips over one perfect breast, kneading the other with my hand. She gasped when I circled her taut little nipple with my tongue and dug her heels into the back of my legs when I sucked it into my mouth. Vowing I’d spend more time on her now that the first orgasm was out of my system, I lavished attention on every inch of her skin, and I didn’t let her put her hands on me. I kissed her in places I’d never kissed anyone—the inside of her elbow, the back of her knee, every single one of her toes. I swept my tongue across her collarbone, up the top of her spine, along the crest of her perfect round ass. I touched her in places I knew she liked and discovered new ways to make her moan and sigh and plead, her body quivering beneath me.