Page 117 of Every Beautiful Mile

His mouth is so close to my ear that between his hot breath and deep voice, I almost pass out. I’ll be embarrassed by the reference later, but in this hot moment, the reminder of how his leg had given me exactly what I needed winds me tighter than a spring.

His sweatpants are off, and he’s so ready that my thighs squeeze in a vain attempt to ease the ache that throbs.

“Open.”

It is one, deep, demanding word I absolutely obey.

My legs spread, and within seconds, he’s stretching me open with his first delicious inches and digging his fingers into the back of my thighs. One leg around his waist and the other pushing against the ground on my tiptoes, my body trembles.

The carnal look in his eyes lets me know this isn’t going to be a sensual journey of learning each other’s bodies, this is going to be a hot, quick fuck, and it has me burning.

I’m already sore. Earlier, I wondered if I’d ever be able to sit again after our time in his bed, but back to the wall, I will gladly beg this man to destroy me. I let him stretch me open and slam into me with enough force we might take down the wall.

We strike a rhythm—his life-altering thrusts pinning me to the wall with the grinding of my hips—and he hits a spot inside of me that’s so deep, I can’t see straight. It’s an aching kind of bliss that vibrates through me with every filling slam.

When he speaks, it’s only to have the sentences broken by the movement of his hips.

“The way… you’re moving… is the hottest thing… I’ve ever felt.” His teeth are clenched in restraint like he’s holding himself back, and it’s the last thing I want.

My back arches off the wall, and when our eyes meet, I nod—he knows.

His next thrust is so unhinged I feel it in my throat.

Between the rain and the breathing and the slamming against the wall, it’s an erotic symphony that sounds like angels singing. Dirty, filthy, smutty angels.

He trembles—he’s close. I use the wall as leverage and drive my hips against him as hard as I can. With one final soul-shattering thrust, we climax together, exploding like two asteroids crashing in the night sky. The only thing I can do is let out an unpracticed, unfiltered, unrestrained cry.

His movement slows but doesn’t stop, rocking slowly until we both ride out the last waves of bliss. My body goes limp at the same time his forehead drops against the wall.

If he wasn’t holding me upright, I would have dripped into a puddle on the floor.

“Apparently, I like sex against the wall more than against your leg,” I say in a husky voice with a laugh.

His mouth hovers over my skin as his whole body vibrates.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Nel,” he says, making me grin like the idiot he turns me into. Then, “You’ll be hard to say goodbye to.”

He says it like he means it, and my grin is replaced by the urge to cry.

“You’ll be hard to say goodbye to, too,” I say softly.

Then we’re quiet.

Because ultimately, that’s all there is to say.

Forty-four

Ethan does, in fact, sleep naked.

It’s one of the many things I learn in the next twelve days in Bar Harbor that are blissfully similar to our first one.

He works a few hours every morning at his restaurant, and we spend every night together. Every night, I think it might be the time that finally satisfies my appetite for him, but every night, he proves me wrong. He becomes the drug, and I need just one more hit.

I teach him to make cocktails, but the things he teaches me can’t be boxed in by words. He pushes me, in that playful way of his, to be just a little bit uncomfortable, all the while waiting with a hand reached out until I get there.

“It’s beautiful here,” I say as we hike one of the last afternoons we have alone together.

The trail we’re on feels like a secret—we haven’t seen another person. Most of it had been tall trees and jagged rocks, but now we stand in the open at a lake that reflects the sky like a mirror. Trees cover the hills around us in a serene beauty that spreads as far as the eye can see.

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