Page 144 of Never Let You Go

Oh, I’ve been to a couple of games with the girls.

I know exactly what she’s talking about.

“For real, why are you looking after his kid when you could be looking at him?”

“She didn’t feel like going. It’s beautiful out, and she needed the fresh air.”

“Oh. Wow. You sound like a mom.”

“Oh please.” I do feel protective of Skye, though. When she huffed that she didn’t want to spend the afternoon inside the arena, I offered to take her bicycling instead. I didn’t think twice about it, and I know Christopher was thankful for it.

“Are you guys a real couple, now? I mean, it’s been, what, three months?”

Four. “No! Why?”

“’Cause that’s what couples do. Look after the kids. Do what’s right by them.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not. We’re just having fun.” That’s become my motto, and it’s getting old.

I’m stocking up on memories of sex against the wall of my bathroom, sex on my antique bed, and even sex on the prep tables in the lab.

Memories of his gentle words when we’re alone, his hands shaping my body, cupping my face, his lips worshiping mine.

I’m in his constant presence but still starved for him, and it makes our private moments all the more intense. He comes into my bedroom at night, once Skye is sound asleep. I’m often asleep too, but I half wake to his snuggling behind me, warming my back, pulling my waist against him, and before you know it, I’m having a toe-curling—but silent—orgasm, the kind I thought were the stuff girls just made up to brag about but that never really happened in real life.

Some nights, he takes the time to wake me up with a flutter of kisses down my neck and a gentle sucking of my nipples. Other times, he starts by going down on me and licks my folds to oblivion.

I prefer it when he just takes possession of me while I’m still asleep. I wake up to his cock filling me, his whispered curses, the antique headboard knocking against the wall with each of his thrusts. That is the hottest thing to me.

That he wants me that bad.

That he needs me.

“Shut up,” Sarah says, when I give her a watered-down but accurate recap of my nights. She’s still single, and she won’t let me forget that I agreed to give her some sort of sex life by proxy. “There’s no way you’re not waking up before he’s… inside you.”

“Try spending twelve hours on your feet, in the heat, six days a week. You’ll see.”

“How does he do it? He works more than you do.”

He’s a beast.

“When are you coming up?” I ask to change the subject. It was fun at first, telling Sarah most of what was going on, but as time progresses, I feel more and more protective of my relationship with Christopher.

Even if it’s not a relationship—relationship.

After what happened at The Growler, the girls were cool, and no gossip transpired—at least as far as we know. We’re back to keeping this secret. And I have to reason with myself to not feel a pinch of longing when we’re in public—for an arm draped around my shoulder, for a hand trailing down my back or cupping my waist. I miss that. I miss his touch. I miss him claiming me as his.

“Lexie. Are you going to be okay? You know… when you have to leave.”

My eyes sting. “Sure! Why wouldn’t I?”

She mumbles something that sounds like, “I don’t know,” and then goes silent.

“When are you coming?” I ask again.

“About that,” she says, her voice chirpier. “How about you and I spend a couple of days in Burlington together, before going to Emerald Creek? Would that work? I should get there a week or so before your exam. A girls’ getaway.”

“That’d be awesome!” Sarah always knows how to lift me up.

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