Page 87 of Those Two Words

All I need is him.

Patrick pistons into me as my orgasm ripples through every cell of my body, like my broken and raspy cries are what drives him wilder. With one last thrust, his body tenses as he groans into my neck. Hot ropes of cum fill me, the feel of it so dirty and erotic.

There’s no knowing where I end and he begins as we cling to each other. Hip to hip, chest to chest, heart to heart. The erratic beating of them echoes off one another, like our hearts are speaking their own language.

I know what mine would be saying if it could talk.

Will you keep me and love me?

Patrick lets out a deep breath before he slowly pulls out of me and sits back on his knees, his palms stroking my thighs as he settles my trembling legs onto the comforter. Brushing his lips across my belly, he rises off the bed and walks to the bathroom.

Throwing my arm across my face, I wait to recover from a serious case of jelly legs. Words do no justice to what I just experienced. It was perfect. But I can’t shake the feeling that I said or did something wrong when hurt flashed across his features as he begged me to say it.

Surely he wasn’t begging me to say the words I’m worried are too early to be shared.

My worry disappears when he returns with a washcloth in hand and wipes between my legs with such tenderheartedness. He helps me from the bed and leads me to the bathroom. I expect his silent care to stop once I’m finished in the bathroom, but that’s stupid of me to think. This is Patrick. He sweeps me off my feet and carries me to bed, like I’m suddenly incapable of walking.

“Need you close,” he mumbles, answering my unvoiced protests. He keeps me cradled in his arms and settles us back in bed. There’s not an inch of skin that isn’t touching, and with one firm hand at the base of my spine and the other behind my head, I know he’s not going to let me go any time soon.

The feel of his heart slowing in tempo calms my own. I softly run my hands over his chest, tracing odd shapes and patterns across his skin.

When I look up, he’s breathing deeply, sleep finding him easily. I kiss the scar on his chin and take in his peaceful expression. I’d give anything to make sure that this beautiful man remains mine, and I send out silent prayers to anyone who’s listening, that he does.

I settle my head against his chest and shut my eyes. It’s only as my mind starts to drift that I hear a soft whisper. Maybe I’m dreaming, but I swear I hear him utter, “Please be mine.”

Sleep pulls me under, but my unconscious mind wants to scream that I am.

That, I’m yours.

thirty-five

PATRICK

Jo waves at me through the window of her car as she pulls away from my house, the smile that’s been on my face all day not faltering. And it stays there well after her headlights disappear into the night.

We’ve fallen into a routine over the last two weeks, spending time at one another’s places and making up for lost time. Last night she came over after her shift and spent the night, though, we didn’t do much sleeping.

I’ll come to regret that decision later, but right now, I feel on top of the fucking world. Things between us aren’t good. They’re not great. They’re unbelievable.

As much as I love my daughter wholly, I crave the nights I get to be alone with Jo. Finding new ways to bring her pleasure and explore each other’s bodies. Cooking her dinner, driving out to the lighthouse to make out like horny teenagers, and lazing around completing puzzles together.

We can’t get enough of each other. On the days I don’t see her, I call her. If I can’t call her, I look at pictures of her that I’ve snapped on my phone. Anything for a glimpse of her, needing my hit of her even in the tiniest of quantities. That’s why we’ve probably only had two days in total where we haven’t seen each other. She seems just as addicted and helpless as I am.

If we’re not in the privacy of our own homes, we’re working our asses off at the restaurant.

As a last-ditch effort to bring in new customers, we offered a “flatlandah’s only” discount. Now that May is here, the discount was a great success, with tourists flocking in from all over the place. Right now, ignorance is bliss, because we haven’t really spoken about what happens if the outcome isn’t what we want to hear.

I haven’t heard her say those two words that I begged her to say after Lottie’s birthday party. I was a depraved man, like I would die if I didn’t hear her say them.

We also haven’t spoken about a date that creeps closer and is a hard day for all of us. Next Wednesday is the six-year anniversary of my dad’s passing. A day that comes around too quickly.

It’s also a reminder that it’s been almost six years since Jo left Sutton Bay.

I won’t break my promise to be patient with her, but it’s now more than ever that I need to know what happened. Why she left. Why she left me.

I want to talk to her about my dad, her mom, to share memories of our childhood together. But I still sense an air of restlessness around her when they’re mentioned, so I don’t push the topic. And as much as I want to, I don’t invite her to family dinner at my mom’s, something we’ve done every year on his anniversary—eating my dad’s favorite meals and watching his favorite films.

Shutting the front door, I turn, and silence greets me. My house always feels destitute when Lottie isn’t here singing or dancing her way around the place, like the little tornado she is. It feels even more barren when it’s void of her and Jo. Even the walls look sadder now, not having Jo’s laughter bouncing off them.

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