Page 78 of Audiophile

Because she is. I cover her with a thousand kisses, craving her skin against mine for as long as possible. Her wrists are pink when I untie her, and I brush my lips to the marks over and over in both apology and reverence.

Petra lifts my head. “I wouldn’t change a thing,tesoro.”

I nod, and when the worry dissipates, pride takes its place. This brave woman, giggling and uneasy just a week ago, sensual and self-assured in my arms. “You amaze me. But next time we’re setting limits and ground rulesbeforeI lose my ability to reason. Shower?”

She nods and climbs off my lap. I turn off the mic before I scoop her up and carry her to the bathroom. Her mouth drops open. “Oh my God, I forgot we were recording.”

“I can’t wait to listen to it. I should’ve had the mic on my lap during that audiogasmic scene,” I lament. “I hope it caught your whisper. I’ll play that back every night of my life.”

“Shut up,” Petra laughs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t know I’m dead serious.

I step into the shower with her, and we kiss under the spray, our hands roaming. When we towel off, her ass is still rosy.

“It’s beyond hot, Pet,” I admit, rubbing lotion into her pink skin. “My marks on you. It’s a heady thing.”

“Yeah,” she says, squeezing my arm. “It is.”

When we slide under the covers, naked and tangled together, Petra’s exhausted. She tries to stay awake to talk, but with a few strokes of my fingers over her cheek, her eyes flutter shut.

“Pet?” I ask, when she’s on the edge of sleep. “What doestesoro miomean?”

“My treasure. My darling,” she mumbles.

She doesn’t wake further, though my heart skips several beats and pounds louder than waves crashing in my ears. I press a tender kiss to her hair as my plan solidifies. I belong here. In Portland. With Petra.

I hold her for a while longer, then grab my laptop and sneak to the living room.

Portland, Portland, Portland.

The city is a lighthouse, beckoning me home.

Chapter thirty

Petra

When I wake, Reedis watching me, his eyes shimmering gold in the morning sun. “Do you like dim sum?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face. “My flight isn’t until after noon.”

“Oh!” In the haze of last night, I forgot he was leaving. “How are we going to get your car here?”

“Tina’s taking care of it. Dim sum? I researched the best one.”

“You did?” It’s soReedthat I smile, brushing our noses together, which he turns into a deliciously warm, molasses-slow series of kisses. We don’t get out of bed for a long while.

It’s mid-morning before we park at a strip mall with a mom and pop dumpling counter. It’s very Los Angeles: the brown, waxed to-go boxes, the vinegar bar, the smell of pan-fried pork dumplings. It pulls on a heartstring that unravels, right there in line, until I bite my trembling lip to hold myself together. I’m a mess, on the verge of tears because offood, by the time we order. Reed simply holds me until they subside.

We claim a nearby booth, sharing four different types of dumplings, and I wish this moment would last forever. Reed’s face is light and happy, no more shadows, and my stupid heart tumbles over itself. “Reed? This week was amazing. I didn’t realize how much I’d sunk into my shell. I hope you know how special you are. If I hurt later, this was worth it.”

His sweet kiss spreads warmth down to my toes. “Each moment with you is better than the last, Petronia Diamante.”

We walk the mall, prolonging our time together, but eventually Reed leads me back to the car, climbs into the driver’s seat,and parks in a lot at PDX. The sounds of traffic and the planes overhead are a heavy reminder that this is the end. My heart sinks, though I yell at it for being unreasonable.

I help Reed gather his bags from my trunk and push my unruly hair back, searching for a way to keep this from being awkward. “Well, have good flight, and a good life, and a—”

“Petra,” he says.

I avoid his eyes. “—good afterlife, I guess.”

“Petra.”

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