Page 49 of Two Weeks in Tahoe

She takes a minute to recover, and then she pushes me back onto the couch, taking charge. She pulls my pants down in a hurry, setting my dick free, and of course, I’m rock hard for her. Always. She starts tasting me like she’s starving and can’t get enough, and I grab handfuls of her hair, gently guiding her. But I don’t need to do much. She takes me so deep, all I can do is sit back and enjoy the sight of her. And fuck it feels good. She’s working faster now, using her mouth and her hands, and I don’t think I can hold out much longer. Between the moans she’s releasing, the sight of her taking me deep in her mouth, and her tits bouncing as she does it, I feel my release coming, and holy fuck it’s good. She doesn’t spill a drop.

34

Layla

The day after Thanksgiving, I contacted the owner of the cabin, and they were able to rent it out to me for ten more days. Not quite the two weeks we wanted, but I took it.

Those days have flown by. I only have a few days left now, but Liam and I have been making the most of it. We filled our time with dinners, movies, gym dates, and more ice skating with Jackson. We’ve almost fallen into a routine. Sometimes, he’ll simply sit with me and read. To my surprise, he tried one of my fantasy romance books, and he already finished it and loved it. He had some critiques for the male lead, though. Liam couldn’t understand why anyone would fall for a guy who pushed the heroine face down in the mud when they first met. I tried to explain, but he just laughed and shook his head at me.

Now, I’m sitting in my spot at Liam’s kitchen island while he makes us some paninis for lunch. He really does have a passion for cooking. And for taking care of people in general. I love that about him. He’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met, and I don’t even know if he realizes it.

“I wonder where we would have been now if we had found one another years ago…” I ponder out loud.

Liam turns and looks at me, pensive. Then he shrugs. “Who knows. No sense dwelling on a past we can’t change. We’re here now.”

“I really would have loved to meet her,” I say with sorrow. “Lace…”

Liam has shown me hundreds of pictures in the last few weeks. Seeing a young Jackson with his parents brought me to tears more than once. He looked a lot like his mom with his sandy brown hair and brown eyes.

“I know,” he says, looking melancholy. “Me too. And the same with your parents. Your dad and I would have gotten along great. And your mom, I think.”

I nod in agreement.

Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s a Sacramento number that I don’t recognize, so I ignore it. But when I get a voicemail alert my curiosity kicks in. Liam is busy cooking at the stove with his back turned to me, so I hit play and listen.

I hold the phone to my ear, listening, my brows furrowing with curiosity. It’s the newspaper—the one I applied to for that editing job I’d almost forgotten about for most of this trip. They don’t say many details in the voicemail, but they want to offer me the job. I stare into space after it ends, completely at a loss for what to do.

Liam clears his throat, snapping me out of it. He’s turned around, watching me with concern.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Um…” I pause too long, not knowing how to vocalize what I’m feeling. I need more time to process. “You might remember how I told you a while back that I applied for an editing job in Sacramento? I thought it was my dream job…”

I don’t finish, but he puts the pieces together on his own. I can’t read his expression.

“They offered you the job,” he says, flatly. For a moment, I think I catch a flash of disappointment on his face.

“Yeah.”

“Congrats,” he says, trying to muster a smile, but I see disappointment lurking in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I murmur, staring down at my hands. “Thanks.”

After a prolonged silence, I look back up at him. He’s still watching me, arms crossed as he leans against the counter.

“What am I to you, Layla?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what am I? What is all this to you? Is it real to you? Because it’s very real to me. I…”

I look at him, waiting for him to finish, but he looks flustered and stops.

“You what?” I question so softly I wonder if he even hears me.

Suddenly, he’s on the move, and then he’s sitting on the stool in front of me, his eyes filled with desperation. “I don’t want to lose you. I want to see where this goes. If you needed to go back home for a bit while we figured out the logistics of this whole thing, that would have sucked, but I would have understood. But if you take a brand-new job in the city, that feels very permanent. Like there’s no hope for this working out,” he finishes, hurt and fear glimmering in his eyes.

He's right. Taking the job would mean I’m not planning on leaving Sacramento anytime soon. How long could I really expect him to do long distance? We haven’t even talked about that being an option, though it seems like the only one now. I can’t ask him to leave this incredible place that he loves—that I love—or uproot Jackson’s life. He’s already been through too much in his six years.

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