Page 106 of Point of No Return

“Yes. I know...” She’s still tense as she tries to focus on what the person is saying. “Yes, Moma.”

At the mention of Eva, I pull back just enough to see the emotions flicker across her face: Annoyance, reluctance, all laced with desire.

It only fuels my determination to make her orgasm. I push a third finger inside her and tease her clit at the same time, and when she bites down on her hand again, I know she’s close.

She squirms, her body seeking a friction only my tongue can give her. I curl my fingers, feeling her tighten as my pace quickens and I draw out her pleasure… and she can’t control her gasps, cursing when she moans into the phone.

Full-blown satisfaction swells in my chest as her orgasm hits in a dizzying wave, making her head tip back.

“No… I’m fine,” she says, breath heavy. “I’ll be there,” she says as she’s coming down, and after a moment, the call ends. Her eyes already tell me that she has to leavenow. I place one more kiss against her slick thighs before I stand.

Her eyes follow me like a shadow, lids heavy with lingering desire. I stand over her, loving the way she looks staring up at me. I tug her close as my hands find her waist.

“I…” she’s searching for words, but I steal the need with my lips.

Kissing her is the sweetest thing. Her lips are so soft, so pliant, and the heat between us is back as her tongue sweeps my bottom lip and she tastes herself on my mouth. Her hands find my shoulders, my neck, and then they’re in my hair, gently tugging until her body is pressed against mine.

I grin into the kiss, loving that when I bite down on that plump bottom lip of hers, she gasps again. But I pull back just enough that our lips are still brushing.

“Dinner. Tonight. I’ll cook. You’ll eat.” I kiss the corner of her mouth as I brush her curls behind her ear. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to.” My lips brush the line of her jaw before I bite down on her throat. “But I think you want this just as much as I do.”

I taste her again before she can object, and she melts when my thumb tilts her jaw up toward mine.

This kiss is slow and gentle, full of months of emotion ready to be unbottled.

Her voice is husky, teasing: “Careful, Benenati or I might think you’re falling in love with me.”

She hops off the counter, ceremoniously dipping and grabbing the sexy scrap of lace from the floor. She smirks over her shoulder, knowing I’ll watch as she leaves the room.

Fuck, if this woman only knew.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Charlotte

The night air is warm despite the sun setting in the west. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail that brushes my shoulders through the sheer sleeves of my blouse. I didn’t bother dressing up for the occasion. It’s rare that my mother asks to meet outside of a meal, and when she called and asked me to meet her on the roof of the country club, I knew I didn’t have time to dress up anyways.

She’s standing on the far side of the roof, and I realize she’s puffing on a cigarette as I come to a stop next to her. I lean against the railing, my eyes stuck on the red bleeding across the sky like paint spilled on a canvas.

We’re quiet. No greetings, no formalities. For a few precious moments, I’m just a girl with her mother. Expectations and responsibilities are a world away. But the feeling in my gut tells me it’s all about to come crashing down.

My mother blows a cloud of smoke out in front of her before flicking the bud and crushing it beneath her heel. With her back against the railing, she’s still not looking at me, but I know it’s just a matter of time until she reveals why she asked me here.

Her voice is like smoke, wispy, not all there: “Do you remember much about Prevya?”

My homeland. The place I’d been born, where I’d grown up. But I can hardly call it my home anymore.

“Not much,” I admit, wishing she’d just get on with it.

She hums quietly, flicking a speck of dust off the long sleeves of her russet-colored dress. “I have trouble remembering too.”

Her somber voice is far away, as if she’s reminiscing all those days in the Prevyain sands.

“I can still smell Market Day. Taste the salt on the air. Or hear the temple bells in the great cities. So… far from this world.”

She doesn’t talk about Prevya often, but hearing her talk about it now, I can still imagine those things. I can remember them- so distant but so close all at once.

Maybe the memories aren’t mine as much as they are hers, retold. An intricate reminder ofwhywe do what we do. It’s something to hold onto when the toll of this life begins to scrape at the very thing we take from others: humanity. Memory. Life.

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