Page 67 of First Echo

Time lost meaning as we moved together, exploring each other with hands and lips and whispered breaths. Clothes shifted but didn't fully disappear—my shirt pushed up, her pants riding low on her hips, exposing a strip of skin I couldn't stop touching. We didn't cross certain lines, didn't go as far as we could have, but it was enough—more than enough—to leave me breathless, trembling, completely undone.

Brooke's weight on top of me was grounding, a delicious pressure that kept me from floating away on the waves of sensation. Her lips never seemed to leave my skin for long, always returning to my mouth, my neck, the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me shiver when she found it. I traced the muscles of her back, her shoulders, the curve of her waist, committing every inch to memory.

"You're beautiful," she whispered against my collarbone, the words vibrating against my skin. "So beautiful."

No one had ever said those words to me and made me believe them like she did. Not Sam, not the countless boys who'd tried to catch my attention, not the photographers at family events who positioned me just so for the perfect shot. There was a rawness to Brooke's voice, an honesty that cut through all my defenses.

When her hand brushed the waistband of my sleep shorts, fingers tracing the sensitive skin just beneath the elastic, my hips instinctively lifted toward her touch. Heat pooled low in my abdomen, a delicious ache building with every caress of her fingers. Brooke's eyes locked with mine, dark and intent, pupils blown wide with desire. Her thumb traced slow circles against my hip bone, each movement deliberate, testing boundaries without crossing them.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, her voice rough with want.

"Yes," I breathed, reaching up to pull her back down to me, capturing her lips in a kiss that conveyed everything I couldn't say aloud—my need, my trust, my surrender.

Brooke responded with equal fervor, her kisses growing deeper, more consuming. She shifted her weight, her thigh pressing more firmly between mine, creating a rhythm that had me gasping against her mouth. Her hand slipped beneath my shirt again, tracing the curve of my ribs, the sensitive skin beneath my breast. Every touch was electric, lighting fires across my skin that made me tremble beneath her.

Time dissolved as we moved together, learning each other's bodies through touch and taste. Brooke's mouth found the pulse point at my neck, her teeth grazing lightly before her tongue soothed the sting. I arched beneath her, my fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close, never wanting her to stop. The pressure built within me, a coiling tension that grew with each roll of her hips against mine, each stroke of her fingers across my heated skin.

When the wave finally broke, it was unexpected and overwhelming. I clung to her, burying my face against her shoulder to muffle the sound that escaped me, my body shuddering beneath hers. Brooke held me through it, her arms strong and steady, her lips pressed against my temple, whispering words I couldn't quite catch but felt in my soul.

As the tremors subsided, she gathered me close, tucking my head beneath her chin. I could hear her heart racing, could feel the slight tremble in her arms that betrayed her own unsatisfied desire. But she asked for nothing, content to hold me as I caught my breath, as the world slowly came back into focus.

"That was..." I whispered, unable to find words adequate for what had just happened.

"I know," she murmured against my hair, her voice soft and intimate in the darkness.

We lay tangled together, trading lazy kisses as our breathing slowed, as the heat between us banked to a warm glow rather than a consuming fire. My fingers traced patterns on her back,memorizing the feel of her, the weight of her beside me, the scent of her skin. It was the most intimate moment I'd ever shared with anyone, not because of what we'd done but because of how completely I'd let myself go, how fully I'd trusted her with my vulnerability.

I turned to face her, our foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the small space between us. Her eyes were dark in the dim light of our room, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability that matched my own. We were both diving into uncharted waters, both terrified and exhilarated by what we'd found.

We didn't talk about what it meant, about Sam, about tomorrow, about anything beyond the walls of our room. Words seemed inadequate, unnecessary in the face of what we'd just shared. Instead, we lay together, trading lazy kisses that gradually slowed as exhaustion claimed us. I rested my head on her shoulder, my arm draped across her stomach, our legs tangled together beneath the blankets. Her fingers traced patterns on my back, soothing, gentle.

The last thing I remember before sleep claimed me was the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against my ear, the rise and fall of her chest beneath my cheek, the feeling of absolute rightness that had settled in my bones.

I woke to an empty bed.

The sheets beside me were still warm, the pillow still holding the indentation of Brooke's head, but she was gone. For a moment, I just lay there, disoriented, my body still heavy with sleep. Then memory rushed back—her lips on mine, her hands on my skin, the sounds she'd made when I touched her—and with it came a wave of panic.

Had she left? Really left? Was it just a moment for her? Did she regret it the moment she woke up?

My heart hammered against my ribs as I sat up, scanning the room frantically. Her suitcase was still there, her clothes still hanging in the closet, but no sign of her. Had she gone to breakfast already? Was she avoiding me?

And then I saw it—a folded piece of paper on the nightstand, my name scrawled across the top in Brooke's messy handwriting. I snatched it up, my hands trembling slightly as I unfolded it.

Dear Madeline, Gone snowboarding. Try not to fall on your face again. Best wishes, Brooke.

I stared at the note, reading it once, twice, a third time. And then, unexpectedly, I laughed—a full, genuine laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me.

Because it was exactly what she'd said she'd write. When I'd complained about her leaving without waking me, she'd sarcastically suggested leaving a note with these exact words. She'd remembered. Of course she had.

I pressed the note to my chest, closing my eyes, feeling the rapid beating of my heart through the paper. The relief was so intense it almost hurt, washing away the panic that had gripped me moments before. Brooke hadn't left me. She'd just gone snowboarding, like she did every morning. And she'd left me a note—sarcastic, teasing, perfectly Brooke.

I fell back against the pillows, the note still clutched in my hand, a smile I couldn't control spreading across my face. I didn't know what this was—what we were—but I knew it wassomething. Something that made my heart race and my skin tingle and my cheeks flush with warmth.

The giddiness lasted through my shower, through getting dressed, through the walk to the dining hall for breakfast. It was like floating, like being untethered from gravity, like the world had suddenly shifted into brighter, sharper focus.

And then I saw Sam.

He was sitting at our usual table, Julian across from him, both of them laughing at something on Julian's phone. Sam looked up as I approached, his face lighting up with that same genuine smile he always had for me. The smile of my boyfriend. My boyfriend who had no idea I'd spent last night wrapped in someone else's arms, someone else's kisses.

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