Page 90 of Mariposa
“Fuck me.”
“Harder, Kade.”
“I want your cum, give me your cum, please!”
I spill inside her with a feral growl, holding her in place as she goes limp in my arms. She kisses my neck, her lips brushing against the scar on my neck. Switching to her teeth, she sinks them in until I release a hiss and harshly pull her hair. The painful pleasure drives us both wild. Her nails are still scratching my back until I’m bleeding. I love it when she makes me bleed; I’d gladly bleed for her all fucking night. Catching ourbreath, we’re both coming down from our nirvanic climaxes as we hold onto each other.
“I like you…a lot, Kade,” she admits shyly.
Breathing hard still, I run my hands through her long, soft hair.
I want to remind her of our cruel fate, that she and I will end, but hold my tongue.
“I’m not good at letting anyone in, Violet. I don’t hold onto things well. I’m not meant for that. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how to do that.”
“You’re doing it now, and you’re doing it just right.”
I quirk a brow, unable to believe the words coming from her mouth. I don’t like being lied to. Still hearing her say these good things, I feel undeserving.
When the mission ends, so will whatever we’ve been doing. I should end it now because, as strong as Violet is, I can feel her getting attached to me with how she looks at me, full of hope, mesmerized.
This has to end…but not right now.
34
KADE
Dear Graham,
I repeatedly read the last letter you sent me. Whenever I’m sad and the days drag on, I pull it out and read it. I think I’ve memorized it word for word at this point. I would’ve said yes if you had proposed.
But the days are long, and the nights are longer.
Please don’t hate me, Graham. If, at the end of your deployment, you can find it in your heart to forgive me for what I’m about to write, I’d still like to be friends. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I can’t wait for you. It’s been three months since I received the last letter, and it feels like you never existed. When I wake up, the shape of your lips lingers on mine, haunting me. After fighting all the worst scenarios in my head about what you’re going through, I tell myself you’re okay, and eventually, I’ll fallasleep and dream of you. But the dreams are turning into nightmares. The only proof that you do exist is the ache in my heart, the letters, and the blue bear you won at the carnival for me. It’s the only evidence I hold on to. You must think I’m a selfish person, and you’re probably right. I hate myself for writing this to you, but this will be the last letter I write to you. I feel like I’m doing the right thing by letting you go.
No one wants us together. Everybody at the diner says I’m too young for you…too young to be waiting on a soldier. I’m nineteen, and you’re twenty-eight. I keep telling them we have something special, but everyone makes me feel crazy for being in love with a man I haven’t seen in months.
I’m sorry. Stay safe. Can you do that for me?
I still love you, I promise.
Grace
Ishouldn’t be reading these, but Violet is like me. She doesn’t trust easily, and I don’t either. Every time she opens up, fear is evident when she tries to hide her vulnerable parts. Those are the parts I crave to know. These letters have me invested in her grandmother’s love story. The letters are dated during the Vietnam War. Why does she have them?
I tuck them back in my drawer with my wood carving tools.
It’s been hours since I’ve last seen Violet, and I’m aching to be near her again. This is a new feeling I don’t think I’ve ever experienced, not even with Penny. Waking up and missing someone’s flesh warming yours? Your heart skipping beats over the sound of a voice? She’s a drug. That’s what she is—morphine.
We spent the past few days in bed, getting all the answers to questions I’ve been wanting to know like what her favorite food is, and how she likes to take her coffee in the morning. She kicked my ass at Catan and I’ve realized I’m a sore loser. She made it a point to inform me that I have seven silver strands in my beard.
Dork.
It’s a late day at the office, nearing nine p.m., as work ran late. The humanitarian mission is taking longer than usual, which has stressed me. The last communications I had were with Slater, who said they were on their way back…but that was two hours ago.
I take another swig of the whiskey I poured, and it rolls down my throat, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. I turn over more paperwork and targets to be caught on the list. It’s never-ending.
The door opens, making me arch my brow. Everyone knows the rule of knocking before they enter. Getting ready to bark and unleash hell on the soldier who steps in uninvited, my shoulders relax when I realize it’s Violet. She steps in quietly and closes the door slowly so there’s no sound.
