Page 80 of Tender Heart
“Callum! Fuck, ple?—”
Oh god . . .
His face twists as he locks eyes with me, his movements turning sloppy. “Please... you have to leave.”
Only now falling back down to earth after he shattered me apart, it’s all I can do to nod.
One hand hits the wall, his palm slapping by my head. He growls through his release, sending heated ropes deep into me. I cup his face, watching him fall apart further with each stroke.
His forehead drops to my breastbone, and I wrap around him. As if that will hold the rest of the world at bay. As if it will cease to exist and we can stay suspended in this little life we have been wandering through for the last six months.
For the first time in my life, I wish tomorrow could simply be a repeat of today.
If I could, I would strike the wordleavefrom existence.
Twenty-Two
CALLUM
Nothing burns like getting a taste of something you’ve hungered for just for it to be so obviously not yours to keep. Moonlight streaks through the house window, its soft beams illuminating the gorgeous dark locks spread out on the pillow beside me. On my side of this old bed, Evie lies, sound asleep.
Figures. After that many orgasms, she oughta sleep for a week. Once wasn’t enough. We recovered. Then we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
We showered again.
She climbed me like a tree.
At least, those were her words for it.
I tamp down a chuckle at the sweet little memory. Already, it’s a memory. That grounds me like nothing else. Because all this woman will ever be to me is a handful of memories that will sustain me for the rest of my days. It’s all she can ever be. I swallow down that indignant thought and roll out of the bed. Padding down the staircase, I head for the kitchen. I take out a mug and fill it with water.
Em’s coming out tomorrow. Or today, I guess. The last of the boat parts arrived this week. Might make a trip to the mainland.I’m sure Evie will want to see civilization. Maybe Iris could take her shopping. Me, I’ll be hanging by the docks. I’d rather avoid town if I can.
I chug the water and place the mug in the sink.
Not wanting to wake the sweet woman in my bed, I drop onto the sofa, shoving my head into my hands. Regret eats at me the second I have a moment to mull over the last day or so. So much for keeping my distance. So much for keeping my hands off her. A piece of paper under the table catches my eye. I move to the table, squat down, and pick it up.
A letter.
Something blue and dusty covers the smudged writing. Most of it is unreadable. As if it got wet.
The powdery residue is like pollen, or maybe?—
Pieces of blue butterfly littering the floor shine in the moon’s disappearing rays.
I sweep up a small piece and rub the blue-silver dust between my fingers.
What the hell? Blue belongs to those big, beautiful monarchs. They’re not on this island. I try to make out the words that aren’t smudged. But not much makes sense. The water damage means I can’t put the meaning together. Is this Evie’s?
I drop it to the table and make a mental note to ask her about it when she wakes up.
Falling with weary limbs to the sofa, I rest my head back. Never mind Evie being too young for me; I’m too old for her. Exhaling, I turn over the last few weeks in my head, the parts I had no control over. The parts I did, but I gave in anyway. I should go back to bed...
As the drowsy pull of sleep tugs at the edges of my concentration, I lay along the sofa and drag the throw blanket over myself haphazardly.
Something soft presses against my lips. Everything is dark. The bed dips. The glorious aroma of coffee winds its way into my senses, and I blink my eyes open. Happiness radiates from brown eyes framed by mussed hair. The coffee mug in her hand steams. She sits on the sofa at my hip.
Sofa, not bed.
