Page 65 of Fire Island
These are the only pajamas I have here. I lift from the mattress and tug the shirt off. Locks of my messy hair tumble over my shoulders and down my chest when I lean forward to toss the shirt to the end of the bed. Cal traces a hand over my cheek before he tucks my hair behind my ear. He studies my face, as if committing it to memory in some place that can never fail him again.
He brushes his knuckles over my shoulder, sweeping my hair away, one side then the other. It’s all I can do to stay still as his gaze travels my body inch by inch, letting him remember me.
Who I am to him.
Who we are.
For the promise I made, the promise I will regret till the last day of my life, to be dead and buried in his mind. Like it should have been the only thing tonotsurvive his memory loss.
“Irry was right,” he breathes.
Iris?
We’re talking about Iris right now?
“She was?” I chuckle.
“Yeah, she was. I’m one lucky bastard. Getting to fall in love with you twice.” His voice is raw.
That steals the amusement from me, along with my breath. I sit up and drag his mouth down to mine. Hungry doesn’t even begin to cover the response I get from Cal. He devours me, covering my body with his delicious weight. Growling into my mouth before he nips at my throat.
His lips. Teeth. Travel lower. Until they close around my nipple.
I whimper, arching to offer him everything I have.
His tongue swirls, and I open for him automatically. Hips widening, legs pressing against the mattress, chest open, shoulders digging into the blanket.
“Fuck me, Evie baby,” he rasps as he dots kisses over my belly.
A searing open-mouthed kiss brushes over my hip. Then the other.
Methodical.
Taking his time.
Patient.
Mine. Again.
Thank God.
The bland days I spent between losing him and the moment he knocked on the hut door not even an hour ago are forgotten. I never want to live through another one of those ever again.
His beard tickles my thigh, and I glance down to see blues looking up at me.
“Picking up where we left off?” His face twists with desperation.
He’s asking permission.
Like, somehow, the time I spent without him—the promise I made—could have changed my mind.
“We never should have stopped, sweet man. That’s the last time I promise you a thing.”
A cheeky, sweet smile blooms on his face before fading to need.
Rough hands spread my thighs. My last breath burns out as he kisses his way up my right thigh to my aching center.
“Fuck, Evie. A man could die of starvation just?—”
