And for the first time since…fuck, I don’t even know, I didn’t sense him either. No shift in the air. No tingling skin. As if I’ve fallen off a cliff while he’s been in the shower, a slip that’s happening often enough now that it’s starting to feel fucking normal.
I find my voice. “I was always just passing through. You know that.”
Skylar’s face does something subtle and complex.
Something I don’t likeat all.
And maybe if my own head was screwed on right, I’d know what it was.
What itis.
But all I see is a phantom hand dragging the last bolt from the door, and I move as if the profoundly difficult moments between us never happened. As if I have all the time in the fucking world when something so tacit is coming apart inside us both.
I lay my hand on his bare chest, his skin damp from the shower this time, not the lagoon, and he still feels cold.Lost, a distant voice in my head whispers.Like you. But we’re a mess of bruised souls and bad choices, and this live wire between us, this fuckingachethat won’t quit, it’s the only tangible thing that still makes sense.
To me.
Tohim.
I push Skylar out of the living room and into the hallway.
He lets me, tension rolling off his coiled muscles, barbed and strong. He lets me back him all the way into his bedroom, and only then do I stop and let the thrumming air between us settle.
Outside, the clouds darken, as if they’re holding their breath. Skylar just stares, danger sparking in his flinty eyes, as if he can’t decide between living and dying.
And fuck if I don’t know how that feels.
Need him closer.
My body gets the memo, and my palms slide down his chest, curling around his ribcage, narrowing the minimal distance between us, letting him know I’m here whatever his choice. That we can burn alive in this fucking moment, or keep dying this slow death until I’m gone from this place and he can get back to an easier way of living without me.
I bring my forehead to his and match his unblinking gaze.
Skylar takes a slow breath and clarity returns to his glittering stare. “Shut the fucking door.”
20MAL
I don’t know who shuts the door. Just that the sound of it flips a switch and we collide with more force than we ever have.
He’s on me.
Or I’m on him.
Doesn’t matter. Never has. We crash together with that need to hurt, because we want it—wechoseit—and there’s nothing gentle or sweet in how we unravel.
Skylar tastes like blood and broken things. His teeth scrape my bottom lip and he shoves me against the door.
My back hits wood, and I grin, becausefuck, I like it. Chasing freefall has always suited me, but this is the most alive I’ve felt since I woke up in Germany with a broken heart.
Pain.
Pleasure.
I find a thrill in how tightly entwined they are, and I see the same silent intensity in Skylar, eyes dark, lips caught in a faint snarl.
We kiss again, hips grinding together, no resistance, no holding back, and yet still I wantmore. I wanthim, and the weight of him pressing me against the door is so fucking good a raw moan escapes me.
Skylar answers with a rough exhale. He bites my neck, and I thread my fingers into his shower-damp hair, twisting just enough to gauge if he’s craving a hit of pain too.