"You're forgetting slow and loud, sweetheart," I say as I pull out, so leisurely about it that Jamie writhes beneath me in search of thepressure that's barely slipped away.
I don't make him wait long before I reverse course, mostly because I want the pressure too, but first I put a hand behind each of his knees and push them toward his chest. Sliding into him this time causes him to shake, ready to crumble when I reach for the precum smeared across his stomach and suck it off my fingertips.
"Fuck, baby. Fuck," he whines. "It's never been like this. Never. I want this forever."
"You can have this forever."
If my words sound more hopeful than honest, Jamie doesn't say. Instead, he makes enough unholy noises to compete with the sound of our bodies colliding, and both keep this from being anything like the imperative silence we shared once before. We're breathless, and he's beautiful, and while I'm still fucking into him, I curl forward for whatever messy kiss either of us can manage. Hovering just above his open mouth, I think I tell him I love him a hundred times.
Jamie pulls my hair, but he can't hold on—or he doesn't want to hurt me—that hand wrapping around my bicep when he drops the other to his cock. "No forever tonight. Too close."
I speed up and almost put some distance between us so I can watch, but staying close to him feels better and I force an arm under his body to keep myself there. It means I can feel him brush against me as he goes in search of an orgasm that's already inevitable, and I pant against his jaw.
"Can I come inside you?"
My question is all Jamie needs, and I feel him clench around my dick just before he sobs and spills between us, my chest at least as wet as his when he chokes out an answer.
"Yes. Fuck. Please."
I've been holding back for so long that it takes another several seconds before my body agrees to let go. By the time I do, his gripon my arm is bruising, and a sticky hand is in my hair, so many filthy things fall off his tongue that I have no chance of catching them all. I come harder than I have in years—probably about three of them—and then I collapse on top of him, my heart beating so close to his.
"Jamie."
"I'm here. I'm right here."
I don't know why I need to hear that, except for the number of times it hasn't been true. We'll have to move soon, but I feel a tear roll from the corner of my eye, and I hate it because I don't want him to think anything is wrong. Everything is exactly right for once, and it's why I don't have plans to start a more serious conversation either.
Jamie and I need to talk. And we will.
Tonight, I just want this.
I get what I want. After another couple of minutes, both of us soft and sated, we tumble out of bed and to a shower mostly made necessary by his unwavering need to touch my hair. It's been a long couple of days for him, and I'm not surprised when he falls asleep within a few minutes of crawling under the covers, my body pressed to his back while he relaxes into the embrace. I'm more surprised when he wakes me in the middle of the night for something quick and quiet, but maybe those things are okay when we have a choice about them.
I'm most surprised when I wake up later than usual and roll over in an otherwise empty bed, and I don't know why I didn't expect this when I've left Jamie more than once. I sit up and see that his clothes are gone and mine are draped over a chair next to my bag,and I sigh, hurt or mad or just generally frustrated by our inability to break habits I never wanted to have.
He's got a flight this morning, and it's possible he's already at the airport. Maybe he stopped by the hotel to see Harper first, though I'm not convincedshe's awake yet. Regardless, he could've woken me for a goodbye. Last night deserved as much.
After peeing and brushing my teeth and splashing some water on my face, I get dressed in the jeans and t-shirt I'd packed for today, but add my suit jacket because it'll be cold where I'm going. Everything else gets folded and put in my bag, and then I jog downstairs to raid the kitchen for things that might be left from a shopping trip I made over a year ago. I find a protein bar and a coffee pot that's still half full, so I help myself to one of Jamie's travel mugs. Then I fetch my shoes and cross the great room to the doors leading to his backyard. They're unlocked, and the truth must hit me then, but I don't believe anything yet.
I walk toward the ocean, the coastal fog still clinging to a late-August morning.
If I looked carefully, I'd probably be able to step onto a footprint or two.
But I hurry, my heart wild when it doesn't need to be, and I'm at the bench before I can sort through all the things I'm supposed to say, and it's fine when he greets me first.
"Good morning."
"I thought you were gone," I rasp. "I thought I was too late."
Jamie shakes his head and kisses me as soon as I sit down. "I'm here. I'm right here."
Chapter Twenty-One: Jamie
(I Saw My Number in the Rafters)
"What about your flight?" Mateo asks.
"I changed it. I'll be taking the red-eye tonight. It means I'll more or less drag my ass to the press conference, but I couldn't run out of here this morning. Like you said, we need to talk."