Say You'll Remember Me(59)

“I was thinking that we could take a bath,” I whispered.

He was unbuttoning my sweater. “We could do that,” he said, against my lips, his voice low.

“I don’t have a bathtub in my apartment,” I said distractedly, running my hands along the inside of the waistband of his pants.

“Uh-huh,” he said, walking me backward to the bed. When the back of my knees hit the mattress I sat and he peeled my sweater off me, then took off his shirt next.

My pulse quickened.

He was standing between my open knees and I was face-to-face with the trail of hair that disappeared into his pants. I followed it down with the tips of my fingers and I could feel his breathing pick up as I traced the outline of the ridge pressing against the fabric. He stood in front of me like an underwear model, gazing at me from above, his hair shaggy over his eyes. When I leaned forward to glide my tongue along his stomach, he raked fingers into the back of my hair and the hammer in my chest thudded against my rib cage.

I wanted him to eat me alive.

He pushed me back on the bed. I lifted my hips while he slid my pants and underwear down my thighs. Then he climbed onto the bed and pulled me to his mouth.

Xavier liked foreplay, and he was really good at it. He liked to get me almost to the finish line and then pull back, make me want to beg—which I was not above doing.

When my legs started to shake, he got up and went to the duffel bag that he’d taken to California and pulled a condom out of it. I watched him roll it on. He never broke eye contact once.

“I’m not gonna walk for a week, am I?” I asked, propped on my elbows, out of breath.

“I’ll carry you anywhere you need to go,” he said, lowering himself over me. I giggled and he smiled, breathing into the kiss he pressed to my mouth.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered.

“I missed you too. My boyfriend.” I smiled.

His face lit up at the word. I had wondered if it had the same kind of magic that girlfriend had for me. I guess it did.

He slipped fingers between my legs and I arched against him, biting my lip.

“Should I make you wait?” he asked, his voice husky.

“No, you should make me scream.”

He grinned and eased himself inside me. I disintegrated on the third thrust.

There was simply no substitute for this. Not the pictures we would send each other or the video calls we would do. There were pheromones at work, bonding us and pulling us in. Making him familiar, turning me on, creating real time changes in my body that he got to touch and taste and feel.

Living apart was going to be so incredibly difficult. I wouldn’t be able to hear his breath in my ear or wrap my legs around the sharp angle of his hips or tangle my fingers through his hair. I couldn’t be caged between his arms and anchored under his weight and feel him spill inside me.

I wanted the immersive experience every time. But I’d only get this once in a while. He’d only get this once in a while.

We’d just have to make it count.





Three hours later we were under his covers. His skin smelled like the peach bubble bath I’d brought with me. I was swirling lazy circles with my pruned fingers on his chest.

“Can you come to the cabin?” he asked.

I tipped my head up to look at him. “When?”

“December twenty-eighth through January second.”

“Sure. I think I have the PTO.”

“I can buy your ticket—”

“No, I’ll buy it,” I said. “You shouldn’t have to pay for everything.” I put my cheek to his chest. “Promise me when we’re up there we’ll bed rot. Just do absolutely nothing just like this,” I said.

“I wouldn’t call this nothing.”

“No, you’re right. One of us worked very hard tonight.”

He chuckled.

I lay there another moment. Then I sighed. “I have to get up and iron my clothes for tomorrow.” I started getting out of bed.

“I’ll do it,” he said, getting up.

“No, you don’t have to iron my stuff.”

“I want to.”

He jumped into gray sweatpants—an activity that should be an Olympic sport. Perfect form. I gave him a ten.

I pulled on my shirt and leggings so I could dig in my luggage. “I’m not used to wearing pants to work,” I said, holding up the slacks I got. “I had to go buy something.”

He put on a hoodie and went to get the ironing board from his closet.

I gave him my clothes and then wandered out to get something to drink.

“Hey, can you let out Jake?” he called.

“Yup.”

I let the dog out onto the little patio and then headed to the kitchen. “You want water?” I called.

“Sure.”

I grabbed two glasses and went to fill them from the tap. But then I thought maybe he had a Brita or something so I opened his fridge to poke around.

He had a bottle of Murkle’s in the door. He’d tossed the French’s mustard.

My heart melted.

He hadn’t known I was coming. He just had this in a secret show of loyalty. Honoring all my tiny allegiances and petty vendettas.

This was my love language.

I took it out of the fridge and brought it back with me to the room. “I see you’ve been converted,” I said, leaning in the doorway, holding up the yellow bottle.