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I’m not sure I agree with those words entirely, but it’s a beautiful thought, nonetheless.
The promise that when one flower wilts and withers, another will bloom again.
Kind of like how Jude and I managed to find each other in a world that had already been shattered by our own losses. How we managed to plant a few new seeds in the garden of our futures, together.
The crinkling of the book’s pages echoes in the small space of my dorm room as Jude sets the opened book down onto his stomach, his ankles crossed and his feet resting on my windowsill, where moonlight spills onto his body, bringing life to the swirls of black and gray covering his legs, his stomach, his chest, and his arms.
Shifting upward, he rests his head in his palm, his elbow dipping into the mattress below him, and his stare meets mine. Gray, as wild and severe as a summer storm, penetrates through the chaotic emotions raging within my own.
I’m not ready for you to leave. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I’m not ready to hope this works out between us from over a thousand miles away.
His smile says the opposite, though.
Slowly moving. Slowly tilting. Slowly rising on one side, and then the other. A hundred promises written in the stretch of its curve.
I crane my neck to kiss him, and let out a sigh as my lips meet his.
I taste like raspberries, and he tastes like oranges, and the flavors mix together between our tongues.
Time moves like molasses, syrupy, and sweet, like our kiss.
Standing from my bed, he finishes undressing from where he started hours ago, the heat of the day seeping into my dorm leaving him in only his shorts and socks and underwear. The soft ruffle of his shorts meets my ears as they hit the floor, quickly followed by his socks. And then his tattooed fingers dip into the waistband of his dark boxer-briefs, and a thick swallow travels through my throat as he slides them down his legs and bares himself to me.
With only a single dip of his head, and a crude, delicious promise in his stare, he demands that I do the same. I pull my oversized shirt from my body with a sharp breath. Unclasp and untether my bra. Slip my underwear down my legs.
His gaze heats, ashes and embers swirling in his stare. I’m certain it matches the heat in my own as he reaches down and wraps a fist around his length. His mouth parts in a silentohwith his stroke, his hand slowly sliding up and down his shaft before squeezing at the tip.
His cock is angry, and swollen, and so big in his hand, and I’m too aware of the way my body responds.
The heat between my legs.
How wet I already am.
I ache.
The veins in his arm pop from their shadowed background as his fist continues to work his length in shallow strokes, his eyes painting an even slower path over my naked body. They settle on the space between my legs and flare, before pinning on my own.
I swallow thickly.
He’s beautifully naked and stunningly bare, and he’s stalking toward me, climbing onto the bed and on top of me. Without taking his eyes away, without a word, his hands slide up my legs and spread them, and he guides himself inside me with only the sound of our heavy gasps of pleasure filling the space between us.
“God, Declan. There is nothing like being inside you. You feel so fucking good, baby. So fucking good,” he coos above me.
The thickness of him drags through my walls, the sight of his naked, art-covered body on top of me driving me wild. My pierced nipples rub against his tattooed chest, my thighs bracketing the canvas of his torso, and he’s right, nothing has ever felt this good.This right.
My emotions are a thin blanket over my skin, every touch of Jude’s brushing against my heart, every soft-spoken word and shared breath burrowing deeper into its core.
He’s inside me, and he’s fucking me, and his eyes still haven’t left mine.
And I don’t know if this is love, but it feels like love, and I don’t want to let it go.
______
The next morning, I stare deep into Jude’s eyes, overwhelming feelings building inside me until I’m not sure my body can contain them any longer. I open my mouth to say…something.But nothing feels good enough. No words feel quite right.
The end of our summer is here, and I don’t want to face it.
Jude forces us to, though, as he strides forward, his arms falling down around me, dragging me into him and crushing me against his chest in the middle of the busy airport where our summer began. He squeezes me so hard I’m sure it’ll leave a bruise—if not on my skin, then without a doubt, on my soul.