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She explodes. Her mouth parts in a silent scream, her pussy convulsing around my face as her wetness gushes out of her. I lap it up, every single drop, my cock so hard a single stroke can set me off.

Quickly, I unbutton my jeans and tug down my zipper and underwear. My dick, already beaded with pre-cum, flips up and points north, needing to be inside her this very moment.

Before she comes down from her high, I drag her back down and wrap her legs around my waist.

Alexis is still shuddering in my arms when her eyes flutter open. Her pupils swallow the blues of her irises. Fuck. She’s orgasm drunk. My cock pulses again, needing to put that look on her face again.

And again. And again.

With a growl, I slam into her, my eyes nearly going blind from the white-hot pleasure traveling up my shaft when her entrance tightens around my cock. I should go slower. I should be more gentle. She was a virgin not long ago. She needs love poems and soft kisses.

But I can’t.

My mind is mad for her. My body only answers to her.

My hips move of their own accord. Faster. Harder, I can’t think. I can’t speak. My mind is in an alternate universe, blank and yet filled with too many colors.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she cries, and I deepen my strokes, angling so it hits her G-spot with each glide.

Sounds of our lust and lovemaking fill the room—the clinking of my belt buckle, the slapping of skin against skin, the loud, rhythmic thumping of her back against the wall as we come together repeatedly.

Soon, a scream funnels out of her throat and I swallow the sound with my mouth as she shatters around me, her pussy pulsing and strangling my cock into nirvana.

Breaking our kiss, I throw my head back as ecstasy barrels through me. I bite my tongue to keep from yelling her name when I unload unending streams of cum inside her, emptying myself until there’s nothing left to give.

Our ragged breaths fill the dark room, the rhythmic pulse of the bass from the music outside finally registering.

I plaster her against the wall, sweat dripping down our bodies, unable to move an inch. My cock still pulses from aftershocks and her pussy flutters around my semi-hard cock. I feel the wetness of our cum seeping out and it fills me with a satisfaction I’ve never felt before.

Eventually, my brain starts functioning.

“I should stay away, but it’s impossible.” Breaking apart, I stare at her beautiful eyes, luminous even in the dark. “I want to be the one to sit next to you in your courtyard picnic outside the hummingbird window. I want to feed you sandwiches and iced tea while you read. I want you tobe the first person to read the poems I write…poems I’ve stopped writing until I met you, because you—”

I rake in a breath and grip her thighs tightly. Her lavender scent surrounds me in the sweetest embrace. “You, Lexy…you make me feel like everything is possible. Words flow out of me when I’m with you. I feel whole—and I’ve never felt that way before. So fuck, maybe I’m screwed up like Liam said—”

She shushes me, putting a finger over my lips. “My brother doesn’t know you. The poet. My dream keeper. And you don’t show this side to him. You’re not screwed up.”

“I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. I was always too chickenshit to try. But I want to try with you, Lexy. I can’t promise I won’t do something stupid or hurt your feelings, but I’veneverwanted to fall in love until I met you.”

Her lips tremble and she unleashes another devastating smile. “You can never mess up. And even if you do, I’ll be there to pick you up. Because my world isn’t complete without Ethan Anderson.”

She cups my cheek with one hand before dragging her index finger over the bridge of my nose, and I smile.

My gesture. My love for her in one simple stroke.

Leaning in, she whispers, “You always tell me I’m unforgettable, Ethan. But really, you’re the unforgettable one. My north star.”

Chapter 23

Present: Nine Years After the Accident—Twenty-Nine Years Old

My legs bounce onthe floor as I review my program readmission letter from UNYC. My brothers pulled some strings for me to get me readmitted because my enrollment lapsed a long time ago. My heart pinches at needing the help of my brothers again. The familiar frustration, anger—everything my therapist keeps telling me is normal—burns inside me.

A lot of “I shouldn’t needs” bounce around my mind, which is completely unproductive.

I snap my fingers—a new quirk I’ve picked up the last few months, the sound and movement reminding me I’m being too tough on myself. A literal “snap out of it.”

“I got this. I got this,” I chant under my breath and review the student portal—they’ve recognized most of the general education classes I’ve taken before, so that’s good.