Page 207 of The Fall

His silence stretches out over the quiet surf. One breath draws into another as I wait for him.

“When did you know?” he whispers. “That you wanted this. Us.”

I knew from the moment I woke up beside him in my dream, in my not-real life, when my broken mind was a scrambled box of puzzle pieces, but that’s not a story I can tell. “It wasn’t one moment,” I say finally. “It was... all these little things adding up. It was the way you pushed me to be better and believed in me before I’d given you any reason to. It was the way you had my back.” I turn my face into his palm, breathing in the scent of his skin. “It was your laugh,” I whisper. “It was...” I swallow. “It was everything, every single piece of you.” I shake my head. “Loving you is like breathing. I can’t stop if I tried.”

His eyes shine in the moonlight, and when he kisses me, it tastes like salt, like hope, like forever. “I love you,” he breathes against my lips.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his forehead against mine.

“What about you?” I ask him. “When did you know about me?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “After the game against Toronto when you stayed late to work on your shot. You got back on the ice after everyone was gone, and you were so focused. I waswatching you for maybe twenty minutes before you noticed I was there.”

I remember that night; it was so long ago, back when I was still working my way into Blair’s tentative approval. “You came out and helped me adjust my release.”

He nods. “Yeah. But before that, when I was watching you, I saw how much you cared and how hard you were willing to work.” His voice drops lower. “I thought, ‘I want to be part of whatever drives him like that.’ And then I thought, ‘Oh, fuck.’”

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t think I ever would.” The moonlight catches in his eyes. I stare at him, this man who’s the center of my world. He shakes his head. “I was scared, but I’m done pretending I don’t want everything with you.” He exhales, so, so slowly. “I’m not the easiest man to love, and I don’t have everything figured out. I want to try to give you everything, Torey. Every day, I want to try.”

His words are suspended in the salt-laced air, more real than the dying fire or the star-dusted sky.

He doesn’t need to give me everything. He already is everything. “You are everything I need,” I tell him.

Our last day dawns quiet.

The villa sits in stillness, only the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles. Blair sleeps on his stomach, one arm stretched toward me, fingers curled against the sheet.

He is beautiful in ways that are unfair, too much for one man to carry inside a single body. Even after thirteen days here, my breath catches when I look at him. I slide closer, drop my lips tohis shoulder. His eyes stay closed, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Morning,” I whisper.

He reaches for me without opening his eyes.

“Not ready to wake up yet?”

“M’never leaving this bed.”

The room smells of sweat and last night’s ocean air. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, draw him in until he is all there is. I still haven’t gotten enough; I’ll never have enough. This craving I have for him is woven into every part of me. “I want you,” I breathe.

His eyes open, ocean-blue and hazy with sleep, and he looks at me, a lazy curve to his lips. I lean down and taste smile.

“You have me,” he says. He rolls toward me, his body warm against mine. His hand settles on my hip as he pulls me closer, and I slide my palm up his chest.

“How do you want me?” he asks, mouth brushing my ear.

I want him everywhere at once: my mouth on his skin, my hands all over him, my body draped on top of his.

I kiss him deeper, slower, and when I pull back he chases me. “I want to taste you,” I tell him. “Every inch of you.”

“Please,” he moans.

These weeks have taught me what makes him gasp, what makes him groan, what makes him beg, and I take my time with him, working down his body slowly. He sighs when I close my mouth around his nipple, one deep sound that starts low and rolls out of him. My hand slides lower, stroking the ridge of his hipbone. His cock strains against his stomach, flushed and heavy.

I breathe him in, the musk of his skin, the salt-sweet scent that’s purely Blair. He shifts, knees parting for me, and my hands grip his thighs, spreading them wider as I settle between them.

I take him in my hand, his skin velvet-soft over steel hardness. He’s so warm here, so alive. I stroke him once, twice, watching his stomach muscles tense and savoring the way he gasps when I twist my wrist at the top.