Page 79 of The Fall

Blair’s free hand tangles in my hair, tugging gently to bring my mouth back to his. Our kiss is messy, desperate, tongue and teeth and shared gasps. I lose track of whose breath belongs to whom. I grind down again, again, again.

His hand tightens around us, and I stare into his eyes. I’m teetering on the brink. He whispers my name, and then everything breaks loose at once.

My body seizes, and I cry out, shuddering as I spill over both of us. Blair follows right after, holding me so tight I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I want to be crushed against him, want every tremor that runs through his body to run through mine.

When our breathing finally steadies, Blair reaches for tissues on the nightstand. He cleans us both, and I slide off his lap and collapse beside him on the bed, my limbs heavy.

Blair rolls to me, his ocean-blue eyes soft in the dim light. His finger moves along my jaw, then he leans in to drop a kiss on my lips. It’s gentle, so different from the desperate heat of minutes ago.

Waves roll against the shore, and we drift together, trading whispers until sleep takes us both.

I hover between dreams and consciousness, Blair still asleep beside me. The sheets twist between our legs, cool where they catch the breeze from the ceiling fans, warm where they trap the heat of his body against mine. The surf rolls against our dock—rush, retreat, pause. Rush, retreat, pause.

The quiet, the warmth, the steady tick of the fan blades marking time that doesn’t matter—it is all incredibly, impossibly perfect.

His arm tightens around my waist. The stubble-rough edge of his jaw drags across my skin as he burrows closer. “What time is it, babe?” He pulls me tighter until we’re completely entangled.

I press my lips to the edge of his brow, lingering there. “Dunno.”

We have two weeks of this .

“You hungry?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not for food.”

He huffs out a laugh that skims down my neck, then rolls over me, pinning me to the mattress.

I’m suddenly surrounded by all his sun-warmed muscle.

His thigh slides between mine as his hands frame my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones.

A scrape of sunlight catches in his eyelashes.

He’s gold everywhere, on the planes of his face, in the hollow beneath his throat.

I kiss him again, slow and deep and thorough.

We do have to eat, though. Eventually.

I’m coated in salt air and sweat when the brunch room service Blair orders arrives. He carries it to the bed and sets the tray between us atop our rumpled sheets, and I steady a tilting coffee cup before it can spill while he climbs back in.

The spread is a commercial tableau: fresh fruit, pastries dusted in powdered sugar, coffee shooting up ribbons of steam. A bowl of mango slices catches the light, their orange-gold flesh bright as tropical sunset.

Blair reaches for a crepe; powdered sugar clings to his knuckles. I catch his hand before he can pull away and bring it to my mouth. Sugar dissolves against my tongue.

I want him again.

“You’re insatiable,” he says as he settles back against the headboard. He stretches his arms overhead, every muscle in his torso shifting. The sheet slips tantalizingly lower.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Not complaining,” he says. “Stating facts.”

“Maybe I’m a better athlete,” I tease.

“Hmm.” His eyes catch mine, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I abandon my coffee on the nightstand and slide across the rumpled sheets into Blair’s lap. The mango bowl is within reach, and I pick out a slice and bring it to his mouth. His eyes lock on mine.

He takes a bite, his lips brushing against my fingertips. Sweet juice escapes, trickling down my wrist in a warm, sticky path, and his tongue follows the trail of sweetness from my wrist to my fingers.

“Good?” I ask.

“Perfect,” he rumbles.

My body is liquid inside these sheets, my muscles loose from sleep and sex and sun. I slide my hand through his hair, then pluck a blackberry from the bowl and crush it against my neck. The juice runs down my chest, slow as gravity, staining my skin.

Blair’s gaze sharpens; his breath brushes over the slick trail.

He follows it with his tongue, gathering sweetness from the hollow of my throat as his hands explore down my back, drawing me closer until every inch of me presses into him.

His mouth traces the path left by berry juice across my pecs, lips catching on the sticky spot where juice pools at my sternum.

“You missed a spot,” I whisper.

His lips nibble along the line of my collarbone. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” I breathe. “You missed everywhere.”

“What’s on your bucket list?” My question floats between us on our dock, where we’ve stretched out on teak loungers to soak up the sun.

Blair rolls his head toward me. “You mean places? Or things I want to do?”

“Both.”

Blair takes his time answering. I like that about him, how he considers questions before answering, like each one deserves his full attention.

“I want to see Iceland,” he says finally. “Watch the northern lights. Swim between continents where the tectonic plates meet.”

Swimming between continents. It sounds mythic, like splitting your life into two eras: before and after you dared. It reminds me of how I felt when I woke up in his bed.

“Your turn,” he says, nudging my foot with his.

“I want to drive across the country.”

“Road trip. I’m in. We could take turns picking the music.”

“You’d regret that.” I stretch my legs out, letting the sun warm my skin. “One minute it’s ‘90s hip-hop, then I’m blasting musicals.”

Blair laughs. “I don’t mind.”

I close my eyes against the bright sky, feeling weightless. “Any other bucket list items?” I ask after a while.

Blair goes quiet, and I open one eye to peek at him. His expression is thoughtful, gaze fixed on the horizon where blue meets blue. “I want to coach kids someday,” he says. “Not right away, but eventually.”

I turn my hand over, palm up, and he slides his fingers between mine.

“What else?” he asks.

“I want to learn to surf.” The words come easier now, these shared dreams taking shape between us.

“That’s a perfect excuse to rent a beach house in Hawaii.” He shifts on his lounger, propping himself up on one elbow to face me.

“We should make a list,” I say. “Of all the things we want to do, and the places we want to go.”

Blair squeezes my hand. “Together?”

I squeeze back. “Together.” I want it all.

I roll onto my side to face him properly, our hands joined between loungers. The sun beats down on my shoulders, but I don’t care about the heat.

“Where would we start?” Blair asks.

“Are we talking practical or completely unrealistic?”

“Start unrealistic.”

“Antarctica,” I say without hesitation. “I want to see penguins in the wild.”

“Cold.” He’s smiling. “I’ll bring extra blankets.”

“Your turn.”

He thinks for a moment, free hand coming up to shade his eyes from the sun. “I want to swim with sharks. Somewhere warm, obviously. Maybe the Philippines.”

“From Antarctica to the tropics. Our travel budget’s going to be insane.”

“Worth it.” He tugs on my hand. “What else?”

I could list a hundred places, a thousand experiences, but right now, with him here and the ocean stretching endlessly before us, every dream feels secondary to this. The dock creaks beneath us as a gentle wave rocks against the pilings. “There are things I want that scare me,” I admit.

“Like what?”

My gaze drifts from his face to the endless meeting of sea and sky. How do I explain that the fear isn’t of shadows, but of the light? That this much happiness feels like a height from which I could fall.

“This,” I finally say, the word small against the sound of the surf. I look back at him, forcing myself to hold his stare. “Wanting this with you. All of it.” There it is, the most fragile part of me, laid bare on this sun-drenched dock.

He kisses my knuckles, and his gaze never leaves mine. This is more than bucket lists and dream destinations.

He’s quiet for so long I think he might not speak again, but when he does, his voice is low. “I talk to Cody sometimes. When I’m alone.”

The dock seems to still beneath us. Even the water goes quiet, as if the whole world is holding its breath.

“Some days I’m angry with him. Other days I tell him about a game or some stupid thing Hayes did. I ask him questions I know he can’t answer.”

I wait, giving him space to continue or stop. The afternoon air wraps around us, warm and forgiving.

“Do you think that’s weird?” he asks.

“No.”

“I told him about you.”

“Me?”

“He would have liked you.” Blair’s jaw works left and then right. “I think about that a lot,” he continues after a few breaths. “What Cody would say about everything. About me now. About us.”

“What do you think he’d say?”

Blair turns to me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sad smile. “He’d tell me to stop being such a sap, for starters.” He laughs, but it catches. “And he’d probably give me shit for how long it took me to figure things out with you.”

I smile at that, picturing a version of Cody I never knew, one who would tease his brother, who would’ve welcomed me.

Blair’s hand tightens around mine, and we breathe together—sunlight painting everything gold, the dock warm beneath us—until he lets out a slow breath and nudges my shoulder with his own. “What do you want to do with the rest of our day?”

I wag my eyebrows at him. “I’m open to suggestions.”

A playful glint appears in his eyes. “Well, I have an idea...” He stands, pulling me up with him.

I am ready, so ready, to fall back into bed with him. I want him constantly, ceaselessly, all the time. “Mysterious,” I say, following him. “I wonder where you’re taking me.”

“Trust me.”

Two hours later, we’re all alone at the tees of an oceanside driving range. “Golf lesson time,” he announces.