Page 16 of The Words of Us (Infinite Tenderness #5)

15

EVIE

I wake up feeling a lightness in my chest, the kind that’s been there more and more lately. Today, I get to see Sasha, and the thought of it pulls me out of bed faster than my morning coffee ever could. I’ve missed her, even though it’s only been a day since we last saw each other. It’s funny how quickly she’s become a part of my daily routine, like her presence is something I’ve been missing all along without knowing it.

We’ve made plans to meet at our usual spot, a little café with mismatched chairs and faded art on the walls. It’s become our place, the kind of cozy, tucked-away corner of the city that feels like it’s just for us. I’m early, of course—I always am when it comes to seeing her—and I spend the time sipping my coffee and replaying moments from the last two weeks in my head. The late nights reading together, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention, the feeling of her hand slipping into mine as we walk down the street.

When Sasha finally arrives, the familiar jingle of the doorbell signaling her entrance, I look up with a smile, ready for the usual spark that lights up whenever she’s near. But something is different today. She hesitates at the doorway for a moment, her eyes scanning the room like she’s looking for something she’s lost. When our eyes meet, she smiles, but it’s not the easy, carefree smile I’m used to. It’s tight, a little forced, and there’s a flicker of something in her eyes that I can’t quite place.

“Hey,” she says, sliding into the chair across from me. She leans in for a kiss, quick and fleeting, and I catch the faint scent of her perfume mixed with something heavier, maybe worry. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late,” I say, brushing it off, but the words feel hollow. I reach across the table, my fingers grazing hers, but she pulls back almost instinctively, picking up her menu, even though she knows it by heart. The small distance between us feels suddenly vast.

We order breakfast, and I try to fill the silence with light conversation—telling her about a quirky customer who came into the bookstore yesterday, making jokes about how Kenneth nearly dropped an entire stack of books when a mouse scurried across the floor. Normally, this would make her laugh, that bright, melodic sound that never fails to lift my spirits. But today, Sasha just nods, her eyes unfocused, and I can tell she’s not really listening.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice softer, tinged with a concern I can’t quite hide. “You seem...distracted.”

Sasha looks up, and for a second, there’s a flash of something—fear? Guilt?—before she smooths it over with a practiced smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push. I want to ask, to dig deeper, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the slight edge in her tone, the way her fingers drum restlessly on the table, or how she keeps glancing at her phone like she’s expecting bad news. I tell myself she’s just tired, that maybe work is stressing her out, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.

As the morning goes on, I keep trying to pull her back, to find the rhythm we’ve had since we started this thing, whatever it is. I suggest a walk, hoping the fresh air will help, and she agrees, but there’s a heaviness in her steps that wasn’t there before. We wander through the city, past the colorful balconies and iron gates of the French Quarter, the kind of scene that usually sparks a story or a joke between us. But today, Sasha is quiet, her responses clipped, as if she’s somewhere else entirely.

I point out a street musician playing an old blues tune, hoping to catch her attention, to get even a flicker of the Sasha I know. She pauses and watches for a moment, but the light in her eyes is distant, like she’s seeing something far away. When I try to slip my arm around her waist, she leans in but doesn’t quite settle, like she’s holding something back, wrapped up in thoughts she won’t share.

We find a bench by the river, and I suggest we sit for a while. The breeze is warm, the sun glinting off the water in a way that makes everything seem softer, easier. But Sasha’s shoulders are tense, her posture is stiff, and I can feel the disconnect between us growing with every second of silence. I try again, asking her about her week, about her plans, but her answers are short, mechanical. The closeness we’ve built feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to pull it back.

“Sasha,” I say finally, turning to face her fully, my voice gentle but firm. “I know something’s going on. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here, you know?”

She nods, her gaze fixed on the river, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “I know, Evie. I do. I just...I can’t right now.”

The words sting more than I want to admit, but I force a smile, nodding as if that’s enough. I reach for her hand again, and this time she lets me hold it, her grip loose but there. I try to draw comfort from the contact, but it feels fragile, like a lifeline that’s fraying at the edges. I want to tell her that she can trust me, that whatever it is, we’ll get through it together, but I’m scared of pushing too hard, scared of saying the wrong thing and losing her.

We sit in silence, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye, trying to read the lines of tension in her face, the tightness in her jaw. It’s like she’s here, but not really, and I don’t know how to reach her. The Sasha I’ve come to know—bright, playful, always with that spark of mischief in her eyes—feels just out of reach, replaced by someone distant, guarded, wrapped up in something I can’t touch.

Eventually, we head back to my place, and I put on a record, hoping the music will break the strange spell that’s settled between us. Sasha sits on the couch, her legs tucked up beneath her, and I curl up beside her, resting my head on her shoulder. She wraps an arm around me, and for a moment, I think maybe things are okay. But the silence stretches, and I feel the familiar Sasha slipping further away.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in a quiet that’s not quite comfortable, not quite tense, but something in between. I read, pretending to be absorbed in the book, but my mind keeps drifting back to the way Sasha’s thumb scrolls absently on her phone, the way she glances at it every few minutes like she’s waiting for something she doesn’t want to see.

I want to ask what’s wrong. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to carry whatever this is alone, but I’m afraid of pushing her away. So I sit there, feeling the weight of the unspoken between us, hoping that whatever’s pulling her away will let go soon, that she’ll come back to me.

As the day fades into evening, I watch her get up, her movements slow and deliberate, like she’s dragging herself through the motions. She kisses me goodbye at the door, a quick, distracted press of our lips that leaves me feeling colder than I like to admit.

“See you tomorrow?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s a hesitation, a flicker of something that tells me she’s not sure. She gives me one last tight smile before she turns away, and I’m left standing in the doorway, watching her walk down the street, feeling more alone than I have in a long time.

I close the door and lean against it, letting the quiet of the apartment settle around me. I don’t know what’s going on with Sasha, but the sudden distance between us leaves me feeling adrift, like I’m losing something I’ve only just begun to find. I want to be there for her, but I don’t know how, and the uncertainty gnaws at me, twisting in my chest like a knot I can’t untangle.

As I move around the apartment tidying up, I find one of the poetry books we’ve been reading together last week. I flip it open to a random page, scanning the lines that once felt so connected to us but now seem hollow, echoing the quiet between us that I don’t know how to fill.

I tell myself it’s just a bad day, that whatever’s going on will pass, and she’ll be back,, the light and carefree Sasha I’ve come to know. But as I lie in bed that night, the emptiness of the space beside me feels impossibly wide, and I can’t help but wonder if whatever’s pulling her away is stronger than anything I can offer.

I close my eyes, holding onto the hope that tomorrow will be different, that the distance will fade, and we’ll find our way back to each other. But sleep doesn’t come easy, and in the quiet dark, all I can do is wait, feeling helpless and a little lost, unsure of how to bridge the gap that’s opened up between us.

The morning air is cool as I make my way to Sasha’s apartment, the city still waking up around me. I don’t know why I decided to come over so early, but I couldn’t bear the weight of yesterday hanging over us. I’ve spent the whole night replaying our time together: the distance in her eyes, the way she seemed so far away even when she was right beside me. I just want to make it better, to feel that closeness we’ve built slip back into place.

I stop in front of her door, nerves fluttering in my stomach. My hand hovers over the wood, and for a moment, I consider turning back, giving her the space she seems to need. But then the door opens suddenly, and Sasha is there, her hair messy from sleep, her eyes wide and surprised, but there’s a softness in her expression that makes my breath catch.

“Evie,” she says, her voice a mix of surprise and warmth. She’s still in one of my old t-shirts, her bare legs pale against the dim light filtering in from the window. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I smile, sheepish, feeling a little ridiculous for showing up unannounced. “I just…-I wanted to see you. I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday.”

Sasha steps aside, her smile widening, and something in her eyes has shifted. She looks lighter, like the weight that had been pressing down on her has lifted, if only just a little. “Come in. I’m glad you’re here.”

I step inside, the familiar scent of coffee and lavender greeting me. Her apartment feels warm, lived-in, and I can see the traces of her morning routine—an open book on the couch, a half-finished cup of tea on the counter, a notepad with half-scribbled lines of poetry. She looks more like herself today, less guarded, and I let out a breath, feeling relieved.

Sasha leads me into the kitchen, her fingers brushing mine as we walk, and I can feel the shift between us, the unspoken acknowledgment that today is different. She turns to face me, leaning against the counter, and there’s a softness in her smile that makes my chest ache in the best way.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she says, her voice quiet but sincere. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind. But I’m better now. I promise.”

I step closer, my hands finding her waist instinctively, and I can feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body against mine. “You don’t have to apologize,” I say, my thumb tracing gentle circles on her hip. “I just…I hate seeing you like that. I want to help.”

Sasha leans into me, her forehead resting against mine, and there’s a tenderness in the way she touches me, her fingers trailing up my arms, slow and deliberate. “You do help, Evie. More than you know.”

The distance that had felt so wide yesterday seems to shrink in an instant, and before I can think too much about it, I close the gap, my lips finding hers in a kiss that’s gentle, testing. Sasha responds immediately, her hands sliding up to cup my face, pulling me closer. There’s a neediness in the way we kiss, like we’re both trying to make up for lost time, for the moments we let slip away.

The kiss deepens, and I let myself get lost in it, in the soft, insistent press of her lips, the way her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me closer. I can taste the faint hint of her toothpaste, fresh and minty, mixed with something sweet and unmistakably her. The kitchen feels warmer, the space between us charged with a familiar, magnetic pull.

Sasha’s breath hitches as I move my hands to her hips, pulling her closer, and she presses against me with a soft, breathless sound that makes my heart race. I lift her easily, my hands steadying her as I guide her onto the counter. She gasps, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, and I feel the firm press of her thighs against my sides, pulling me in.

I run my hands up her bare legs, feeling the soft, smooth skin beneath my palms, and I push the hem of her T Shirt higher, exposing more of her as I go. Sasha’s eyes are dark, focused, and there’s a hunger there that matches my own, a need that’s been simmering just below the surface.

“Evie,” she gasps, her voice edged with a mix of urgency and something softer, something vulnerable.

I kiss her again, deeper this time, letting my hands roam freely, exploring every inch of her that I can reach. I push my hands underneath her shirt feeling her bare skin against my fingers. I trace the curve of her waist, the soft dip of her stomach, and I can feel the way her muscles tense beneath my touch. She’s warm and responsive, and I can’t get enough, can’t get close enough.

Sasha’s fingers dig into my shoulders, and she pulls me closer, our bodies fitting together perfectly. I press kisses along her jaw and down her neck, tasting the faint salt of her skin, and she tilts her head back, giving me access as her breath comes in quick, shallow bursts.

I pull back and part her legs further with my hands. I can see the damp patch of her desire on her cotton panties. I trail my fingers along the softness of her underwear, feeling the heat of her through the thin material. She shivers, her hips lifting on the kitchen counter, and I meet her gaze, pausing for just a second, searching for any hesitation.

But all I see is want, clear and undeniable, and it’s all the encouragement I need. I push the fabric aside, my fingers brushing against her wanting pussy, and Sasha’s head falls back, her lips parting in a soft, breathless moan that sends a surge of heat through me. I move against her, my touch firm and deliberate, and she responds instantly, her body arching, every movement a silent plea for more.

I lean down replacing my hand with my mouth. My left hand holds her panties to the side as my tongue eats her hungrily.

I can’t get enough of the taste of her in my mouth.

It feels like no amount of Sasha will ever be enough. She feels wetter and wetter the more I lick.

Her hips push forward against me.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” I look up and stop what I’m doing and meet her gaze.

There’s something else I want to do, my right hand moves underneath her taking the slickness from her pussy and rubbing it against her anus.

“Is this ok?” I ask, my voice thick with want.

She nods, her green eyes glazed with lust and I press at her asshole with my finger.

As my finger slides slowly into her, I hear a deep earthy moan from her. Her eyes close and her hand reaches for the back of my head pulling my mouth back to her pussy.

Long slow strokes of my tongue match the long slow thrusts of my finger deep in her ass.

I feel her tighten and tense and her hand pulls my face so tight to her I can’t breathe. And then she comes with a ferocity I had never imagined, gushing on my tongue, filling my mouth with her pleasure.

I swallow and swallow desperate to take every drop of her orgasm.

As she relaxes and releases her grip on my head I take a deep breath and go back to long slow tender licks of her and she begins to shiver under my touch.

I pull away and watch how beautiful she is as she opens her eyes.

“That was… so incredible…” her voice is throaty and raw, as though she can barely speak.

I help her down from the kitchen side and suddenly she is in my arms and kissing me with a renewed hunger.

“Please.. Evie… I need to taste you.”

She is quick to strip off my clothes, she is still wearing her baggy t shirt and soaking panties.

She drops to the floor pulling me down with her in between kisses.

“Please… sit on my face,” she says as she lies back on the cool kitchen tiles taking my hand and guiding me atop of her until I’m straddling her face on my knees.

She is looking up at me and my pussy is so close to her mouth I can feel her hot breath against it.

“Look in my eyes the whole time,” she says. Her left hand is still holding my hand, I can feel movement behind me and I think her right hand is buried in her own panties touching herself.

I look down at her, the intensity of meeting her gaze as I lower my pussy to her mouth overcomes me, but I don’t look away.

Her green eyes are full of lust as they look up at me, unashamed as they take in my breasts on their way to my face. Her moan as my pussy hits her mouth is raw and passionate like an animal and she begins to lick me deeply pushing her tongue inside of me then giving me long licks, nibbles, sucks. She fucks me with her mouth as though it is the thing she enjoys most in the world, and I don’t know, maybe it is. I know she is touching herself as we do this and the thought of it turns me on no end. I can still taste her come in my own mouth.

My eyes are locked on hers and our fingers interlocked as I relax into it and begin to rock against her mouth.

I grind down and seek my own pleasure from her tongue, her mouth, her chin. I find delicious pressure for my clitoris and I lose myself in the intensity of her flashing green eyes.

“I’m going to come,” I murmur, I can feel it building deep inside me. “Come with me,” I say and I sense the movements of her hand quicken. She is passive now in my orgasm, I’ll take my own pleasure by grinding into her mouth.

I see her own pupils widen as I take one last deep thrust of my pussy into her mouth and my orgasm floods through me, wave after wave. I hear her cry out into my pussy as she comes, too.

And we are both coming, still looking in each others eyes as though nothing else matters in the world.

Her hand squeezes mine and I feel her short nails digging into my flesh.

And in the beautiful chaos of it all with this incredible woman who is full of secrets, I know this—whatever was hanging over us yesterday—is gone now, lost in the heat of this moment and in the way we fit together, perfectly and completely.

For now, it’s enough.