Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Luca carefully pulls his hand from between us and slides it up my side and around to my breast, where he urges me to sit up so he can kiss and play with my chest, rediscovering my skin and curves. His hand is wet, covered in me, just like he wanted, and watching him suck and lick makes my skin feel sensitive and electric.
He stretches us out on the sofa, side by side, pulling my leg over his hip, and when he kisses up my chest, my neck, over my chin and up to my mouth, and he tastes like me and him and us… I fall so much further in love with him that I get lightheaded. We get lost in the slowest kiss trance, just exploring each other in an ebbing and flowing rhythm of play to heat to loving to calm and back again.
With him naked against me, I feel my eyes grow heavy, hear the way his breaths, too, are becoming deeper and rhythmic, and like this, we fall asleep in each other’s arms.
35 LUCA
I don’t think I’ve ever slept this late in my life, but when I wake up next to a naked Emery, I can’t imagine getting out of bed.
I carried her in here around midnight; she was sweet and sleepy, too lazy to walk herself down the short hall to the bedroom. But I had a cramp in my calf and a sore neck and wasn’t going to sleep on the couch all night when we could stretch out together in our bed. Emery happily clambered in, eyes droopy, and rolled over with her back to me in invitation. She melted into the curve of my body when I followed her between the sheets.
For a few minutes I felt the pressing desire to roll her over and make love. I remembered the videos of us together and wanted to re-create every one of them. I wanted to lose myself inside her, to forget everything and every person outside of our house. But soon her warmth and softness pulled me under, too. I slept like a fucking rock.
It’s nearly nine and she’s still out cold, on her stomach, with a pillow clutched in her arms. Her hair is soft and loose, fanned around her face, down past her shoulders. I wonder if it’s always been this long. If she’s ever had bangs or a haircut she regrets. I study her in a way I haven’t been able to do yet—the bare skin on her back, arms, sides—tracing the gentle slope of her neck, the strong line of her back, the luscious curve of her waist, knowing that, once upon a time, her body was as familiar to me as my own. After the intimacy of last night on the couch, I feel something inside me uncoiling. I might not remember our past, but I know we have a future.
Emery has a scar on her right elbow. It’s just above the joint—a crescent moon about half an inch long. I dig around in my memory for some echo of how she got it.
Nothing.
Bending, I kiss her shoulder, and she hums in her sleep, pressing back into me.
“Morning,” I murmur into her skin.
She grunts, burrowing deeper into the pillow.
Honey nudges my arm, and I look over her shoulder to meet her hopeful brown eyes. She stares at me in stark betrayal. Clearly she’s never been fed a day in her life.
“Morning, sweet girl.” I push to sit up at the side of the bed and, with a hand under her chin, I gently turn her head, searching to make sure she’s really okay. Had she been in the yard the whole time? It’s hard to imagine she wouldn’t have come when we’d called her… unless she’d found a rabbit to hunt or more dead worms for Emery and couldn’t be distracted.
“Where’d you go, huh?” I whisper. “Were you hunting? Or did you get out?”
She whines, pleading with me to focus on what matters: potty, then food.
“Okay, okay.” I’m sore for all the best reasons as I stand and grab a pair of boxers from the dresser and step into them. Leaning over the bed, I kiss the bare skin of Emery’s shoulder again.
“Feeding Honey,” I say to her, smiling when she mumbles something inaudible in response.
Emery never could function before coffee.
I’m on my way to the kitchen when the realization stops me in my tracks. Emery has always been a beast to get out of bed in the morning and needs at least two cups of coffee before approaching anything close to functional. Obviously, I’ve picked up on that in the last week, but this is different. I don’t just know, I remember. I can imagine instances of tickling her, kissing her awake, wafting the scent of ground coffee beans near her sleeping face.