“I don’t know what you were just thinking and I don’t want to know. What I can tell you is I’m sure that photo will be my first masterpiece.”
I cross the room and scoop up the camera. “If you get an instant photo of me, it’s only fair I get the same.”
“I can’t argue with that. A memento for you to take on the road.”
She turns until her back’s to me, gathering her long locks in one hand and flinging me a saucy smile over her shoulder. I snap the photo, but before the picture’s finished printing, she crosses the kitchen and takes the camera from me. Her hands take hold of my T-shirt, balling into fists as she pulls me out of the kitchen and down the hall until we’re in her bedroom.
“Come on, tiger. If this is our last night together, you better wear me out.”
Oh, I’ll wear her out.
After tonight, Amelia will never want another man.
I just wonder how long it’ll take her to realize it.
The It’s my last night.
words come barreling at me like a freight train, so hard I bang my head on the inside of the refrigerator. The pain in my head now has nothing on the agony tearing through my heart though. I knew that this day would come, but I thought I’d have time to get used to it.
I thought I could wean myself off Knox.
Going cold turkey?
It’s unfathomable.
I’m already imagining the withdrawal symptoms, and the future appears miserable.
I want to protest. I want to throw my arms around him and beg him to stay. But his dad’s in the hospital. As selfish as I want to be, I can’t do it. So, instead, I bury my grief and hope he can’t sense it.
And then he drops another bomb on me.
Wellington.
Hell. I had no idea how much learning his last name would affect me. He’s giving us a chance. Not necessarily now, but in the future. If I choose to look him up. He’s putting the ball in my court. A ball I’ll most definitely be playing with in the near future if I get my way.
For now? I have to let him go.
I fight back the urge to pour my heart out. It wouldn’t be fair to him, or to me, if I spill it right before he has to leave. And if he doesn’t feel the same, I don’t want to ruin what little time we have left. Rather than going all Annette Funicello on him and declaring my undying love, I opt for getting my fill of Knox Wellington before he walks out of my life in the morning.
Not that it’ll ever be enough.
He closes the distance between us and swoops me up in his arms, not stopping until we’re in my bedroom. There, I slide down his chest until my toes hit the carpet, but I don’t break our connection. I relish in his closeness, knowing I have to soak up every single second of this night to add to my memory bank for the future.
We silently undress each other, hands and fingers lingering on each other’s bodies, committing to memory what we may never have again.
Not that I’ll ever be able to forget him.
“Knox Wellington, what am I going to do without you?” I whisper, gazing up into dark eyes. Now that I know his name, I can’t help loving the way it rolls off my lips.
“Probably get into trouble with Sunny since I won’t be around to keep you preoccupied. The real question is what am I going to do?”
I swallow hard. “Hopefully not work yourself to death. But let’s not think about that tonight. How about you spend the time we have left together showing me what you’d be doing to me if you didn’t have to leave?”
He doesn’t need any more prompting. He shuffles me backwards until I drop onto the bed. I squeal as he falls on top of me, covering my body with his.
Words escape him.
The time for conversation is over.
Knox peppers kisses from my temple down to my jawline, nipping at my skin and sucking when he gets to the curve of my neck. In our summer together, he’s learned every inch of me, and knowing this is it, I want to cherish this time we have left.
I move my hand between us, my fingers trembling as I brace his engorged flesh.
But he has other plans.
He brushes my hand aside and doesn’t waste another second before he guides himself into me, slowly, with measure, inch by magnificent inch until he’s filling me completely. He pauses for the briefest of moments, his eyes boring into mine.
“What the fuck am I going to do without you?” Hot, molten eyes blaze as he undulates his hips, thrusting deep. “What the fuck am I going to do without this?”
“Knox,” I whisper.
It’s his undoing.
The single syllable unleashes the fire that’s burning between us. Soft and slow and sweet lovemaking of the past melts away. It’s fierce, frenzied, frantic fucking.
I can’t keep up.
“Hold on, baby.”
My insides squeeze at the endearment and I do as he asked. I bring my knees up to accommodate him, pressing the soles of my feet to the bed. Knox groans as he embeds himself impossibly deeper. My arms ascend the muscled planes of his back and hold on for dear life. There’s no matching the way he furiously pumps in and out of me, as if he’s ramming into me just how powerful he is.
How powerful our connection is.
It’s a welcome reminder.
As if I need it.
This night, this time, is different. Even though he’s here with my physically, it’s as if he’s far away. Most nights, I get his eyes on mine, our fingers intertwined, and whispered words. Tonight, Knox’s focus is on getting his fill—and giving me mine.
Not that I’m complaining.
He fucks me with wild abandon, crashing into me, and I arch into him, tipping my hips as he delves deeper into me with each rhythmic push.
Knox isn’t just fucking me. He’s leaving his mark, branding me. He’s staking claim, ownership, even if only for tonight.
“Melia,” he groans, long and low, and with one final powerful thrust, he convulses and explodes inside me, his head falling to the pillow beside me as he abandons himself to pleasure.
His extraordinary climax triggers my own wild eruption, my breath coming in pants. I’m seized by a rush of sensation so intense that I dig my nails into his back as I cry his name out in satisfaction.
At the same time, a plethora of conflicting emotions collide in my head—and my heart. Desire. Longing. Exhalation. Anguish. Sorrow. Absolutely and totally wrecked.
The truth crashes over me along with pulsating waves of pleasure.
I will never get enough. I may never feel this passion again. I’m not the same woman I was three months ago, and it’s all because of him.
He’s transformed me into a wreckage no other man will be able to salvage.
I will never be the same.
“Jesus Christ, Melia,” he whispers.
Those are the same words I’ve heard muttered countless times this summer. This time, though, the evident strain in his voice elicits hot tears to flood my eyes. Knowing I may never have this again is paralyzing. My heart constricts and I blink away the tears that threaten to give away my truth.
“Usually I’m the one calling you god,” I tease, though I feel far from playful.
He lifts, his teasing eyes and his cocky smile evident in the moonlight that streams through the window. “Don’t ever forget it.”
As if I could.
I want to cry when he withdraws from me. I’ve never felt so empty. So hollow. And he’s not even gone yet.