Page 80 of After We Fall (After We Fall 2)
And loss, I’d learned, was inescapable.
After we ate, I dug out a deck of cards and taught Margot to play gin rummy. In contrast to her egg-gathering efforts, she was a quick learner at cards and improved fast. A few times my mind waded into deeper waters, imagining how nice it would be to have her around during the winter, when nights were long and cold and there wasn’t much to do but light a fire and play cards or curl up on the couch and watch a movie. I’d had to scold myself.
Don’t. She’s leaving next week, and it’s for the best.
If Pete and Georgia were surprised to find her there with me when they got home, they didn’t say it. We chatted with them for a few minutes, then said goodnight and exited out the back door.
“Come here.” I pulled her into the shadows behind the house, away from any windows, and crushed my mouth to hers. Her arms came around my neck, and I lifted her right off her feet. Her lips on mine felt like rain after a d
rought.
“Wow, you been saving that up?” she asked once I let her catch her breath.
I set her down. “Yes. I was afraid if I started in there, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
“Mmm. Don’t stop,” she whispered, rising up on her toes and kissing my neck. Her tongue on my skin sent bolts of lust straight to my cock, which twitched uncontrollably. It was as if my body knew the clock was already counting down the hours we had together. She moved one hand to my crotch, rubbing the bulge through my jeans while she sucked my earlobe, licked her way down my throat, sank her teeth into my shoulder.
“Oh, fuck.” I grabbed her arm and took off across the moonlit yard. I barely even thought about where I was going, I just knew I had to get her somewhere alone before I came in my pants like a teenager.
We ran through the trees to the cabin, pounded up the porch steps. It wasn’t until I opened the front door and pulled her through it into the darkened front room that it struck me I’d brought her to a place full of memories. I froze, my fingers still clasped around her wrist. Could I do this?
“Hey.” She spoke softly. “It’s OK.”
I turned to her, my chest a battleground. “Fuck,” I whispered.
She put a hand on my jaw. “It’s OK. I understand.”
“Margot, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know this is hard.”
Exhaling loudly, I circled both her wrists and tipped my forehead to hers. “It shouldn’t be this hard. I want you so badly.”
“I want you too.” Her voice was strained.
The dark was so thick I couldn’t see anything in the room. But I heard her breathing, sensed the rise and fall of her chest. Felt her skin, warm beneath my palms. Smelled her hair, the scent evoking memories of last night. And then my mouth was on her throat, because I had to taste her.
“Jack,” she whispered. “We don’t have to—”
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I heard myself saying. “I’m so fucking tired of being alone.”
“You don’t have to be.” She slid her fingers into my hair, covered my face with kisses. “I won’t leave you.”
Her words stayed with me as we hurriedly removed clothing and tumbled to our knees. I won’t leave you. As I laid her down gently on the rug and stretched out above her. I won’t leave you. As I moved my hands and lips and tongue over her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. I won’t leave you. As I buried myself inside her, rhythmic and deep, her arms around my neck, her lips a whisper away.
I won’t leave you.
God, what would that be like? What would it feel like to let go of the guilt, let go of the pain, let go of the fear? To look forward, and not back? What would it feel like to be happy again? To believe that I deserved it? To think that it could last?
I fought back against the crazy seed of hope taking root inside me, but its hold was already frighteningly deep and strong.
Something that had long been closed off inside me was opening up, and I felt a rush as it was filled with her presence, her trust, her understanding. The idea that she could feel something for me. The hope that all would be forgiven. The promise of a new life. A new beginning. A new love.
No. This is not about love. It’s not absolution or even acquittal. It’s a temporary stay, a bandaid on a wound. Soon it’ll be ripped off, and you’ll bleed again. Oh, God…
I felt like two halves of me were splitting apart—one wanted so badly to be granted that second chance at loving someone and allowing myself to be loved, while the other demanded I serve out my life sentence alone in the prison I’d built for myself.
Desperate to regain control, I focused on the heat and friction between us, on the sound of her voice saying my name, on the sting of her nails raking down my back. I concentrated on making her come, grinding against her the way she liked, whispering dirty words in her ear. I was rough with her, like I had been before.
