Page 52 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
His hands undo and unbutton and unzip.
He slides his fingers inside, between my legs, and I die a thousand beautiful deaths. I sizzle and burn, and soon our sounds turn feral and carnal.
“You always used to love this,” he murmurs as he strokes, taking me there quickly, so quickly that I’m teetering on the edge already.
I find my voice for a moment. “I always loved everything you did to me.”
“Let’s see if you still do.”
I close my eyes, and I’m not even sure where I am. I only know this—when he kisses my neck, his soft lips remembering the exact spot that drives me over the edge, that’s where I am.
The other side of bliss.
Starbursts explode behind my eyes, neon and snow-blindingly white.
I fly away in the most exquisite ecstasy of this moment. I find myself lost and found again in love stories from the past.
And that’s a terribly dangerous place to be.
Especially when, a few seconds later, his phone rings.
22
Hunter
I ignore the call, leaning in to kiss her as it goes to voicemail. But as my lips brush hers, the phone trills again. I groan, glancing at the screen, then sit bolt upright.
The call is from South America, so I answer it right away, just in case it’s a Mayday and Trevor is in trouble.
“Everything good?” I ask, bracing for bad news but hoping for good.
“Everything is good with this connection. Is this the best connection ever or what?”
It is indeed, Trevor, coming through crystal clear, and I let out a long breath. “Asshole. Are you still in Chile, man? And you’re calling just to chat? I thought you might be hanging upside down in an ice crevice putting out an SOS.”
“And you thought I’d call you rather than, say, the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover model to confess my undying love?”
“Really, man? You haven’t told her yet you have a thing for her? You don’t deserve to be saved from an ice crevice.”
“But if I tell her, I do?”
“It’s called manning up, bro. Do it. Do it as soon as you hang up with me. Which brings me back to my point.” I cast my gaze at Presley, whose cheeks are the sexiest shade of après-orgasm pink I’ve ever seen. She’s tugging up her panties and zipping her jeans, a sight that makes me sad. She looks so damn good undressed. And half undressed. And one quarter undressed. “Are you calling to yammer?”
“Please. I’m not loquacious. I’m calling to try this new satellite phone in the middle of the mountains. It is badass. The company asked me to test it and blog about it, so I’m testing it with you.”
“It does sound like you’re calling from next door, so kudos to the company. But you called me to test a new connection? Gee, thanks.”
“Well, were you busy? You’re just doing Antiques Roadshow.”
“One, yes, I was incredibly busy,” I say, meeting Presley’s gaze briefly as she adjusts her top then turns her gaze to watch the town zip by outside the window. We’re not far from our destination. “And two, why are you testing it with me?”
“Because you’re my partner, jackass. I mean, fine. I’m more like a junior partner. Wait, no, more like a peewee partner.”
I laugh. “Now you’re getting cocky. I was thinking more like a little tyke partner.”
“Thanks. Appreciate that.”
But the reality is Trevor does appreciate what we’ve built. He’s joined me on many expeditions as my sidekick, and the benefit for both us and him has been tremendous. His star has risen as my show has climbed, and I couldn’t be happier that a good friend is reaping the rewards.
“Anyway, I wanted to know if we could move up the dates on the Utah shoot,” he asks.
“I can look into it. Why do you want to?”
“Because I just snagged a huge opportunity. The company I’m testing these phones for? They want to do a series of videos showing how they work from anywhere in the world. And I get to test them in all the vids.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“Yeah, we’re talking Great Wall, Siberia, the Gobi . . .”
“That’s amazing. How long will that last?”
“A couple months. It’s when you’re shooting some of your solo specials and doing some book planning, so the timing should be okay as long as I can get it going sooner. They want to start in two weeks, so I’m hoping we can move up Utah.”
“I’m sure we can work it out.” I’m thrilled for him. This is a huge chance for Trevor to grow his personal brand in the adventure-exploration world. “I bet we can even finish this estate sooner than planned.” I cover the phone and ask Presley, “How much more time do you think we need?”
“One or two more days should be enough,” she says, crisp and businesslike.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have picked up the phone after pleasuring her. But I feel like there ought to be an exception for calls from overseas when you think your friend might be dead.
