by Leigh, Tara
“Strike that,” I say, his hair caressing my fingertips. “It’s the best night of our lives.”
At that, I sense Gavin’s nerves easing. “So far.”
I echo his sentiment just as his lips claim mine, his mouth devouring all of my hopes and wishes and questions and fears. They are no longer mine, they are ours.
I am his and he is mine and we are us.
I must have spoken my thought aloud, because Gavin cups my face in his hands, the intensity of his gaze searing my soul. “I am hers and she is mine and—”
“—We are us.” My voice joins his, our hushed whispers leaving our lips like a prayer. We are wrapped up in each other, our bodies connected, our eyes locked, our hearts beating in tune.
The moment stretches out. One second, then two, then three. Time is irrelevant.
But the time for playing cards is definitely past.
He finally relinquishes eye contact to press a kiss to the top of my head, his breath fanning my hair and sending a rush of goose bumps over my flesh. Then his mouth moves to my temple, along the curve of my cheekbone, and finally to that sensitive patch of skin between my jaw and earlobe.
I moan softly, allowing my head to fall back. Gavin’s tongue sweeps across my pulse point and he chuckles, the sound as thick and decadent as the sap seeping out of the maple trees surrounding us. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
“I’m excited,” I whisper. And nervous, though I don’t want to admit it.
“Me too,” Gavin says as I slide my hands over his chest. His skin is warm, the stacked muscles of his abdomen tense and tight, the trail of hair leading south tickling my palms in a way that sends primal desire unspooling through my body.
I’m wearing only the pale pink lace bra and panty set I bought for tonight. Gavin takes a minute to admire it, to admire me. His teeth sink into the fullness of that lower lip I love so much, pupils dilating as his fingers trace my curves through the diaphanous fabric. “Fuck, Poppy. You’re so …”
I’m expecting Gavin to say something simple, like pretty or beautiful. But instead he says, “perfect.”
I immediately roll my eyes and look away. Perfect is definitely not the word that springs to mind when I look in the mirror. My hair, including my eyelashes and eyebrows, is a strange shade of copper. My mouth is too wide, my hips not wide enough. I blush too easily, and find talking to most people too hard. But knowing that Gavin thinks I’m perfect, or at least perfect for him, is satisfying in a way I can’t even explain.
He cups my chin in a gentle hold and forces my gaze back to his own. “I’m serious, Poppy. It’s like every inch of you, every ounce of you, was made just for me.”
If I’d heard that line in a movie, or written in a card, I would cringe. But there is only reverence in the husky rasp of Gavin’s voice. Reverence… and love.
His hands run down my ribcage, his light touch on my sensitive skin making me suck in a breath as tingling sensations light up my nerve endings.
“Still so ticklish.”
I am. Over the years, there have been plenty of times when Gavin has pinned me to the ground, his fingertips dancing across every inch of exposed skin he could find. I’d laughed until I couldn’t breathe.
But I’m not laughing now.
And I’m definitely not laughing when Gavin bends down and rolls his tongue over my nipples, making them harden into desperately needy buds, turning the already sheer fabric completely transparent.
A gentle breeze enters our cave and sends my hair swaying over my back and shoulders, caressing my bare skin. I cling to Gavin’s shoulders, interlocking my fingers behind his neck.
I am trembling with anticipation. Shivering from an avalanche of sensations.
He unclasps my bra, a moan ripping from my throat as my breasts spill into the palms of Gavin’s hands. His touch feels so good, so right.
I’m smiling when Gavin pulls away from me, his fathomless blue gaze, as mysterious and mesmerizing as the night sky, capturing mine. And for a moment, the way he’s looking at me almost makes me want to cover up, to turn away and shield myself because I’ve never before felt so exposed, so vulnerable. So seen.
Like I’m giving him my body but what he’s really taking is my very soul.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, so very earnestly. “We don’t have to. I can stop right now… Why are you looking at me like that?”
The truth is, Gavin isn’t taking my soul, I’m giving it to him.
But that’s not true either. It’s already his.
Everything I am, my hopes and dreams and fears and needs, I’ve entrusted into Gavin’s hands, into his heart.
He will hold them safe.
And tonight, my body belongs to Gavin too.
“Because I want to do this more than anything else in the world. Because I don’t want to stop. And because you are everything I’ve ever wanted.”
He stares at me, jaw just slightly slack, a corona of indigo encircling the black abyss of his blown pupils. And then he nods, as if he finally, finally understands that the river of emotion running through me is just as wide and deep as his own. “We are us,” he says, his voice clear and strong, reverberating in the crisp autumn air.
“We are us,” I repeat.
Gavin gathers me into his arms so tenderly I feel tears gather in the corner of my eyes, like distilled drops of love and trust that cannot be contained inside my body for another second. Candlelight flickers on his face, illuminating his chiseled features as he deposits me carefully onto the mound of blankets he’s assembled.
I’m naked, except for the last bit of lace between my thighs, but the heat of Gavin’s stare keeps me warm. And it burns away my worry about what will happen when we leave Sackett.
I know now that I have nothing to fear. Every day since we’ve met has created a tiny filament of trust. Gossamer thin strings that have woven together, becoming a braid, and then a rope. As days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years, Gavin and I forged an irrevocable connection.
Changing locations won’t change who we are or how we feel or what we want.
“Come here,” I whisper, needing to feel more than Gavin’s eyes on me. I want his weight, I want his kisses, I want his love.
And I want to be his. In every way.
Gavin shucks off his clothes as I watch, then drops back to his knees to crawl over me. His elbows land at the indent of my waist, his head lowering to my belly button, his tongue sneaking out to lap at the shallow groove. “Gavin,” I beg, writhing beneath him. It feels ticklish, but not ha ha ticklish. His tongue is awakening an illicit, furtive sexuality in me, bands of desire curling and coiling, spreading throughout my body.
And those unfurling threads are making me needy and wanton, greedy and desperate. I plunge my hands into Gavin’s hair, tugging on his head as he moves across my stomach to tenderly nip at my hip bones, then lower still.
There’s no rush to Gavin’s pace, he is slow and thorough, ensuring that every inch of me is treated to the wet lap of his tongue, the enticing pressure of his teeth, the roughened abrasion of his chin and jaw.
This is the first time we’ve been naked together, instead of just exposing pieces of ourselves, one at a time. It feels different somehow. Deeper. But the hours we’ve spent exploring each other’s bodies has taught us what brings pleasure and what doesn’t. What leads to rapture and what just makes us laugh. I’ve climaxed from Gavin’s fingers, from his tongue. His sticky wetness has coated my hands, covered my breasts, slid down my throat.
Gavin knows exactly what it takes to make me lose control, abandoning all thought and reason and worry to exist solely in us.
And now he pauses, gently resting his chin on the rise of my pelvic bone. “Look at me, Poppy.”
I do. I stare intently at Gavin, my eyes roving over his wild hair and fevered eyes and the impossibly sexy smirk tugging at his kiss-swollen lips.
“I see you,” I say.
�
�Yeah.” He shifts down another two inches, his tongue licking the already damp lace between my thighs. “You always have.”
A whimper falls from my open mouth. Then another as he moves the fabric aside and his tongue meets my skin directly, without any barrier between us.
Electricity shoots through me, jagged and white hot as it burns away the last of my already tenuous hold on reality. My panties disappear and I barely blink as Gavin opens his mouth over me, ravenously devouring me.
I climax with my eyes trained on Gavin, this broken boy who’s somehow always been a man, whose wounds and scars align so perfectly with mine that we’ve healed each other.
He draws out every last delicious pulse of my orgasm, my thighs pressed tightly around his ears, my heels tapping out a staccato drumbeat against his back as waves of pleasure crash over me. And when they finally recede, when he finally pulls a condom out of seemingly nowhere, I watch him roll it over his length with hands that aren’t quite steady. “I love you, Poppy. I’ve loved you since the moment you looked like you were going to cry when there were no raspberries on that damn bush.”
Gavin’s weight settles over me, pressing me down into the pile of blankets and pillows he must have made countless trips to carry though the forest, along with the candles and snacks and drinks and even the damn poppy petals. I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling his face down to mine as I feel the tip of his sheathed crown knock at an entrance that hasn’t yet been entered. “I felt awful. Well, at least until you said you didn’t like raspberries.”
He chuckles, his thickness stretching me wide, then impossibly wider. There is a pinch of pain, and then a deeper wrenching sting. I cry out and Gavin captures my mouth, hungrily swallowing my hurt. He kisses me with deep, claiming strokes of his tongue and then, when the pain has faded into a murky fog hovering just at the edge of pleasure, nebulous and indistinct, Gavin releases my mouth and gently, reverently, kisses my cheeks and neck, my eyelids and the tip of my nose. He kisses me until I’m rolling my hips, wanting more of him, more of us. Wanting to feel full, so very full.
Later, after Gavin gives one final surge of his hips and bellows a deep, satisfied growl, his head dropping into the curve of my neck, his breath a heated gust over my dewy skin… only then does he whisper, “Poppy, I love raspberries.”
Chapter 9
Sackett, Connecticut
Spring, Senior Year, High School
I left something for you in our place. It explains everything.
I will be out of touch for a while. I’m sorry.
I love you.
I love us.
I feel Gavin’s texts come in, one after the other, while I’m taking a test. My phone is in my pocket, and although I feel the buzzing against my thigh, checking it during a test would mean an automatic F.
I read them as I navigate the crowded halls on the way to my next class, barely paying attention to where I’m going or who I’m bumping into.
I left something for you in our place. It explains everything.
Gavin should be in school, like me. It’s a Thursday morning. We were together, in the woods, in our cave, our place, yesterday afternoon. Why would he skip school today to leave something for me when I just saw him yesterday?
I will be out of touch for a while. I’m sorry.
We have plans to see each other this weekend. Where is Gavin going? How long will he be gone?
I try calling during lunch, over and over, but he doesn’t pick up. I send texts.
Hey, what’s going on? Your messages don’t make sense.
I’m at lunch right now. Call me.
Lunch is over and I’m in class for the next few hours. Call me, I’ll pick up.
Come on, Gav. This is not cool.
Where are you?
Gunmetal gray clouds roll in during Spanish class, enveloping the sun in a thick layer of gauze. Within minutes the brightness that shined through the windows has been extinguished, befitting my mood. The only incoming text I receive is from the mother of the girls I babysit telling me that I don’t need to work today.
This isn’t funny.
Where are you?
By the time my AP History class is over, the clouds hang even lower and their color has deepened to a bleak charcoal. Mist swirls around my feet when I walk to the bus, its headlights barely penetrating the thick drifts of vapor.
I’m heading home now. Whatever you’ve left for me better be good.
And by good, I meant—it had better explain what the hell is going on.
Sadie drops heavily into the seat beside me, her backpack knocking my phone out of my hands. “Sadie, Jeez! Watch it!”
Her head jerks back. “Wow. Someone’s got their panties in a twist. What’s with you?”
I glare at her as I bend down to grab my phone from the sticky bus floor. Once it’s in my hand, I gesture at all the empty seats. Our bus is only half full in the mornings and even less in the afternoons. “There are plenty of places to sit—you don’t always have to be right next to me. We’re sisters, not Siamese twins.”
Hurt pinches her features as she stands up and flings herself into the seat across from me. “Thanks, sis. Love you, too.”
Guilt cuts through me for taking my frustration with Gavin out on Sadie. She doesn’t deserve it. A deep sigh rattles from my lungs as I slide next to her. “I’m sorry—”
A flash of light breaks through the layer of dirt and condensation covering the bus’s windows, illuminating my sister’s face for a brief second before a boom vibrates through the seat. I curse, peering anxiously through the fogged windows.
The corners of Sadie’s lips turn down as she hugs her bag to her chest. “No running into the woods today for you, huh? Guess you’re stuck in the house with me and mom.” She clucks her tongue. “It must really suck for you.”
Logically, I know she’s speaking from a place of hurt. I yelled at her for no reason, and couldn’t even finish my apology without being distracted by the incoming storm and what it means for my plans to head straight for the cave to find out what is behind Gavin’s cryptic texts.
But I’m not feeling very logical right now. “Forget it,” I say, shaking my head in disgust and checking my phone again.
I don’t have any new texts, but I do have an email I’d missed. It’s from the drug store in town with the one-hour photo booth in the back, a notice that the pictures I’d ordered are ready for pickup.
I dismiss it as a mix-up. I didn’t order any pictures.
By the time Eddie, our driver, starts the engine and pulls slowly out of the bus loop in front of school, rain is coming down in heavy sheets, through an inky darkness that feels like night.
It doesn’t let up as we wind through the uneven terrain that is northern Connecticut. Our rolling hills and jagged coastline are the result of glaciers cutting through this land thousands of years ago, which is why most of the roads in our town are narrow and windy, with sharp inclines and steep curves.
It takes twice as long to get home as it normally does, though I don’t blame Eddie for going well below the speed limit.
There are five cars waiting at our bus stop. My mom’s isn’t one of them. Sadie and I run down the street with our backpacks over our heads, but it doesn’t matter. By the time we walk in the door, we are soaked to the skin.
“Hey, girls,” my mom calls from the kitchen.
“Hi, mom,” we chorus, taking off our shoes and jackets and slicking back our wet hair.
“I just got home, too. It’s really coming down out there,” she says, eyeing us after we leave our things by the door and join her in the kitchen. She takes a sip of wine from her coffee mug and opens a drawer, throwing a dish towel at me.
“Thanks,” I wipe my face with it.
“Oh, honey. No. Use that to wipe up the puddle by the door, I noticed some water leaking in.”
I have to fight the familiar tug of resentment that pulls at me on days like these. Why can’t my mother be normal? Or even just
slightly more considerate? I’m sure it never even crossed her mind to wait at the bus stop for us instead of coming straight home after work. Even if she noticed the other cars parked there, she probably had no idea that they were parents waiting for their kids.
But I don’t let myself get too far. I know I’m lucky to have her at all. If she ever disappeared on us again, walking home in the rain would be the least of my problems.
I mop up the water on the floor and then carry my backpack to my room, changing out of my wet clothes and pulling my hair into a messy bun.
Through the window over my bed, I watch the rain come down, bolts of lightning piercing the sky in jagged white streaks, illuminating the band of trees swaying and shivering against an angry wind. Please, let the storm end. Send the sun back out.
When my phone vibrates in my hand, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Gavin. Thank G—
But it’s not Gavin. It’s a weather alert, warning of flash flooding in our area. Great.
I’m home. I can’t get to our place until the storm is over. Call me.
This isn’t funny.
I’m not kidding.
Where the hell are you?
Are you ok? I’m scared. Please call me.
I love you.
I love us.
Twenty minutes passes, forty, an hour. I read all of Gavin’s texts again. And then all of mine.
Where the hell is he?
I open up my backpack, attempt to concentrate on homework. After reading the same sentence five times, I pick up my phone again and call the number of the photo shop. “Hi, I received an email from you earlier today.”
“Sure. How can I help you?”
“Well, I didn’t order any photos.”
“Oh. Can you give me your order number?”
I rattle off the number referenced in the email and he puts me on hold. The synchronized music drones on for several minutes before cutting off abruptly. “It says here this order was paid for by a Gavin Cross. Do you—”
