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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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La Petite Mort - La Fin

Summary: We get closure

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: Okay so this is the end of the story line for LPM. I will continue to write one shots and headcanons, though don't freak out! Also, there was a drabble I'll link here that happened between Part V and this one.

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V Drabble

The drive to Big Bend was like living in a dream. Between the motel stop and the scenic viewpoint stop, you’re beginning to wonder if Lorraine actually wants to get to where you’re going. You know she’s excited about her newfound freedom, and you are too, but a serious conversation needs to be had.

You glance over at her and watch as she holds her hand out the window, catching the wind and then cutting through it like a surfboard. She looks content, grounded. You figure she should be; she just came in the backseat of your truck less than an hour ago. But you still need to make sure she’s happy. That she’s sure she made the right choice. For now, you choose to live in ignorant bliss, enjoy the drive and start the talk later.

The gas gauge catches your attention, riding low over the E.

“We gotta stop for gas, you seen any signs for a pump station?”

She turns toward you, nodding, “Saw a sign a few miles back. There should be a few stations comin up.”

You smile as she reaches for you, taking your right hand and holding it between hers. She scoots closer to you, tracing her fingers up your forearm, giving you goosebumps. Her head rests against the seat, and you can feel her watching you, can see the small smile on her lips through the corner of your eye.

“You’re gonna have to stop doin that, if you ever want to get out of this truck,” you say, your voice hoarse.

She smirks, “I’m not doin anything, I just want to be close to you is all.”

You lift your arm, inviting her to slide into the middle seat. When she does, you let your arm rest across her shoulders, pulling her in close to you. You kiss the top of her head, your eyes not leaving the road. She hums, lets her head rest on your chest.

It’s so easy to find moments like this with her. Small pockets that exist outside of the world, no influence or judgment. Just you two. But it’s also easy for those moments to shatter when reality comes crashing in, loud and screaming.

The gas station is a small one, a family operation from the looks of it. It has two gas pumps that look like they’ve seen better days and a store tucked under the awning. You pull the truck and the trailer under the sunshade and park it.

“I’ll get us the gas, run inside and grab some snacks, will ya?”

Lorraine nods and slides out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head when her feet hit the ground. Your eyes follow her shirt when it rides up, and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. You pump the gas and watch her walk into the store, her shorts even more distracting now than they were in the truck.

“Oh buddy, you’ve got it bad,” you say to yourself, turning back to the truck.

When the gas pump clicks, you return the hose and make your way into the station to pay. Lorraine has an armful of snacks, and you gesture with your head to the counter. She drops her loot there as you grab a case of beer and carry it over. The tv on the counter is blaring a church sermon, and the attendant is watching it with obligated interest.

You slide the goods over and clear your throat, “Filled up on pump two.”

The woman behind the counter narrows her eyes, making it clear you are inconveniencing her by asking her to do her job. She slides the snacks and beer over with one hand, taking her time. She tells you your total, and you hand a bill over to her, trying not to take note of her attitude toward you.

As you’re packing the snacks into a brown paper bag, two men walk into the store. They’re rugged cowboy types, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You’d been around their type your whole life, working ranches and rodeos and everything in between. They can be trouble, or they can be extremely cordial. Unfortunately for you, these two are the trouble type.

They make a show of looking you up and down, letting their eyes take their time as they travel over you. Lorraine comes to your side, and both men raise their eyebrows at her. You flex your jaw, trying to find an easy way out of what you already know is going to be an uneasy interaction.

One of the cowboys whistles around the tobacco in his lip, the other laughs.

“Ladies,” he says, “what’s got you so far out in the country?”

You hand Lorraine the bag of food and hoist the case of beer under your arm.

“Work,” you answer, moving toward the door.

The man on the tv starts yelling about sexual deviance. The cowboy with the dip in his mouth leans in the doorframe, blocking your exit. He takes his hat off his head, smirking at you.

“What kind of work?”

You watch him, aware of the other man making his way down one of the aisles to your right. Lorraine inches closer to your side.

“Ranchin,” you say, keeping it as short as possible.

The man is still blocking the door, so you stop, look up at him. He grins down at you, his teeth yellow with flecks of tobacco stuck in his gums.

“I don’t know of any lady ranchers round here,” he says, his eyes leaving you and moving on to Lorraine. “George, you know of any lady ranchers?”

The man at the back of the store laughs, “No I can’t say I do, Nate.”

Nate tilts his head, “So if you’re not ranchin, what’re you doin?”

“Did you miss the trailer with the horses in it on your way in?” Lorraine mumbles, and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Nate laughs, “Okay, spitfire! What’s your name? You ladies look like you could use some company.”

You try to casually step in front of her, hiding her with your body as much as you can. “We need to get goin, you gentlemen have a nice day.”

You step toward the door, but he doesn’t move. You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity, sizing each other up. He’s tall, but he’s skinny. You could scrap with him if you needed to, but his friend would make it nearly impossible for you to win. Your revolver is in the truck, too far to be much use now. Plus, these two have guns of their own; there’s no doubt about that.

The tv on the counter goes quiet, and a woman’s voice breaks the tension.

“Leave them girls alone, Nate, or your momma will tan your hide.” The gas station clerk finally turns herself away from the tv, glaring daggers at Nate.

He evaluates his choices, and his fear of his mother wins out. He leaves the door frame and pushes past you, grumbling as he goes, “I’s just bein friendly, Marge. No need to threaten anyone.”

As soon as he’s out of the way, you hustle out of the store, making sure Lorraine is on your heels. You jump in the truck, and as soon as she’s in, you’re driving off.

“God, I fucking hate Texas,” you growl, your eyes flicking to the side view mirrors to see if anyone followed.

Lorraine sighs, resting her head against the window, “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here for good.”

“We can’t leave your parent's ranch, Raine. They need us there.”

“They really don’t, plus we could visit.”

“Do we tell them about us?”

She bites at her lip, thinking it over, “I think they already know, truth be told. But we probably should tell them.”

“I suppose we should figure out what we are before we go tellin them about it, though.”

The statement is bait, a question for Lorraine to decide on. You think you’re sly, dropping it out there the way you had, but when you turn your head toward her, Lorraine’s expression is amused.

“Is that you, askin what we are then y/n?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. You can feel your face heating up, embarrassed that she saw through your veiled question.

“I know it’s probably not the best time to ask. You just left your boyfriend yesterday.”

“I haven’t been in love with RJ for a long time. It just took being with you for me to accept it.”

You nod, gulp. You don’t take your eyes off the road.

“I meant what I said to him, you know.” She reaches out, places her hand on your leg.

“What’s that?” You say, your voice cracking.

“I love you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your heart racing. You can feel your hands want to tremble and squeeze the steering wheel tighter.

“Can you give me one hour to get us where we’re goin, set up camp, and say that to me again so I can respond appropriately?”

She giggles, her thumb sweeping over your leg, “Of course.”

Lorraine keeps her hands to herself, for the most part, for the rest of the drive. You think about the conversation to come, the interaction with the cowboys at the gas station, and everything that happened with RJ. It all brews in your mind, mixing and melding into a feeling of uneasiness in your belly. There’s a strong undercurrent of happiness tied in with it, pulling you back to Lorraine every time you freak out.

The camp is isolated, large enough for your truck, trailer, tents, and horses. The daylight is quickly fading, so after the camp is set up, you let CB and Pearl out to wander the grounds. You drag a stack of hay from the trailer for them, but they both beeline to a patch of green grass at the edge of camp.

You busy yourself with getting a fire going, listening to Lorraine hum as she finishes getting the tent set up. Just being out here with her is enough for you, but a small voice in your head is already screaming for more. An apartment that has two toothbrushes in it. Closets with clothes that are mostly not yours. A life intertwined even more than it already is. You know it’s a lot to ask for.

“You’re thinkin' real hard on somethin,” Lorraine says, standing over you.

You turn up and grin at her, “Just how damn good I am at makin' fire.”

She smiles at you, her expression telling you she doesn’t believe that for a minute. She turns away from you and unrolls a blanket next to the now raging fire, and sits delicately. She pats the spot next to her.

“Let’s talk.”

Your stomach flips. You sit in the spot she’d invited you to, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash.

“Right, okay.”

“So, I know it’s not the best look in the world, breaking up with RJ and running off with you,”

“It’s a look I’m growing pretty fond of,” you joke, smiling at her.

She shakes her head, but you can see the smile she’s fighting, “I just want to make sure we’re clear. Getting out of one relationship to jump into another is-“

“So we’re in a relationship?” You interrupt her.

“Oh, um, are we not?” She twists her fingers, anxiety washing over her.

You scramble to make the situation more clear, taking one of her hands in yours.

“I was hoping so, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted. If you need time, I can give you time.”

She shakes her head, “I’ve had enough time. I love you, y/n. I think I have for longer than I realized.”

You feel giddy, lightheaded when you finally say, “I love you too, Raine. But I can’t promise an easy life. I can’t promise the suburbs or a family. What kind of life would that be?”

She leans over, taking your face in her hands, “It would be a life with you.”

The fire crackles as she kisses you, soft and sweet, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her lips are slow, deliberate. She lies back, pulling you with her, your hands planted on either side of her body.

Cicadas and crickets chirp in the dark around you, the air cool and still. The oak trees circling your campsite tower over you, rustling in the occasional breeze. Lorraine’s body envelops you, warm, welcoming. You’ve never felt more at home than you do in her arms. You figure you should thank her for it, now and every day in between.

You sit up, pulling your shirt off, and she follows suit. You unbutton your pants, taking your time, each movement intentional. Having sex with her now feels heavier, in a good way. It carries more meaning than it ever has before.

You’re both naked under the stars when you lean back over her, your hands touching as much skin as they can. You kiss her lips, then move to her jaw, down her neck. She can feel the gravity of the moment, her hands gentle and her breathing soft. Your hands run up her ribs, and your mouth works your way down to her chest. You lick her nipple, bite it gently and suck it into your mouth when she gasps.

She pulls you back to her lips, her legs hooking around your waist and anchoring you in place. Your tongue slides across her lips, and you rock into her, your body applying pressure between her legs. She moans through her nose, her tongue running over yours, her hands around your jaw.

You descend to her neck again, silently coaxing her grip around your waist to loosen. She gets the message and drops her legs from your hips, allowing you to kiss down her chest again. You kiss her stomach, avoiding the ticklish spot on her side that will make her laugh. The skin below her belly button is soft and sensitive; you take some time there teasing her. She lifts her hips, her eyes dark as she looks down at you. Her hand winds its way into your hair, and she bites her lip as you kiss her where she wants it most.

She’s not used to you teasing, and for some reason, of all the times to start, you choose now to begin. You lick softly at her clit, not hard enough to be satisfying, just a ghost of pressure. Enough to make her moan and tighten her grip on your hair. You sink lower and tease at her entrance, tasting her on your tongue. She’s better than anything you’ve ever had, ever will have, and you know it. So you savor it, close your eyes and enjoy yourself.

You turn your head to kiss her thigh, and she whines. You look up at her to find her face full of want, almost to the point of tears.

“Please,” she whispers, making your heart race.

You consider toying with her, but you want it as bad as she does at this point. You run your tongue from the inside of her thigh all the way down to her slick folds. Done with teasing her, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, earning the most delicious noises of approval from her. You alternate licking and sucking until she’s arching into your mouth, the muscles in the stomach rippling and flexing from the exertion. You lick her with a flat tongue while she cums, making it last even longer until she’s shivering and trying to stop you with her legs around your head.

She sighs, and you slowly kiss your way up her body, taking extra time on the ascent. You forgot about the ticklish spot, and you accidentally make her laugh, which in turn makes your heart feel like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

Your fingers are already inside of her when your mouth meets hers, the gasp of pleasure coming from her making your eyes roll back. You fuck her slow, each movement intentional in its goal. Every stroke playing the chords of her body, never out of tune. She doesn’t let you any lower than her throat, wanting to keep pulling you up to kiss you after she moans your name.

She lasts longer than usual, hanging on to every move you make, her hands all over you. She doesn’t want to be done, you can tell, and it makes you smile.

“You have me for as long as you want me,” you tell her, “I love you.”

Like clockwork, she cums on your fingers, dripping onto the blanket and around your wrist. She holds your head to her chest as she gasps for air, her whole body shaking and rolling. You pull back, wanting to watch her ride her orgasm, see the shape her mouth takes when it’s open like this, the color on her cheeks, the sweat on her brow. When she’s done, she pulls you down, squeezing you around your shoulders. When you try to pull away, she squeezes you tighter, shaking her head.

“You said as long as I want,” her voice is low and quiet, her breathing beginning to shallow.

You chuckle into her chest, kiss her skin, resolve to become part of the earth there if she wishes it.

——

Today is the day. The day you tell the Days about your intentions with Lorraine. A day with the Days, for your Day. You can do this.

You look at yourself in the mirror, your apartment bathroom cramped but comfortable with Lorraine’s things making their migration. As if on cue, her hands slide around your waist, her head ducking under your arm.

“Are you freaking out?” She asks you.

“No,” you lie.

She grins, “Lie.”

You nod, “A big one.”

She looks at you in the mirror, a reassuring smile on her face, “You know you’re going to be fine. They love you. Plus, I’m pretty sure they know.”

Your eyes dart around the mirror, looking for anything to distract you, “I know. I know. I can do this.”

“We can do this,” she says, squeezing your waist.

You sweat through your button-up shirt on the drive over. Lorraine is at ease; she doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. You are terrified. Scared Mr. Day will throw you on your ass and tell you to never come back to his ranch again. Horrified at the thought of Mrs. Day looking disappointed, heartbroken because of you.

They're on the couch in the living room when you get there. Lorraine called ahead to let them know you had something important to talk about so they were prepared. Mrs. Day sets a tall glass of sweet tea in front of you as you sit on the loveseat across from them. You clear your throat, and pull on the collar of your shirt. Lorraine sits close to you, closer than she usually would in front of her parents. If they notice, they don't mention it.

You pick up the glass of sweet tea and lift it, nodding your head at Mrs. Day, “Tha-thank you,” you say and gulp from the cup.

You wince; there's a hefty amount of liquor in the tea. She smiles at you and says, “Thought you might need it.”

You frown at her, confused as to why she would think you'd need liquor at noon. You gulp from the glass again. Mr. Day just watches you, his face impassive.

“So, I’ve asked to talk to you both today because….” you clear your throat again, wipe your sweaty hands on your pants, “well, because I have something important to tell you.”

Mrs. Day nods encouragingly, Mr. Day smiles under his mustache, his eyes soft.

“See, the thing is, I…well…I uhm,”

Lorraine rubs your back, nodding at you. The intimacy in front of her parents is lost on you; you’re too far into your panic to notice.

“I’m in love with your daughter. And I would like for her to live with me.” You say, your words tumbling out of your lips.

Mrs. Day covers her mouth with her hands, but it's not horror she's hiding. It's a laugh. Mr. Day stands, extends his hand. You stand and take it.

“We know, kid. We’re happy for you both, sincerely. Just take care of her.” His gruff voice is as soft as its ever been, his eyes sparkling.

Your mouth drops open, and you fall back onto the couch when he releases your hand. You close your mouth, open it to speak, close it again. Take another gulp of the tea. Lorraine giggles at your side.

“I…how? How?” You stammer.

Mrs. Day drops her hand, her smile still stretching her cheeks, “Oh, honey. You know, when you were about nine, you told me you loved Rainey. You were very serious about it. And you had the same look today. I’ve always assumed it would end up this way.”

“Just took our ray of sunshine a bit longer to come around. Forced me to put up with that boy for years.” Mr. Day grumbles.

Mrs. Day smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand as Lorraine yelps out, “Hey!”

You laugh, fully agreeing with him. Lorraine pulls your arm over her shoulder, and it takes you a moment to ease the tension that automatically shoots up your spine in front of her parents. You relax, smile at the Days.

“I do need you to do me one favor though, y/n, if you could.” Mr. Day says, leaning back on the couch, his leg crossed over his knee.

“Whats that sir?”

“Stop havin sex in my barn. It spooks the animals, and if I nearly walk in on you one more time, I may have to shoot you in the ass.”

Lorraine cringes and hides her face in your arm, and you gulp back a laugh. Mrs. Day lets hers rip, and you can feel Lorraine giggle into your side.

“Yes sir, I promise.” You say, your fingers crossed behind your back.

#lpm #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #lorraine day x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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adore-laur · 5 months

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SUNSTRUCK

— a sensual addition to southpaw 🌞

——

TODOS SANTOS, 1992

Palms slick with saltwater spread atop the surfboard floating in Mexico's turquoise ocean, its waxed surface scorching to the touch as it sparkles underneath the smoldering sun. Heaving himself up with taut and tanned arms, Harry switches out the cool engulfment for a beating heat that strikes his skin just right. Droplets cascade down the toned muscles of his back. Freckles that have come out of hiding dot his face in scattered clusters. The ultraviolet rays of June naturally bleach his tuft baby hairs blond.

He's unequivocally thriving, surrounded by a yellow aura gleaming brilliantly in the daylight.

Lying on his stomach, he manually paddles over to where Sawyer is supine on her pink inflatable raft. With a caramel-colored complexion and slim, silky legs that shimmer from the start of a sun-drenched summer, she resembles a solstitial vision for the ages. She has never looked more relaxed in all the years he's known her for. Her limbs that soak up splashes of Vitamin D are loose and not tense from working stationary hours at her office desk. There's no wrinkled crease of frustration between her eyebrows that needs to be smoothed out, nor is there a troubled frown pulling at her lips that needs to be lifted. She's in her own bubble of iridescent ecstasy.

This hush-hush getaway has rejuvenated their souls. The lush ocean breeze and visually flamboyant architecture lured them like they were a message in a bottle destined for the shoreline. Harry finally has uninterrupted time to spend with Sawyer in private in a nestled town where no one knows his name. Domesticity has already begun blooming in the desert bungalow where they're staying. Whispered confessions of love and gratitude spoken around the rims of coffee mugs. Waking up with her in his snuggly embrace is a luxury he's still getting used to. Kisses followed by wandering hands careen lazy mornings and sleepless nights. Their relationship is flourishing every day, and it feels like paradise.

As Sawyer tans like a sun goddess, Harry grows increasingly bored. The sluggish waves weren't nearly powerful enough to triumphantly catch, so he resorted to catching some rays instead. It didn't pan out too well because now his back is burning, and his girlfriend isn't paying attention to him. It's a deadly combination he needs to fix pronto.

"Sawyer," he says, peskily flicking water at her. "There's a shark behind you."

Opening her pretty brown irises shielded with cat-eye sunglasses, she flips him off and grouses, "You're not funny."

Harry smoothly straddles his surfboard and points past her. "I'm serious. Don't move, okay? I can see its fin circling."

It only takes a single second for her precious face to drop. She timidly shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares at him in terror. "Is there really?" she whispers as if the non-existent shark is eavesdropping on the two lovers. "What do we do, Harry? Oh no, what do we do?"

To not crack a mischievous grin severely tests his might. "I'll grab you and take you to land. Don't worry, baby."

"We can't!" she tells him urgently, her voice rising to a whisper-shout. Thankfully, she doesn't dare turn around to see if they're actually in grave danger. "It'll follow us if we move. We have to be smart about this."

Harry dramatically looks off into the distance like he's in a film playing a determined survivor lost at sea. "If this is the last time we see each other," he declares with faux valor, "I want to die knowing I tried saving you."

Sawyer gawks at his morbid statement. He thought it was romantic. "Are you out of your mind? Don't say things like that!"

There's a slight growl to her tone, and she appears borderline petrified, so he abandons his silly prank. He's close enough to her raft to stretch his body forward and lift her, so he does, but not before humming the menacing Jaws theme and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She looks bewildered as he grips her waist and carefully transfers her to his surfboard. Once she's sat in front of him, he clings to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, his perspiring chest pressed flat against her back.

"Hi," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "There's no shark. I just wanted to be near you."

Sawyer stills, then hastily unwinds his arms from around her. "You're so annoying," she whines, harmlessly slapping his thigh and grabbing her raft so it doesn't drift away.

Harry cups her jaw and tilts her head toward him. "You love me. I annoy the hell out of you, yet you can't get enough of me."

Glancing at his lips, she situates herself in his lap and smiles. "It's true. My sunray makes me happy even when he's a complete ditz."

Harry suddenly doesn't know how to speak, too enraptured by her natural beauty paired with a doe-eyed gaze that melts him like an ice cube on a sizzling driveway. Those brown eyes could get him to do anything she desired. Does she know that? Does she see the influence she has over him? Does she know nothing made sense in his life before he met her?

Unable to express his undying commitment to her without stumbling over his words, he utters a simple and sincere, "I love you."

Sawyer places her hand over his heart. "I know it."

Eventually, the rolling tide brings them back to the shore. The Baja California peninsula's tip possesses powdery sand grains that carry on for miles. This particular beach, Punta Lobos, is a hidden gem, and no tourists infest the area during the week. Rocky bluffs border the water, and the occasional hiker will admire the oceanic view from their advantage point before retreating down the trail behind the cliffs. Other than that, there's no one lurking around and disturbing the peace.

Harry and Sawyer lie side by side, sand sticking to their wet skin as the foamy waves barely reach their toes. Their fingers instinctively interlock, palms smoother due to being immersed in saltwater for hours, and something about it sends a firecracker shooting off in Harry's heart. Sawyer's skin after sunbathing is always gorgeous — golden, silken, and stamped with secret birthmarks only he knows the locations of.

He suddenly feels hot all over. Blazing sunbeams mixed with coursing dopamine are making him antsy. Trying to ignore his straying thoughts only worsens the constriction.

Looking over at his girl, Harry swallows and swipes his thumb across her chin to garner her undivided attention. She squints and beams angelically at him, a sheen of sweat gracing her cheekbones.

"Pretty girl," he says, his knuckles tracing the shape of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about where our next destination should be."

"Nowhere. Let's stay here forever."

Sawyer ruffles his wavy hair. "And do what?"

A thousand scenarios whip around in his brain, and he ends up settling on asking his favorite question. "Wanna make out?"

Her plump lips instantly melt into a blissful smile. She rolls over on top of Harry's body, her syrupy skin adhering to his as she clasps his cheeks with her hands. She grants him his wish, coaxing warm and salty kisses from his mouth. His greedy hands roam the back of her thighs, trailing them up and down her sun-kissed flesh. Her ankles prop up and cross over each other, and she hums into his mouth as their craving kisses deepen. The pendant with his first initial that rests perfectly between her clavicles reminds him she's not going anywhere, as does the ring he gifted her that's settled on her finger, the cool metal neutralizing his flaming body temperature.

The unfortunate cause of their breakaway isn't because their love-filled lungs are deprived of oxygen. It's because, after all, they're on a public beach, and the sound of distant chatter has them pulling apart as quick as a zap of lightning.

Sawyer stands, briskly adjusting her bikini straps and glancing around like what they were doing was a scornful obscenity. She's adorably flustered. On the other hand, Harry sits up and nonchalantly adjusts himself while pinching his swollen bottom lip. He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed excessive PDA isn't something Sawyer is necessarily comfortable with now that they're dating. She shies away from it, while he's quite the opposite. It's almost impossible to suppress the urge to touch and kiss her like there's no tomorrow, so he doesn't feel awkward about the innocuous disruption.

As he snatches his floral-patterned button-up that he left stranded on the sand and begins putting it back on, he spots his camcorder nearby. He brought it along to capture memories, which so far have mostly been of Sawyer in her feminine element—sunbathing on the poolside lounge chair with a magazine in her lap, curling her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, dancing and singing to "Venus" by Bananarama on the bungalow sofa.

She's the center of his universe. The summit of beauty and love.

His gaze flits between the device and Sawyer, who is now red in the face. It's amusing, so he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses the record button. He purses his lips to hide his growing smirk as he zooms in on the small group of people strolling to the coastline and then on her rattled reaction.

It doesn't take long for her to notice. She jogs over to block the lens with her hands, fretting, "Stop it! This is so humiliating."

Harry laughs, lifting the camcorder to a height she can't reach. Sawyer is looking at him unimpressed, her arms crossed, and her head tilted to the side. The people most definitely saw them being handsy and smitten out in the open, but what's there to be sheepish about? Love is meant to be shown to the world.

"Are you embarrassed?" he teases, dragging out the last word.

She raises her eyebrows and nods. A hint of a smile plays at her lips, but it doesn't seem genuine. It appears insistent, one of hidden discomfort.

Harry isn't a total space cadet, so he takes it as a cue to quit messing around and acknowledge her unspoken signals. He stops recording and drops the camera in the striped beach bag slung over her shoulder. He then tucks his surfboard under his armpit and offers Sawyer his free hand. The energy between them has shifted by a smidge, and he doesn't like it one bit. The grains of sand beneath his soles have somehow turned into eggshells within minutes.

"Ready to leave?" he asks. Sawyer nods again, still ominously silent, as she ignores his hand and fetches her deflating raft. "'Kay. Let's hit the road, then."

They arrive at the rental car, a vintage orange convertible that made his pockets hurt. Sawyer wanted it, and he couldn't refuse her. The hood is up in case of unpredictable weather, so Harry straps and fastens his surfboard to the top while Sawyer hops in the passenger seat, throws her raft in the backseat, and shimmies back into her daisy dukes.

Harry sits behind the steering wheel, his lanky limbs struggling to comfortably fit in the restricted space. The engine rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition, and he rolls the windows down before reversing out of the vacant parking lot. He peeks at Sawyer a few times as he merges onto the highway winding along the coast. She's staring at the desert landscape ahead that's saturated with a golden haze from the forthcoming sunset. Cacti and dead brush sizzle under the evening sun. Mountains tower over the feathery clouds. Vultures circle in the sky as roadrunners scurry along the pavement. It's stark scenery but nonetheless transcendent.

None of his surroundings matter, though, when his favorite person to talk to is overtly ignoring him. He tries to convince himself that maybe she's just tired. No, that can't be right. He knows her. She's affectionate when she hits a wall and cuddles up to him sweetly, clinging to his arm like a sloth on its beloved branch.

The truth is that he messed up.

Before he can dwell on every misstep he took in the past ten minutes, an earsplitting BOOM cuts through the atmosphere, followed by a rapid whooshing sound. Harry firmly clutches the wheel as the vehicle suddenly loses equilibrium. Without outwardly panicking, he takes his foot off the gas pedal and lets the car naturally slow down before pulling it off to the side of the road and braking lightly.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, heart thumping erratically. "Goddamnit. I think one of the tires just blew out."

Poor Sawyer has her eyes pinched shut and a death grip on his bicep. Harry snaps back to reality and kills the engine, listening for any odd sounds. Before he steps out, he gives the top of Sawyer's head a gentle, comforting noogie and murmurs, "It's okay. We're okay."

She shakily gets out with him and leans against the passenger side door, anxiously biting her polished fingernails while Harry perplexedly settles a hand on his hip and assesses the external damage. The front right tire looks like one of the clocks in Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory — sad, melted, and a surreal depiction of an unfavorable outcome.

He looks up and down the highway, finding no signs of any buildings, vehicles, or humans. Something he does see, however, is a broken beer bottle a couple of yards behind where they were driving a mere minute ago. Most of the shards of green glass are scattered along the edge of the road, yet a few stray pieces are lying in just the right place for any vehicle that comes racing down the highway. It's the perfect puncture for a not-so-perfect boyfriend already on thin ice. Karma must have a vendetta against him today, but he won't let it clip his wings. When life gives him lemons, he knows how to make a delectable pitcher of lemonade.

So, Harry does what he's best at: distracting his girlfriend. He can quickly turn this misfortune into something fun and make Sawyer forget about how sour the day has turned.

Swiping his sweaty forehead with his wrist, he huffs and gets to work. He's changed a few tires in his life, so it should be done in no time. First, he takes his shirt off so he doesn't get heatstroke. The humidity outside is brutal, causing sweat to bead by his hairline and on his back. He makes a show of slowly unbuttoning it and slinging the fabric over his shoulder. It's obvious Sawyer's gaze is locked on him. He's willing to admit he possesses vanity over his physicality, and it doesn't help that the girl watching him constantly feeds his ego.

Next, Harry takes his sweet time and saunters to the trunk, where the rental agency told him the spare tire is located. Lifting the trunk and flexing his arms, he opens the well to reveal the tire. There's also a jack and lug wrench that'll come in handy.

After gathering everything, he kneels on the blistering road, loosens the tire's lug nuts with the wrench, and then places the jack under the vehicle's frame. He stretches his arms above his head before using the jack to slightly lift the car off the ground. After removing the lug nuts, he removes the ruined tire, momentarily glancing at Sawyer as he breathes heavily from his body's exertion in the unbearable heat. She's in front of the car now, looking at the sunset that paints elegant splashes of pink and orange across the horizon.

Harry grunts as he tosses the tire aside. Sawyer glances back, and he doesn't miss how her eyes flick down to his abdomen, now slick with a sheen of sweat.

"Wanna learn how to do this?" he calls out, grunting again when he picks up the pristine spare.

He's given no response as he lines up the holes and pushes the tire into the wheelbase. His biceps flex with soreness, and when he peers up again, Sawyer still looks at him, her eyes communicating something obscure. They have a little stare-down until he can't take it anymore and begins replacing the lug nuts. His jaw is clenched as he works quickly to try to get to the bungalow as soon as possible so they can untangle this yarn of bizarre tension.

Once the tire is secure, the old one is thrown in the trunk, and the tools are all put away. Harry walks over to Sawyer. She's perched herself on the car's hood, picking at her cuticles. Standing in front of her, he places his hands on either side of her thighs, his shoulders taut as he watches her eyes dance over the sky behind him. He kisses the tender spot below her jawbone, tasting and smelling residual coconut tanning lotion left there. Goosebumps rise across the expanse of her neck like a swelling tidal wave, and Harry can't help but bury his face in it and whimper pitifully. He's like a needy puppy when she ignores him, pawing for the tiniest bit of love and attention.

"It's so hot out," he complains before sighing dramatically. "Let's head back."

Sawyer doesn't push him away, which counts as progress. "I want to watch the sun go down," she says, lost in thought. "Who knows the next time we'll be able to on an abandoned desert highway."

He won't argue with that. He doesn't need to nor necessarily want to. If Sawyer wants to soak in the sunset, he'll endure the feverish weather if it makes her happy. Besides, she's right; little precious moments, such as experiencing the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind a new, wispy portrait of captivating colors each day, are worth pausing life from time to time.

Sealing a kiss on her forehead, Harry hops on the hood and settles beside her. "I'll never learn how to say no to you."

☼ ☼ ☼

Back at the secluded bungalow, an unorthodox band of tension is still waiting to be snapped.

Sawyer has started cooking dinner with the miscellaneous ingredients she purchased from the downtown market yesterday morning. Canola oil is popping and sizzling in a frying pan, and julienned bell peppers of various colors are ready to be sautéed. Harry took a quick shower to wash the ocean and sweat from his sunburnt skin and has since changed into a white long-sleeved button-up tucked into teal trousers. He also has a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to help relieve spending hours in saltwater and squinting under the blinding sun.

Sawyer is in a tight, cropped blue camisole with low-waisted silk pajama pants. Her hair is down, golden beach waves reaching the middle of her back as she maneuvers around the kitchen area. Harry observes her from the dining room table, not quite knowing how to initiate a conversation without stretching the metaphorical elastic too far. Or worse, past the point of no return.

He watches Sawyer tilt the cutting board over the pan so the peppers fall into it. They immediately crackle when introduced to the heat. She then takes a wooden spoon and stirs the vibrant vegetables, turning on the overhead stove fan so the smoke doesn't set any detectors off. She's still ignoring him, entirely focused on one task and pretending there's not an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed before the night concludes. Harry knows if he brings it up, she'll shut it down, say everything is fine, and insist she's not angry. She's a terrible liar, so he'll save that tactic for another argument.

As he stares at the back of her head, he realizes he doesn't like her version of the silent treatment. It's okay if she won't talk to him, but acting like he doesn't exist is ruthless. So, he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her slim waist. She tenses but continues mixing the peppers in silence.

Okay, that's definitely not the reaction he wanted. Not even an ounce of acknowledgment when he begins kissing her neck, taking his time loving on the beautiful ridges carved there.

"Slow dance with me," he murmurs pleadingly, squeezing her.

"I'm busy right now."

Now, don't get him wrong; he likes her stubbornness. He even finds it incredibly endearing to a degree. But when it's directed toward something he's clueless about, he finds himself having to coax an answer past her adamant walls of defense. Being candid doesn't always end well, so choosing the proper approach is crucial if he wants to crawl out of the hole he's dug himself into.

Harry reaches around her preoccupied figure to flick the stove's heat off. The blue flame vanishes, and the sizzling ceases, causing Sawyer to sigh heavily as she sets the wooden spoon off to the side. She still doesn't turn around, even when Harry moves her thick hair over her left shoulder and starts planting warm kisses further down her skin, slower and more intentionally. She smells like the ocean breeze at the height of summer, sweepingly refreshing and pure. He doesn't know how he went so long without touching her like this.

Light from a dying yet persistent sunset pours through the slanted ceiling window. The nearby radio quietly plays a mariachi song that doesn't fit the fraught mood. Upbeat and punchy, the music is supposed to evoke happiness and camaraderie. It falls short this time, but like before, lemons can always be turned into lemonade.

"Do you know how to Salsa?" Harry pipes up while stepping away, giving her room to breathe.

"How to make salsa?" Sawyer replies distractedly. She's begun garnishing the semi-cooked peppers with fresh oregano.

"No, how to dance the Salsa."

She drizzles more oil into the pan. Her hand hovers over the stove's knob to light the flame again, but she retracts and mutters, "Um, not really."

Harry rolls his sleeves to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the counter. "It's all in the hips, isn't it?"

She glances back at him for a split second before leisurely spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you need something?"

"Sí, muñeca."

The almost invisible twitch of her lips doesn't go unnoticed by his attentive nature. "What is it?" she asks impatiently. "I'm trying to make dinner. You know, I've realized you always decide to be a pest when I'm not paying enough attention to you."

Busted. Well, at least she's talking to him now.

Harry begins clapping his hands to the song's rhythm in the background and swinging his hips in a terrible presentation of what's supposed to be salsa dancing. Sawyer arches her eyebrow and blankly stares at his uncoordinated movements. He's making an absolute fool of himself, but honestly, he just wants to see her smile. He'll go to the greatest lengths.

Shuffling closer to her, he caresses her limp hands and tries to get her to loosen up. "Let's dance."

“I'm not in the mood to dance."

He frowns dramatically, widening his feet to be the same height as her. "What's going on right now, hmm? We were having so much fun earlier."

Sawyer slides away from the stove and leans against the adjacent kitchen wall. A psychedelic painting of a gecko in the desert hangs above her. "It's not that hard to figure out," she says, looking everywhere but at him. It stings just a tad.

One of Harry's hands rests flat on the wall beside her, his thumb faintly yet purposefully touching the shell of her ear. He leans in and murmurs, "Are you still upset with me?"

The stubborn girl he knows and loves dearly steadily nods her head. "I'm furious. My body is on fire."

He bites his bottom lip with his front teeth as his piercingly intimidating gaze hungrily travels downward and lands on her exposed stomach. The silver bellybutton ring shining against her golden skin sets him on fire in an entirely different way. She's a delectable feast for the eyes.

Harry doesn't believe that her blood is boiling to the extent of fury, but he'll entertain her flair for dramatics. He says, "I'm sorry for shoving a camcorder in your face when you got embarrassed."

Sawyer gives him a puzzled look. "Huh? Oh, I don't care about that. I'm over it."

"Okay, then tell me why you're so furious." He's being thrown for a loop, and it's making him dizzy.

It's clear she's internally contemplating her response based on how her posture becomes less stiff. After rubbing her arm awkwardly, she says, "Because you're not nice."

Harry blinks slowly. Once, then twice. "What?"

"You were being a jerk by teasing me while fixing the tire."

It takes a while to realize his plan totally backfired. His innocuous teasing wasn't supposed to make her even more mad at him, and now he's stuck in a maze of figuring out exactly what he did wrong. Girls are so complicated!

Unless…

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, his lips quirking in amusement and slow realization. Perhaps the little show he put on for her had the intended effect after all.

Sawyer scoffs. "Stop smiling!"

He grins like a lovesick fool. "I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are! Your eyes smile before your mouth does." She goes to tuck her stray baby hairs behind her ears, and when she does, Harry traps her fidgeting fingers with his hand still resting beside her head.

"Yeah?" he goads, his pulse throbbing faster. "When did you notice that about me?"

"I've always noticed it. It's so easy to tell when you're about to smile. Your eyes glimmer, and then you scrunch your nose."

"You like watching me?"

"Cállate. We're not finished with this argument."

"Go on, then."

Sawyer waves her free hand around as incomplete sentences get caught in her throat. "I— you— we can't keep doing this!"

Harry's heart falters at the vagueness of her confession. "What are you saying? Be gentle with me."

She gathers her crumbling composure, then carefully says, "What I mean is... we can't keep fueling this fire if we're not going to do anything about it."

The fire she speaks of has been wildly swirling in his stomach for a long time. He's managed to tame the carnal flames by waiting for Sawyer to declare her desires first since her comfort level is always his top priority. The opportunity has now risen, and he's lucky she has opened up this much so that he can jump in and kickstart the colloquy they've been hesitantly dancing around for months.

"Is this about sex?"

Pink spiderwebs of heat spread across her face. Harry's thumb presses down on the apple of her blushing cheek, her skin delightfully warm. It's nice to know a little fire has also been burning in her stomach. It's just a matter of tending to both of them. Kindle the flames until they roar with lust.

"Sort of," Sawyer mumbles, her eyebrows plunging with an unknown emotion. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to tiptoe around it anymore." Her hand reaches out to rest on his neck, her pleading body language igniting the embers again. "Harry, it's killing me. I can't hide it."

He cups the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, baby?" His voice has stooped to a deep, gentle rumble that shelters her with compassion.

"I didn't want to rush into things." She drapes her arms over his shoulders and plays with the outgrown curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take my time with you and soak you in day by day. Take slow sips of your sunshine."

Knees weak, Harry whispers, "Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those eyes, Sawyer. Don't look all innocent when your words are the opposite."

She's completely clueless about how her imploring brown eyes can hold such seductiveness. Amber flecks swim in her irises, which are the color of dark chocolate. Rich. Exquisite. Tempting. Harry wants to break her off between his teeth like peppermint bark and swallow her silky, revivifying sweetness.

The tip of Sawyer's nose trails along his jaw, her lips brushing a path against his hot skin and setting fire to his loins. "I'm just tired of being patient. Does that make sense?"

Harry gives her a slight, truthful nod, then slumps his forehead against hers. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. There's no need to be shy around me. I'm your boyfriend."

"What if you don't want the same thing? That'd be so embarrassing."

"Sawyer Alejandra, you are so goddamn stubborn. Do you want me to just give it to you straight? Because I will." He takes a deep breath before blurting, "I want to have sex with—"

She clamps her hands over his entirely-too-bold mouth. "Shush!" Pinching her eyes shut, she whines and grumbles, "Forget I said anything. I have to finish cooking dinner."

If there's one thing he knows about Sawyer's personality, it's that the second she feels an ounce of mortification, she immediately backtracks. He'd usually let it slide, but this topic of conversation is a tricky one to simply forget about and move on from like nothing happened.

Harry unwinds her hands from around his neck and keeps them cradled in his grasp. Then, while staring into her devastatingly gorgeous eyes, he says, "This tension between us isn't going to just magically disappear. Either we do something about it, or ignore it. Your choice."

Sawyer swallows thickly. "I want to, so badly. But I'm scared."

"Why?" he asks, trying to open her blooming petals. They're singed with uncertainty.

"It's an incredibly vulnerable act, dufus." She cutely wrinkles her nose.

"And we're incredibly vulnerable lovers, so what's the sitch?"

She brings their conjoined hands up to her lips and kisses his knuckles. Against his skin, she mumbles, "How do we even go about this? I've made it awkward."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "You didn't. Do you trust me to take the reins?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me to the bedroom."

Sawyer points to the stove. "But what about dinner?"

Harry pinches her cheek and starts dragging her down the hallway. "I know just the cure for an appetite."

☼ ☼ ☼

The queen-sized bed has sheer canopy curtains draped around it. They were too lazy to make it this morning, so the sheets are still crumpled, and pillows are strewn about. Sunlight streams through the open bay window, making the room glow a tender hue of honey.

It's alluring and also equally terrifying.

Harry went into the master bathroom to mentally prepare himself, even though he told Sawyer he was just freshening up. His reflection in the mirror peered back at him pensively. He fixed his hair about ten times, swiped another layer of deodorant across his armpits, and then gave himself a hushed pep talk before swinging the door open and putting on a cool, calm, and collected face.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach currently contradict everything he's trying to convey, especially when he finds his sweet Sawyer sitting against the headboard, the puffy duvet covering her bare breasts. The sun casts light on her stunning face and accentuates her apprehensive features. She's innocently staring at him as if she didn't knowingly climb into bed without any clothes on and sat there patiently waiting for him like the good girl she is.

And... he's hard already. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

Harry clears his throat and strips down to his boxers, then slides into the space next to her, waiting with bated breath. Neither of them looks at each other, too hesitant to make the first move. They've both had sex with different people before, so it's not like they're blind leading the blind, but now that they're actually in the bedroom, all confidence has apparently flown out the window.

"We could start with, like, kissing or something." So much for saying he'd take the reins. He can't even speak properly right now.

In his peripheral, he sees Sawyer nod hastily. "Sure," she says, quieter than ever.

"Okay. Are you comfortable doing it naked since you're already... naked?" She laughs, and Harry smacks his forehead. "Sorry. God, I'm so nervous. You're making me feel like a teenager all over again."

Silence lingers long enough for him to finally gain the courage to glance at Sawyer. She locks eyes with him, then slowly, almost teasingly, lets the duvet drop and pool around her waist. Harry's mouth goes dry as he takes in skin he's never fully seen before. She's soft, shapely, and undeniably tempting.

Sawyer crawls on her hands and knees until she's straddling his lap. She still has her underwear on, lace boy shorts that hug her hips deliciously well. With blood rushing to his brain (and other places), his reaction is a bit delayed until his hands eventually find their place on her waist. He's breathing deeply, nostrils flaring as he ravenously wonders how she will look naked underneath him, pleasure etched on her face.

"You're divine," Harry whispers while toying with the flimsy hem of her underwear.

"So are you," she replies, rubbing a coquettish hand down his chest. "Hey, let's maybe skip the kissing part? I'm kind of impatient."

"Damn, all right. We're diving straight in?"

She presses her body against his torso and hooks her arms around his neck. "I want to feel you. I've dreamed about it."

A desperate groan sounds in his throat. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Then I'd wake up, and you'd be kissing me like you knew exactly what I needed. And your hands would get so close to where they were in my dream but never close enough."

"Yeah? Where were my hands in your dream?"

Her eyes flutter shut as if she's recalling the fantasy. "Mm... everywhere. Warm and heavy between my thighs. Sliding up my stomach." A lazy, sensual smile creeps onto her lips as she adds, "Around my neck."

Harry is tired of waiting a second longer. He flips her over so he's on top, his silver necklace with the 'S' pendant swinging over her collarbones like a pendulum. "Let me make you feel good. I'll give you the real deal."

Sawyer twists the chain around her pointer finger and tugs him closer. "Please. I want it more than anything."

"Dig your heels into my back," he instructs before shuffling down her body until his head is lined up with her thighs.

She complies, and the pressure on his shoulder blades makes him choke on a moan. Her bent legs effortlessly fall open, granting him access to the single layer of fabric that comes between him and paradise. He stares at her from his position, his hands hooking around her knees. She stares back at him, a vehement fire in her eyes.

"It's all yours."

Her readiness is enough for him to lose his last shred of self-control. He leaves a suckling love bite on her inner thigh, then murmurs, "Lift your hips for me."

She raises the lower half of her body, and Harry slides her underwear off. She assists him when it reaches her ankles by kicking it across the bedroom. He focuses back on the inviting sight before him. A shiver trails down his spine when he takes two of his fingers and circles them around her entrance. She's dripping wet.

Sawyer's jaw goes slack as she scratches her nails across the expanse of Harry's sturdy back. He hisses past his clenched teeth, loving the luxurious burn. Tingling and tantalizing sensations course through his system as he tests the waters, slowly sinking his middle finger past her drenched opening. He vigilantly gazes into Sawyer's eyes the entire time, gauging her expressions for the faintest flicker of pain or unease.

"Talk to me," he says.

"It stings a little, but keep going."

"You're doing so good. So, so good. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

She nods with a raspy whine, so he adds another finger, then uses his thumb to press against her clit and rub halo shapes onto it. Her thighs tremble and tighten around his head, tiny gasps escaping past her lips. He leaves bruising, biting kisses on her skin as he skillfully works his fingers, which are now soaked with her arousal. Filthy thoughts invade his fuzzy brain, thoughts of dreams he's had himself. Vivid images of doing what he's doing right now, except they'd always be cruelly cut short by the breaking of dawn.

Harry grinds his hips into the mattress, alleviating the ache while his kisses move closer to where his fingers are. Sawyer's panted breaths motivate him to ask: "Do you want my mouth?"

"Yes, please. Eres tan bueno conmigo."

The foreign praise rolling off her tongue enchants him to dive into her sweet, sticky heat. He laps up her wetness like its melted candy, the taste dangerously addictive. He hums insatiably, palms spreading on her lower stomach as he swirls his tongue inside of her. His cheeks are ablaze with sex drive as his eyes train themselves on Sawyer's face. Soft, sensual sounds trickle out of her mouth, fueling the intensity with which he pleasures her.

Pulling away for air, Harry whispers, "I can't get enough of you," before replacing his mouth with his fingers. They slide past her clenching walls so enticingly, so perfectly.

"Harry," Sawyer moans, fisting his hair and tugging at the strands. "I-I'm almost there. It's so strong."

He removes all body contact while sucking his fingers clean, then catapults off the bed to quickly grab a condom before she loses her approaching climax. He sifts through his duffel bag, finding the box he secretly packed in case something happened on this trip.

Maybe he manifested it. Or perhaps his girlfriend is simply braver than him.

Making his way over to the bed again (tripping on Sawyer's unplugged curling iron in the process), he bounces back on the mattress and hands her the foil package. Her skin is glowing with an angelic radiance, but sinfulness cracks through when she pushes on his chest to get him to lay back. She straddles him and rips open the package with her teeth. The arch of her back, the excitement in her movements, and the slickness of her arousal are all he sees. She has no idea how heavenly she looks.

Sawyer's fingertips walk down his abdomen and brush over his length, which is straining against his boxers. "Can I?" she asks politely, her eyes wondrous.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Harry cradles her head and brings it down for a fond kiss, her hair tickling his face. "Feeling okay? Not in pain or anything, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No. I feel like I'm floating."

"Same here." He breaks into an aching smile, coming to the realization of how special this moment is. "I love you so much. I'm gonna remember this forever."

"Me too." Sawyer slides his boxers off, their harmonious breathing mixing together. Harry's cock breaks loose and rests against his happy trail, reddened and throbbing. "Woah."

He laughs at her reaction. "Don't act so surprised. It's all your fault, baby."

She blushes and carefully rolls the condom on while Harry stifles moans by biting his knuckles. He won't last very long, but he'll make it worthwhile for her. He'll take his time, just how she likes it. Soak her presence in. Slow sips.

He sits on his knees, then motions for Sawyer to recline and spread her legs. Once she's in position, he settles an arm on either side of her body and hovers over her. He tucks her hair behind her ears and leaves a hungry kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhales. "You?"

"Totally."

"Change my life, sunray."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lines it up with her entrance. He reminds himself to go slow as his tip sinks into her, and he keeps it there as he watches Sawyer's face. Her shiny lips are parted, eyebrows pushed together. Her legs squeeze him while her hands hold onto his biceps. The muscles of her cheekbones twitch. God, she's an angel.

"I've got you," Harry says, a thrilling knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, you were made for me."

He sinks further into her wet warmth, one hand grasping her leg to bend it more. She's tight, yet he's able to fit himself all the way in. Gasps leave both of their mouths at the feeling of him bottoming out, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion, the golden haze in the room adding to the delicacy of the moment.

"Mierda. Oh my God, Harry. Oh my..." Her fragile voice, leaking with whispery weeps, shatters his poise as he begins thrusting in and out. Sawyer's limbs become weak, her feet slipping down to the dip of his spine. It's all hot breath and swallowing each other's noises with sloppy kisses. Being inside her is a level of intimacy that electrifies every part of his soul. It's unfamiliar territory that binds him closer to the girl he wants forever. The orange flames they stepped around for years are now a cool, sapphire-blue.

Their hips reconnect with each thrust, a beautiful sound fused with their satisfied moans. Harry's pendant sways forward, his neck straining. Sawyer's nails pierce crescent moons onto his back, followed by more scratches that make him shudder.

"Goddamn," he chokes out, his cheek pressed against hers. "You feel stellar. I'm close. Give me... Christ, give me something to dream about."

"I'm there," she says. "I love you. I can't hold it any longer."

"Let it go, Sawyer. C'mon."

Arching her back off the mattress, she orgasms with a cry of release, and the vision of her has Harry immediately spilling out into the condom. It's powerful, otherworldly, and absolutely life-changing. He pulls out and lays on top of her, embracing her in a hold of overwhelming adoration as he whimpers into the pillow beside her head. They both melt into each other, sweaty and happy, coming down from their individual climaxes.

Every minute that passes, the room grows darker due to the moon painting the sky black with stars. Only the wind and their breathing fill the space, cool and heated gusts reciprocating. Harry can feel Sawyer's lips against his temple, curving up with a smile every so often. He's got a permanent smile as his fatigued gaze stares at the ring on her finger. He feels like sunshine is bursting from his pores and serotonin is being absorbed.

Sawyer is the first to move. She uses her remaining strength to get up and tightly wrap the sheets around her naked body before stepping out onto the balcony. With the door open, he can see the full moon illuminate the expanse of the flat desert, cacti and palm trees looming as far as the eye can see. The lack of humidity at night causes a balmy breeze to encircle her body, whipping her tousled hair.

"Can I tell you a secret now that we've had sex?" Harry asks from his place on the bed. His voice is sore and hoarse.

Sawyer turns around and bites her lip with a giddy grin. "Shoot."

He disposes of his condom, then puts his boxers back on and joins her, not caring about the chilliness. He still feels warm inside and out. "Do you remember our phone call last September when I was in South Carolina with a broken wrist?"

A flash of remembrance crosses her moonlit face. "Yeah. I was so worried about you."

He cradles her cheeks and pertly kisses her nose. "You took such good care of me when I got back."

It's the absolute truth. All the tagalongs to physical therapy, icing his wrist while cuddled on the couch, being a shoulder to cry on when he got frustrated—he couldn't have done it without her.

"I hated seeing you in pain," she says, looping her arms around his torso. "It hurt my heart."

"Never mind that." He inhales deeply and pushes forth his confession. "You... when you said you missed me during that call, a feeling came over me. Something in your voice made me weak. And something happened to me that had never happened before. I don't even know why I'm telling you—"

"Spit it out, Harry."

His head tilts back as far as it can go. "Fuck's sake. I got hard, Sawyer. Your voice made me hard."

Her mouth hangs wide open. A well-timed gust of wind passes like an awkward moment in a cartoon. "Um, wow. I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to say anything. Just thought you should know now that we've done the deed."

Sawyer giggles, hiding her face in the space between his pecs. "First off, please don't call it that." She looks at him and continues, "Secondly, you thought I should know that you got hard in South Carolina?"

He starts laughing too. It's contagious around her. "I should also probably tell you that I jerked it out in a crummy Holiday Inn shower. It was quite pathetic and sad."

She sputters out a boisterous cackle that echoes across the barren desert. Harry's cheeks flush instantaneously. "I appreciate your honesty."

"On a more serious note," Harry starts, gripping the balcony railing with one hand, the other on her hip, "I appreciate how you forced a confession out of me the next day. Don't know if I've ever told you that."

Her expression turns sorrowful. "I didn't mean to pressure you. It had been building up inside me for so long, and you looked so beautiful that night. My heart spoke for me and—"

Harry cups her jaw and kisses her unexpectedly, making her squeak. It reminds him of that night in the rain when his blue raspberry lips collided with hers for the first time. He pulls away slowly, fitting his nose over her own and swaying her slightly. "You did everything right. I was a coward who was frightened of rejection. The thought of ruining what we already had was nauseating."

"You thought I would've rejected you?"

"I never really know what you're thinking. That pretty brain of yours holds so many secrets."

Sawyer steals a ripe kiss. "Can I tell you one right now?"

"Always."

She kisses him again before saying, "I see forever with you. I want to wake up in your arms every day. I want to laugh with you until our sides ache. I want to kiss you until I get dizzy."

"Sawyer," Harry whispers, his eyes softening.

"I mean it. No one will ever make me feel this type of love again."

"I feel the same. You're all I need."

"Te quiero. Mi alma es tuya."

He nips her neck, slow and tender. "If you keep speaking Spanish to me, we're not getting any sleep tonight."

"Sí? Quieres más rasguños en la espalda?"

"Gonna tell me what that means?"

She gracefully traces the tattoo on his abdomen and says, "I can show you instead."

Harry's stomach suddenly grumbles with hunger, ruining the intimate moment. He peers at the twinkling sky above and laughs at the inconvenient interruption. "I would love that, but I'm absolutely starving right now. We skipped dinner."

"There's cold peppers on the stove."

"Delicious," he says sarcastically, shifting his gaze to her again. A few seconds pass before something he wants to mention pops into his thoughts. "Hey, did you know this month marks five years since we first met?"

Sawyer gapes at him, genuinely surprised. "No way. Five years?"

"Crazy, right? Five years since you almost gave me a concussion."

"I still feel terrible about that," she admits with a pout.

Harry remembers everything about that day, even when his brain got jolted by a killer volleyball serve by the prettiest girl on Cocoa Beach. Her brown eyes up close, holding gentle concern for a stranger. That sassy hand on her hip thing she still does today. Clementine fabric against caramel skin. Orange juice in a bottle. Summerboy.

"But if that never happened," he says quietly, "then we might've never spoken to each other."

Her dreamy hum tells him she's musing about it too. "That's true. Isn't it mind-blowing how the tiniest of decisions can affect the entire course of your life? I like to think that every past choice of mine led me to you."

He admires the way her voice gets wispy when her mind wanders. "Word. Does post-sex make you all philosophical and shit?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool." Harry backs away while holding her hands until their fingers eventually slip from each other's grasp. "Well, while you brood about Plato's teachings, I'm going to snack on your world-famous half-cooked peppers."

"Have fun with that."

"I will. Love you." Halfway through the doorway, he suddenly stops and rushes forward, giving her a suffocating hug, his lungs breathing everything about her. "All jokes aside," he murmurs, "I also believe everything I did brought me to you. And it just makes sense to be in love with you. Okay, bye."

He's off and running toward the kitchen before she can say anything else, not even the shadows of night on the floor being able to darken the natural luminescence he leaves behind.

——

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