It pushes me over the edge.
Pleasure spills through my body as I come.
She holds me as I fill her.
We stay locked together. We stay a sweaty, breathy mess.
I stay hers.
And she stays mine.
Chapter Forty-One
Walker
I wake up empty.
She's still burnt into my brain.
No, it's worse. My sheets smell like her. I can still taste her on my lips, feel her under me, hear her groaning my name.
I still want to wipe away every bit of pain in her eyes.
I still need her like I need oxygen.
My morning routine does nothing to wipe Iris from my brain. There's coffee in the carafe, my favorite French Roast.
The present is there, on the counter.
There's a note under it.
The ball's in your court. Call me if you want to talk. Or "not talk."
I don't know how to sign this,
Iris.
It's rambling, nervous, perfect.
I stare at the shiny silver bag for a long time. Eventually, I pick out the tissue paper.
It's a signed copy of Saga.
I hate that it's perfect.
I hate that I want to call her and beg her to come over.
Stay in my bed all day. Let's forget the world. Let's forget everything.
Just be here.
Just be mine.
* * *
There.
Almost.