And I blink.
“I love you.” His voice is all raspy and deep.
“I know,” I tell him. “I love you too. Fuck me already.”
I have patience, okay? But only so much.
“Em…” he says again.
I bite my lip.
“I want to put a baby in you tonight,” he admits. “If that’s wrong, I’m sorry. I don’t even fucking know why. And I know this is coming out of nowhere, but—”
“Hey,” I say. Even just to stop him from rambling for a hot second.
A little smile plays on his lips. “Hey.”
He’s fucking right—it’s from straight out of nowhere. For a second, I wonder if it’s not the tequila talking. Or the ocean. Or the moonlight.
But then I think about it. Really fucking think about it.
And just like that, in an instant, it all clicks.
“Let’s do it, then,” I tell him. “I want it. I want you. I want everything, Evan. Give it to me—I can take
it. It’s alright.”
He plunges his cock as deep inside me as it can go without even another moment’s hesitation.
That’s how things end here.
I am his. And he is mine.
I’m an author. I know stories, and I know how they end.
If you’re an asshole, you leave things on a cliffhanger.
If you’re a decent fucking human being, you end on something sweet and poignant. Something that ties the whole story together in a nice little bow.
Happily ever after, right?
But here’s the thing about real life: it keeps on going long after the final page is turned.
This story is over.
My ever-after couldn’t be happier if I wrote it myself.
But this adventure?
Babe, this adventure is just beginning.
Alexis and WineBar #12
Night came. And turned to day.
But the blackness on my soul never left.
I cried until I ran out of tears.