When the Heart Falls(56)

I straighten my shirt. "Thank you." I’m turning toward the paintings when the security guard puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but you too."

"You serious?"

"I am."

I glance at Winter, tears streaming down her face, make-up smeared.

"We'll go.” I take her hand. "It's late."



I buy Winter a print of Turner's painting of Honfleur at a nearby gift shop, and we head to a hotel. "One room?” I ask her.

Winter nods. She hasn't spoken since the museum.

I pay for the room and find it upstairs. Winter sits on the bed, already undressed, as I take my clothes off.

"That guy was an idiot.” I throw my jeans on the chair and sit next to her.

"I know." Winter doesn't face me. She's still solemn.

"It's okay to kiss in public." I rub her back, hoping it will help her relax.

"And have sex outside?"

"Even better."

"I just wish people weren't so mean.” Her voice hitches.

"Few people are truly mean. Most are just stupid. They forget actions have consequences."

"And you remind them with a fist?" She turns to face me.

I sigh. "I shouldn't, because there's another way, right? But I don't know that way. And I won't let anyone hurt you. I can't. You understand?"

She nods. "You were right about the slave ship. That's life. You can try to find happiness, a raft amongst an ocean, your soul mate, but something always holds you back, something always traps you. We start off pure, but eventually something gets its claws in us, and it never, ever let's go."

I whistle. "I miss the optimist."

"She's gone," Winter says.

"Just tired." I lay down and pull the blankets over us. "Let's go to bed."

She puts a cold hand on my chest. "No. I want you."

"Winter, are you sure?"

"Yes. I refuse to let bullies make me feel bad for wanting to be with you, for enjoying this."

"What do you—"

"Shhh." She straddles me, her hands gripping my chest, her exposed breasts inches from my face.

"Winter, we don't need to—"

She shifts, and slides herself onto my hard on.

"You feel amazing," I say.

Grinning, she leans in, letting her nipples brush against my mouth. "You were saying?"

"Mmmm." I suck on one nipple and stroke the other as she moves her hips up and down, increasing her speed as her confidence grows.

My hands drop down to the swell of her hips, moving her faster, pushing myself deeper.

Dipping my fingers between her flesh, I rub her swollen nub as she rides me. Her muscles clench as she climaxes, collapsing on me. I’m still hard inside of her as she bites my chest and grins. "I'm a real cowgirl, huh?"

I chuckle. "You're mine." I start to flip her over but she stops me.

"No. Not tonight. Tonight you're mine." She moves off of me, and I groan, missing the feel of her tight, warm flesh.

Her lips trail down my chest and abs as she looks up at me with naughty bedroom eyes. "What's the last part of that poem about again?"

"What? Oh, bread."

She licks the tip of my throbbing hard on. "You sure it wasn't head?"

"Head. Right. I meant head."

"You want my mouth?"

"Yes."

She takes me in then, deep. Then deeper. Her mouth moving up and down as she grips my base with her hand and flicks her tongue around. As my climax approaches, I try to pull out, but she sucks harder until I explode in her mouth.

So. Damn. Hot. "You're amazing.”

"Hold me." She leans into my arms. "I never want to feel bad for kissing you. I never want to fear touching you."

"You never have to. Whatever anyone says, whatever comes and whatever came before, it's okay."

"I thought you didn't care about that," she says. "I thought you didn't believe."

I kiss her again, arms tightening around her. "For you, I believe."





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 24





WE TRAVEL OVER the first, and formerly longest, cable-stayed road bridge, Le Ponte de Normandie, that spans the river Seine, and I marvel at what the human mind has conceived of that once must have felt impossible. The bridge serves to remind me that what people call impossible is just something that no one's done yet. Everything was impossible at one point, until it wasn't.

Which means nothing is really impossible at all.

This thought cheers me as we make our way to the commune of Etretat in order to take pictures of les falaises d'Etretat—the cliffs of Etretat. Powerful and immense, surrounded by emerald green and sapphire blue waters, rising into the sky like white mountains peaked in green, the cliffs awe us both. We stop and take pictures, then make a small picnic with leftovers from lunch and eat in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

The sun is setting, the rays casting oranges and yellows into the water and chilling the air. Winter shivers, and I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. She's always so cold, but with a heart so warm and loving. While I'm glad she reclaimed her own power on Bastille Day with her Ice Queen costume, I can never see her as that, as an Ice Queen. She's the most caring person I've ever known, and I want to punch anyone who has ever treated her less than she deserves.