Pen Pal(81)

“What’s freaky about it?”

“Your name and some famous thirteenth century Italian dude’s names are the same.”

“They’re not at all the same.”

“Yes, they are, if you mix up all the letters!”

He dissolves into laughter. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“Glad I amuse you, Fight Club.”

He takes the book off his stomach and sets it aside on the bed, then rolls on top of me, propping himself up on his forearms. Cradling my head in his hands and gazing down into my eyes, he murmurs, “But already my desire and my will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.”

When he doesn’t add more and only lies there staring at me with intensity, I say, “Um…okay?”

He drops his forehead to my shoulder and laughs again, harder this time, his whole body shaking with it.

I grumble, “I fail to understand what’s so hilarious here.”

“It’s the last line in the final canto of the poem, where Dante ascends to heaven and is engulfed in the divine light and love of God. It’s probably the most famous line of poetry in history.”

“Pfft. No, the most famous line of poetry in history is ‘I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.’ That’s Dr. Seuss, in case your reading hasn’t progressed that far.”

He lifts his head and gazes at me, his eyes full of adoration and his grin blinding.

Smiling back at him, I say, “So that’s what heaven is, huh? Turning wheels and spinning stars?”

“It was to Dante anyway.”

“What do you think heaven is?”

His smile fades. His energy slowly changes from light to dark, as does his gaze. Looking deep into my eyes, he says softly, “You.”

That’s the moment I finally let go of my past and my fears and fall—jump—rush headlong—in love with him.

I wrap my arms around his neck and put it all into a kiss.

Because he’s Aidan, he gives it back to me a thousandfold.





From that night on, we’re inseparable. We spend every waking and sleeping moment together. The next few months are what dreams are made of, a fairy tale come true.

Then New Year’s Eve arrives.

And with it, the end.





40





Kayla





New Year’s Eve





In the candlelight, Aidan’s face is as beautiful as an angel’s.

“How are you so pretty?” I murmur, tracing a finger across the angle of his cheek then down to his jaw. His dark beard is soft and springy under my fingertip.

We’re lying in bed at my house, facing each other, the lengths of our nude bodies aligned from chest to thighs. My feet are tucked between his calves. One of his biceps cradles my head. He’s using the other arm to keep me bound tight against him.

Gazing at me with soft eyes, he says, “I’m not. You’re just drunk with afterglow.”

My laugh is low and throaty. “Is that like beer goggles but with sex?”

“Exactly. Your orgasm has made your vision fuzzy. In reality, I look like a warthog.”

Smiling, I kiss the tip of his nose. “You do actually bear a striking resemblance to a warthog. I’ve been trying to spare your feelings by not bringing it up.”

Nuzzling my neck, he whispers, “Speaking of bringing things up…”

He flexes his hips, pressing his erection against my thigh.

I laugh again, feeling high and reckless, as if I’m standing at the top of a tall cliff, about to tumble over the edge. “Have you never heard of the refractory period?”

“I have, but my dick hasn’t.”

“Clearly.”

He quirks a brow. “Are you complaining?”

That makes me grin. “No, sir. I love it.”

He rolls over on top of me. Lowering his head, he kisses me softly, murmuring against my lips, “Say that again, bunny.”

“The sir part or the love part?”

“Both.” His eyes darken, and his voice drops. “But leave out the ‘no’ and the ‘it.’”

I have to think about that for a moment. When I understand what he wants me to say, my cheeks heat.

But I give him what he wants. Without reservation and without regret, the way he needs it.

Gazing into his eyes, my face hot and my heart pounding, I whisper, “I love sir.”

He moistens his lips. His breathing goes erratic. Heavy and warm on top of me, he feels like the anchor that will keep me steady and the harbor that will keep me safe, no matter how strong the storm.

Rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth over the slope of my cheek, he says in a husky voice, “And I love my sweet little rabbit, who made me grateful for every day I walked through hell because that dark path eventually led to her.”

I breathe out a soft sob, but he silences it as he kisses me.

I think he’s going to push inside me, but he rolls to his back instead, taking me along so I’m lying atop him. Holding my hair back from my face, he says casually, “There’s supposed to be fireworks at midnight tonight.”