Leaving Amarillo(64)

I’m confused and overcome. My mind tries to divide itself to accommodate the sensations. I had sex but I’ve never felt anything like this before. Never-ending orgasms and tremulous aftershocks are new to me. Gavin brings his hand between us, pressing his thumb to my clit, and I scream. This wave is slower, taking over my body in languid strokes of ecstasy.

I’m going to die. These are my last glorious moments on earth. I couldn’t have picked a better way to go.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” slips from my mouth in an endless stream.

I feel the damp heat of the whispers in my ear before I can make out what he’s saying.

“So beautiful, so motherf*cking perfect and beautiful,” are the first words I comprehend.

And then a deep breath and one more declaration.

“You’ve wrecked me, Bluebird. I. Am. Wrecked,” whispered just before he collapses on top of me.





Chapter 23


I’M DREAMING. AT LEAST, I THINK I AM.

I fell from a cliff into the ocean where a current held me down. I’ve been under for too long, much too long. I know I can’t breathe this long underwater. I start to panic but my screams are lost in the water. Until the music begins to play.

It pulls me to shore, the glorious sound of the violin being played masterfully. I have to see who this master musician is up close. He saved my life, after all.

I run, my bare feet struggling to find purchase in the sand. But then I see him. His back is to me and he’s not playing a violin at all, but making love to a woman.

Gavin. My beautiful Gavin. His tattoo-covered muscles flex and strain as he moves, and she’s crying out in pleasure or pain, I can’t tell. But her cries are music to my ears and I see her face.

It’s me. She has my face.

They’re on fire, it’s all around them, and I want to help them but I’m frozen where I stand. Helpless.

Water begins to fill my mouth and lungs again and I try to scream, to ask them if they see me, to tell them they’re on fire, but my cries are muffled by more water.

“Dixie?” Gavin stops moving above her and gapes at me. “Bluebird? Are you okay?”

He does see me.

My eyes fly open and I’m in his arms panting for breath. In a hotel room. Not drowning. I’m not drowning.

“Dixie? Baby, are you okay?”

I nod frantically while trying to catch my breath. “Bad dream. Weird dream.”

“Holy f*ck, you scared me to death.”

“Sorry,” I say easing back into his arms. “I was on the beach. We were together, but then I was separate. I was drowning.”

His arms tighten around me. “We must’ve passed out. I woke up to you making a strange noise, like you were choking to death.”

My head settles against his chest and his heartbeat lulls me into a calmer, much more peaceful state. “Yeah. It was crazy.” I shake my head against his warm skin. “It was like I knew I was dreaming, but it was so real at the same time.”

“Well, I promise, you’re awake now. And so am I. You damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“Hmm . . .” My hand slides down his chiseled stomach. We’re still naked. I find his thick fullness with my fingers and wrap around him. He jerks in my grasp and is hard almost instantly. “Maybe we should make sure. You know, just so I know we’re really awake.”

“About that,” he murmurs into my hair. “We got kind of messy in my half-ass, half-conscious attempt to dispose of the condom. Shower with me?”

Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.

Our bodies seem to have magnetized during our lovemaking, or f*cking, or whatever that glorious experience should be called. We remain connected in one way or another as we make our way to the bathroom—his arm around my waist, a hand on my back, my face to his chest, his fingers in my hair, and finally I get brave and press my lips to his when he stands from leaning over to turn on the shower.

“You taste like rain . . . and like me,” I tell him when we eventually pull apart.

He grins at me, the seductive heat of want returning to the gleam in his eye. “Oh yeah? Well, I must taste f*cking amazing then. Because I can honestly say, until tonight that strawberry ice cream I licked off your stomach was my favorite, but now . . .” He pauses and glances over my head in the mirror. “Now I can honestly say, you, Dixie Leigh Lark, are my favorite flavor.”

Turning to see what has caught his eye, I stare at our naked figures in the mirror before the thick steam covers it.

“We look good together,” I whisper.

Gavin meets my gaze in the mirror and nods his agreement almost imperceptibly. With his arms covered in ink and my shoulders and waist decorated as well, we look like an erotic oil painting. I watch our conjoined reflection as his hand snakes around my waist, dipping lower in a way that causes my bones to liquefy.

His other arm wraps around me higher and his hand massages my breasts gently.

I let out a throaty approval of his ministrations. “God, Gavin. I don’t want you to stop touching me. Please never stop touching me.” I mean ever, as in, ever, but he doesn’t seem to need or want clarification.

His mouth meets me ear and I can’t tear my eyes away from the glass.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says low in my ear, causing me to quiver noticeably in his arms. “Please,” he adds when I don’t comply immediately.