Page 70 of Boards & Betrayal

The sky above was a clear blue, with only a few wispy clouds lazily drifting across it. The sun hung high, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. It was one of those perfect springdays that made you forget about winter's harshness and look forward to summer's warmth.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of blooming flowers that wafted through my open window. It was as if nature itself was trying to soothe my troubled mind, offering a momentary escape from my worries.

As I continued driving, fields of wildflowers came into view. They stretched out on either side of the road like vibrant carpets of color. Pinks, purples, yellows—they swayed gently in unison as if dancing to some silent melody only they could hear.

I passed by a small creek that wound its way through the landscape. The water sparkled in the sunlight, creating tiny rainbows as it cascaded over smooth stones. Ducks paddled along its surface while birds flitted from tree to tree overhead.

Each scene seemed more idyllic than the last; yet beneath this beauty lay an undercurrent of unease within me.

But for now—for just these few moments—I allowed myself to be enveloped by spring’s gentle embrace, and getting lost in the memories.

Spendingthe weekend at Tom's house felt like stepping into a dream. The moment I walked through his door, the world outside ceased to exist. We slipped into a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

We started in the kitchen, cooking together. Tom moved with an ease that belied his rugged exterior, chopping vegetables with precision while I stirred a simmering pot of sauce. The aroma filled the room, mingling with our laughter.

"You're not too bad at this," I teased, nudging him with my elbow.

"Well, don't expect a Michelin star meal," he said with a boyish grin, flipping the spatula in his hand.

We ate at his small wooden table; the conversation flowing effortlessly between bites. We talked about everything—his career, my photography, even silly childhood memories. Each word brought us closer, each shared glance deepened our connection.

After dinner, we moved to the living room. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow across the room. Tom pulled me onto the couch, his arm draped over my shoulders. We talked for hours, but words eventually gave way to silence as we lost ourselves in each other’s presence.

When he kissed me, it was slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. One thing led to another, and soon we were entwined on his bed, our bodies moving together with a desperate intensity. The world outside faded completely as we lost ourselves in each other.

We spent the rest of the weekend in a blissful haze. Mornings began with soft kisses and lazy sex, followed by breakfast in bed. Afternoons were filled with more talking and laughter; we’d sit on his porch watching the world go by or take leisurely walks around his property.

"Do you ever get tired of this place?" I asked him once as we sat on his porch swing.

"Never," he replied, looking out at the sprawling landscape. "It's my sanctuary."

I understood what he meant. Being here with him felt like a sanctuary for me too—a place where all my worries melted away.

Evenings brought more intimacy—sometimes tender and slow; other times passionate and raw—but always deeply satisfying. We’d fall asleep wrapped around each other, only to wake up and do it all over again.

By Sunday night, I realized I didn’t care about what tomorrow might bring or whether Tom saw this as something more than just a fling. For now—for this weekend—I was happy. I deserved this joy after everything I’d been through with Nick.

As we lay together under the covers one last time before I had to leave, Tom brushed a strand of hair from my face and looked into my eyes.

"Stay," he whispered.

And in that moment—with no promises or expectations—I knew this had been the best weekend of my life.

Monday morning crept in through the window, soft light casting shadows across the room. I woke to find Tom still asleep, his arm draped protectively over me. I slipped out from under his grasp, careful not to wake him, and padded quietly to the bathroom.

The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the remnants of sleep. I closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me. The door creaked open, and I felt a presence behind me. Before I could turn, Tom's hands were on my shoulders.

"Couldn't wait for me?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

I smiled, leaning back into him. "Thought I'd let you sleep in for once."

He chuckled softly and joined me under the spray. His hands moved to my back, lathering up soap and gently working it into my skin. The sensation was soothing, almost meditative.

"You're good at this too," I said, closing my eyes again.

"I have my talents," he replied, his voice low and intimate.

His hands roamed lower, gliding over the curve of my hips. Each touch sent ripples of warmth through me. He took his time, exploring every inch with deliberate care. His fingerstraced patterns along my spine before slipping around to my front, making my breath catch.

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