Page 136 of Here & There

“Oh God, I’m going to come right a—” I cry out, and then it’s too late. I’m coming hard for the second time, my muscles squeezing around him. He makes a low sound I know is a result of my pussy tensing, and a moment later, he holds me down on his pulsing cock, groaning as his balls clench under me. “I love you, Shelby,” he grits out. “Fuck, I love you so fucking much it hurts.”

Eventually both our waves end, and we soften together. His body relaxes enough to separate us.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to walk after this,” he says as he helps me to my feet.

“Are you complaining?” I ask, still blissed out and floating on air.

He helps button my dress in the dim light, showering me with little kisses the whole time. “No. Never.”

I go to open the door, but Mac rests a hand on my shoulder. “I love you, Shelby,” he says into the dark. He kisses me with a kind of desperate need, like he has to have me know.

“I love you too, Mac,” I breathe as we slip out into the hall.

The coast is clear this time, thankfully. Mac’s hat is on the floor.

“It looks better on you,” he says, setting it back on my head. He tightens the back and appraises me, his eyes going serious as he takes me in.

I can’t even with him. How much he makes me laugh. How safe he makes me feel. He’s everything to me, I think.

Everything.

So why has this weekend come with both excitement and dread?

As we kiss goodbye one last time and head into our separate restrooms to wash up, I inspect myself in the mirror. I look flushed, like I’ve just had sex. Happy too, I think.

But something tugs at me, like fingers at a loose thread. I think it was the way he told me he loved me. Like a plea. It’s probably because I have to go to Vancouver next week for the work commitment I promised. Clientzilla’s launch event. I’m planning on spending a couple of weeks there, since I have to pack up my apartment to move.

Maybe that’s why I feel so divided too, now that I have a moment to breathe. Moving sucks.

So will being physically removed from the office where all the fun happens.

But it’s the best thing, I remind myself as I leave the restroom. Because Mac is my best thing now. That blissful moment in the closet was proof: nothing is better than us together.

Right before Angus arrives, Mac and I move around the room, looking at Stu’s portraits. We only just hung them this afternoon, and I was so busy in the lead-up to today, I didn’t get a chance to see them all together like this. I only read a few of Lana’s mini biographies too.

Marie is there, as is Angus. Mac’s mom too.

Mac couldn’t look at that one when Stu finished it. Now he looks, his hand clenching and unclenching over mine.

“She was beautiful when she laughed,” Mac says, his voice tight.

His mother’s head is thrown back, her mouth open. I can almost hear the laughter.

“You have her smile,” I say. Maybe that’s why he was so reticent to show it for so long.

Mac nods. His shoulders give a single shake.

I pull his arm around me, slipping mine around his back as if I could support this massive man. He squeezes my shoulder tight, like he’s hanging on.

“I can’t break down in my own bar,” Mac says. He rubs his face on his shoulder. “Look, there’s Fred.”

Fred’s portrait is incredible. They all are. Fred’s mom Bea. Diane from the inn. The Widow from Widow’s Walk.

I pause at this one. The Widow is a tragic-looking woman with long silver hair.

Abigail Brightley, also known as “the Widow.”

“Mac!” someone calls. Jed, from the kitchen.

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