Page 103 of Faking the Pass
I chuckled, suddenly filled with the kind of volcanic joy I’d read about but never actually experienced.
Until now, I’d suspected it wasn’t actually real.
“Are you good?” I asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from her anyway.
Go ahead, call me desperate.
“Soooooo good,” she said, drawing out both words and causing my dick to stir, rallying for another round already.
I rolled off the bed, heading for the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Rosie asked drowsily.
“I’ll be right back.”
After a minute I returned with a warm washcloth for Rosie, but she was already unconscious, spread out in the middle of the bed like an exhausted starfish.
For some reason it melted my heart to see her like that, so unselfconscious, so vulnerable.
So completely satisfied.
I’d done that.
And I’d be eternally grateful that she’d allowed me to.
Not being a poet or the world’s most articulate man, I wasn’t going to try to find the words to explain the experience, but suffice it to say, sex with Rosie was the best I’d ever had.
I couldn’t have been happier that my family had forced us into this honeymoon.
And I had every intention of making it count—and making it last as long as possible.
Chapter 25
The Best Way To Handle Things
Rosie
Our final few days on the island passed in a blur of sex and sun and saltwater.
Between the pool, the ocean, and the bedroom, we were basically never dressed. And I wasn’t complaining.
But it was all about to come to an end. I found myself wishing we could stay here forever. Which was bad.
Thiswas why I’d resisted sleeping with Presley in the first place.
On our final day before going home, we abandoned the swimming thing altogether and basically stayed in bed all day. It was raining anyway—the first time we’d seen rain since arriving here.
It felt oddly appropriate. The sound of rainfall on the metal roof was almost like applause at the end of a great show.
It couldn’t last forever, but you’d enjoyed the hell out of it while it lasted, and you were glad you bought the ticket.
We lay in bed, listening to the storm, the rain lashing the windows and sliding glass door, the occasional rumble of thunder.
The windows on one side of the bedroom were protected by an overhang, and they were open. A cool, moist breeze stirred the curtains, lifting and floating them like languid flags.
I inhaled deeply. Ilovedthe scent of rain.
It had always made me feel restful, like there was nothing I needed to do, nowhere I had to be.
