“Fuck, love,” I croak out, sucking along her neck, to her breasts. My tongue teases around the hardened peak of her nipple and I pull it into my mouth with one long, hard draw. Her moan is so loud, so uninhibited that I feel like a fucking king. I barely notice that we’re in a hayloft, in a barn, somewhere in California. I only notice her and the warmth, that damn, intoxicating warmth of being really, truly inside of her, of feeling her in every way I can.

“Harder,” she says, arching her back. “Fuck. Lachlan.”

My name on her lips is a tonic. I piston my hips to drive into her deeper, my knees burning from the hay as I pound her again and again and again. Her perfect tits bounce with each thorough thrust, and suddenly there are no thoughts. No pain. No nothing, and yet everything. That feeling of falling, of realizing how good it can fucking be when you actually care about someone.

And I care for her. More than I should, more than I could ever admit.

“Lachlan,” she whispers to me but never finishes her sentence. She just repeats my name. Like I’m revered, like I’m her religion.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The flush on her face spreads to her chest and her legs quiver around my waist. She’s holding onto me like I’m about to take flight and she doesn’t want to be left behind.

I go to slip my hand over her clit, to give her the boost, but she’s already there. She cries out loudly, hips jerking upward, body shaking like a minor quake. She’s so unbelievable when she’s coming, this pulsing, writhing spirit, and I’m the cause of all of it. I’m the one who brings this little creature to her knees, to the edge.

And she does the same to me.

My orgasm sneaks up on me, like being hit from behind. It’s devastating. Stunning. I know I’m loud when I come. I know I’m groaning and grunting loudly, but from the way she’s gasping for breath and still holding tight, she feels it. I want her to feel it. To feel me.

I collapse against her, sweat dripping off my brow and over my nose. I can hardly breathe but I don’t care. I’m shuddering on the inside, completely unraveled.

This woman. This beautiful woman that I’ve just come inside of, this woman whose gorgeous, elegant neck I’m kissing because it’s the only thing to do.

I can’t leave her. I just can’t.

I stay inside her for as long as possible, until she starts to adjust underneath me. When I pull out of her, the loss is deeper than I thought it would be.

I brush the hair back from her damp forehead. “Hi,” I say softly. Because I feel like we’re meeting again for the first time.

“Hi,” she says lazily, breaking into a smile. Her hands ghost up and down my back, as if she can’t quite believe I’m here.

“I rather enjoyed that,” I tell her.

Her smile is coy. “So did I.”

“I could do that again.”

And now, now she looks pained. She swallows, running her fingertips, light and soft, up to my neck. “I could too.”

I take a deep breath, throwing all decorum away. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

She blinks, as if this idea is something new. After a beat, she says, “Neither do I.”

So then what do we do?

The answer is nothing.

But I don’t want it to be nothing.

***

“Are you ready?” Kayla asks me, surveying the hotel room one last time.

I nod, though I’m the furthest thing from ready. When we woke up, we spent as much time as possible in bed before we finally had to get going. Now we’re running a little bit late, which doesn’t bode well for me when I have a plane to catch.

Still, I can’t blame myself for dragging my feet. I’m trying to hold onto the seconds and they’re just slipping through our hands.

I grab the dog crate, my duffel bag, and we head out to the car. I planned to head back into the hotel to say goodbye to Bram and the others, but the four of them are waiting outside for us, suitcases packed.

“Sorry we couldn’t make breakfast,” I tell Bram as we come up to them.

“Understood,” he says, and I can’t see his eyes underneath his Ray-bans, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume he has that same sentimental look as he did yesterday during lunch. The last thing I need is for someone to draw attention to the whole going away factor. I fucking hate goodbyes; in fact my whole life I’ve just ghosted in those situations.

It wouldn’t have been right to just leave without saying anything, but even so, we make it quick. I hug my cousins, tell them it was great to see them again, and make sure they know I mean it. I kiss the hands of Steph and Nicola, who still regard me in the same way that people look at a pit bull, untrusting and on edge, and get in the car before anyone has a chance to get sappy on me.

A few minutes later we’re pulling onto the highway that leads us back to San Francisco. The sun is shining but the mood in the car is heavy, a cloud hanging over us. We don’t talk. No music plays. Somehow the silence is comforting, something that we share.

I keep thinking about the barn. The look in her eyes as she came, the way her hands held me to her, so tight, like she couldn’t stand to let go. It undid me in a way I’m not sure I can reverse. I find myself reaching for the back of her neck, holding her there, as if that could keep her close.

She looks over at me, her eyes both sweet and sad. “I think Bram’s going to miss you,” she says. “He doesn’t have a lot of friends out here yet except for Linden.”

I nod, not wanting to talk about Bram. I want to talk about us.

“And you,” I say. “Will you miss me?”

Her brow softens, and I have the urge to kiss her forehead, to breathe her in, to bury my hands in her silky hair. I know what I want to hear from her. I know what I need to hear from her. I want her to stop the car, to stop time. I want her for just a few seconds more than I’m allowed.

“Of course I’ll miss you,” she says, and her voice is quiet, strained. It tells me the truth. That this is hard on her too. “I already miss you and you’re still here.”

I swallow thickly, knowing exactly what she means.

But what the fuck is there to say? We both knew this was coming. We knew very well. I just didn’t expect it to be so hard.

It’s fucking killing me.

I run my thumb along her neck, and I am filled with foolish thoughts, wants, desires. I don’t dare even repeat them to myself. I’m just having a hard time imagining myself next week, back in Edinburgh. Of course, rugby will sweep me away, consume me, as will the organization. But now that I’ve been consumed by her, I’m not sure it will be enough.

I open my mouth to tell her something that could make it better, but there really isn’t anything that can. So that silence falls on us again.

Until Kayla utters, “Fuck, traffic,” and I look to see the highway in front of us backed up with cars.

“We have plenty of time,” I tell her. All I have to do is get home, grab the two suitcases I packed, and leave. Emily is already in her crate, and I have a sedative to give her for the journey. Bram has an extra key to the flat and said he’d get a maid service to come by after I left.

But half an hour later, the traffic is still ensnarling us.

“Fuck,” Kayla says again, wringing her hands on the steering wheel. “Can you check again?”

I open her phone and refresh the traffic app. We’re not too far from the Bay Bridge, but the highway is showing up as a thick red line. “Still showing traffic all the way through to the city, but the delay is only supposed to be ten minutes.”

“That’s what they’ve been saying, and yet…” She shoots me an anxious glance. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll make the flight,” I assure her calmly. “Don’t worry. They say you have to be there three hours before an international departure, but really it’s ninety minutes. We’re good. I’m just running in, grabbing my stuff, and going.”