Page 46 of Love Again

Devon’s touch is electric. She doesn’t believe me, but it’s true. Straightening up from tying my boot, I felt her hand on my shoulder and her connection set nerves firing.

She was completely naked except for that soft, blue sweater. The front was unzipped, completely open, and she was wearing nothing underneath.

Her green eyes were huge, and she slipped between me and the wall. Her hands pulled the suit down over my shoulders, and the weight of her tugging, her mouth, just her, made me hard. Then she glided her hands up my sides, and her fingers danced over my ribs and across my chest. I couldn’t seem to breathe and then she slid one hand down and gripped my penis. Hard. Then, I wasn’t breathing at all.

I’d been lying next to her with such a hard-on most of the night, so any touch, any brush with skin, lips, or fingers would cause me to explode.

She slid the suit further down, and I reached up, spreading my arms above my head and leaning my hands against the wall for support.

Then she kneeled and her lips slipped over my shaft. My exhale was hard and fast and my stomach clenched.

My body is hers, completely.

She has no idea how good she is.

΅

Afterward, she brings me a warm washcloth to clean up, and I lie on the bed for a long time with her. We’re both naked. Well, she’s still in her sweater and my head is in her lap. She’s stroking the hair from my forehead, and I’m in some post-sex coma—barely speaking, but listening.

She’s explaining why she left. There are a few quiet tears. She tells me of dreams she has, about us. And she tells me, again, that she’s sorry.

All of this still avoids the one thing we have to talk about—the one person we have to talk about.

I open my eyes. “Let’s talk about Max.”

The silence in the room is real. Her hands stops for a moment and then resumes, but she can’t seem to speak. Her small frame has gone rigid, I’m assuming from trying not to cry.

“He loved us both, Devon. He was the one who defied protocol. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault.” I pause, not certain how to start again. My thoughts run together, and it’s difficult to figure out what to say. I don’t want to hurt her or his memory. “Max risked his life to save us. That’s not something to run away from.”

Now, her hand is damp and there’s a tremor. Sitting up, I hold her hands. “Look at me, Devon.”

Her green eyes are bright. Her red mouth is small, and I wish I could kiss away her pain. But I can’t. What I can do is speak the truth. We sit cross-legged from each other on the bed.

The words are difficult. “It was his decision to go in.”

She flinches and tries to pull away from me, but I hang on to her wrists.

“No, Devon, listen to me. He made his own decision. Our love for each other is not what killed him. It was his love for us, and it clouded his thinking. He never should have taken that risk.”

Devon unfolds herself and leans over and lays her head on my chest. I stretch out, and we lie like this for a long time. There’s a hot, damp spot on near my collarbone.

“I know that.” She swallows. “I left because . . .”

I say nothing, but her entire body goes rigid again as she tries to stifle tears. Then she relaxes a moment, takes a breath, and continues. “What if we do that? I left because, what if, in the moment of some emergency, you’re hurt or killed trying to save me? Or I get killed trying to save you? You’d never forgive yourself. I’d never forgive myself.”

“And that’s why you left?”

“We put ourselves and anyone with us at risk. I can’t live like that.”

I have no right answer for her. No way to fix this. She’s right. I would die trying to save her, and I’m not going to lie about it. But what I can offer her, is, once again, the truth.

“That’s true, but here’s another truth: I can’t live without you. I’d quit firefighting today if that’s what it took. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat. That’s what I was trying to tell you—but you left.”

“I don’t want you to quit. It’s what you love.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”