I pried her fingers away from her hair and pulled her onto her feet. “If you’re not comfortable, then we can go home. But don’t let that asshole judge you.”
Florence’s gaze darted over my shoulder. She was still worried about the man.
“Hey, Florence, look at me.”
Her clear blue gaze locked with mine. Behind them, there stirred a riot of emotion—fear, desire, embarrassment, guilt.
“Whatever you want,” I said.
“I want to spend tonight with you,” she said quietly, almost in a whisper.
“Then let’s go.”
I looped my arm around Florence’s shoulders and pressed her close to my body. She linked her arms around my waist and we walked together to the elevators at the far end of the lobby.
As the elevator slid silently up to the twenty-eighth floor, I tugged Florence closer to me and dipped my face down to kiss her. She gave a happy little sigh that melted any reservations I had about what was to come.
She wanted it.
I wanted her.
Tonight, tonight.
We got to the room without speaking and when we walked in, Florence immediately kicked off her shoes. She scampered around the room, peeking through the window curtains as I tossed our bags onto the couch.
“This is a nice hotel,” Florence said as she walked back towards me, barefoot on her tiptoes.
I tore open a package of slippers from the closet and threw them at her feet. She slipped them on and fell back on the bed so her hair and her skirt flew up with the force.
Florence gave a soft squeal of excitement as she rolled around the bed. “Hotel life. Don’t you wish you could just live in a hotel? No worries, no chores, people bringing you room service whenever you want.”
“I’m sure it’d get annoying after a while,” I said. I removed my suit jacket and placed it on a hanger in the closet.
Florence stilled, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, then asked, “Can we order room service later?”
I picked up the room service menu and pitched it towards the bed. “Yeah, it’s twenty-four hours. Whatever you want, babe.”
Florence didn’t open the menu. Instead she sat up, fretting her fingers, swinging her slippered feet from side to side.
“I’m … uh … going to use the restroom.” There was intent laced behind that statement. I nodded stupidly and she smiled before disappearing behind the door.
I paced the room while I waited for her to come out. I had no idea how to proceed. Everything about today had been so planned, so orderly, all to get to this moment, and now that I was here, I had no idea what I was doing.
I wanted Florence, I knew that. My body and my soul and my mind and my heart wanted her, but I didn’t want to push or force her into doing what she didn’t want to do.
It was standard fare for prom nights to be the night one loses their virginity, so much so that it was almost a laughable cliché. And truly, it could be perfect, except the backdrop of everything going on.
Her mother and family.
My exit from this town.
Our uncertain future.
My mind was besieged with a whirlwind of thoughts, but when the bathroom door opened and Florence stepped out, I stopped pacing, speechless at what stood before me.
She had removed what little makeup she had on and had shed her dress. In its place, she wore the plush white hotel robe cinched tightly around her waist.
She was fresh-faced and innocent. Familiar and pure.
My fingers clenched into a fist and unclenched, needing her in them.
I was next to her before I knew it. Florence peeked up shyly with anticipation. My breath stopped. She was so beautiful, too perfect. Her long light brown lashes fringed those eyes, those eyes with that look that I knew I’d follow until the day I died.
“You’re beautiful,” I said softly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
My palms rested lightly against her hips. “It’s okay. No pressure. Whatever you want.” It was as if I was trying to convince myself.
Florence slipped her bottom lip slightly in between her teeth and nibbled nervously before whispering, “I want to touch you.”
“Then do it.”
But Florence didn’t move. We remained locked in place, my gaze burning into her with a need so potent and powerful I imagined I’d die soon without her. Her face was shy, flushed, her eyes flickering over me.
“It’s okay,” I said quietly.
She slipped a slim finger into the knot and tugged gently. I lurched forward slightly, arching over her until our foreheads almost touched.
Gods, her smell. Her feel. What I wouldn’t give to touch her right now … to be inside her, to know every part of her.
I wanted every part of her to melt into me, so I wouldn’t know where I ended and she began. Because since the first day on the dusty road, when she’d turned around to go back to her own home, I had followed her endlessly. Endlessly and forever.
“You won’t forget me, Alistair?” Florence’s voice was small and breathy, and her eyes glimmered with the beginning of tears. She loosened the knot and slid it free.
I reached a hand back and gently traced my thumb over her quivering lips. “No. Never.” My thumb slid down to cup her chin and I gently tilted her face up to mine and I kissed her. Once. Twice.
“I could never forget you,” I said.
Florence inhaled a shaky breath and closed her eyes. A single tear slid free and I ran my thumb below it to catch it.
“Don’t cry.” A lump caught in my throat. I knew this moment was important. I was seeing Florence in a moment that was only reserved for now and for me. This was precious and I wanted to absorb every second, every breath, every tear.
Florence opened her eyes and they shimmered in the low light. “I don’t want to hold you back.” Her voice was small and with that whisper, my tie was pulled free. Florence allowed it to drift down to the floor. “I want you to enjoy college … I never wanted to keep you here in St. Haven.”
“You’re not. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. You’re the best thing. You bring out the best in me. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
I’d be crazy or dead, I thought to myself. I always tried not to obsess over the what-ifs and maybes, but the idea of me staying in New Orleans, never seeing Florence again … I could almost thank my mom for closing the door on me.
Almost.
“I’ll miss you,” Florence said.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’ll come back on the weekends, and in two years, you’ll come to Ann Arbor and we’ll be together.”
Florence shook her head. “Who knows what’ll happen in two years’ time? I could change, you could change. What if tonight is all we have left?”
“Don’t be afraid of change. We’ll change together, we’ll share all the new together.”
“Alistair,” she whispered. “I don’t know that. I can’t be that person that locks you to St. Haven. I can’t force you.”
I shook my head. “You’re not.
“Promise you’ll remember tonight … that you’ll remember us, no matter what. Whether you’re in college or fifty years from now, I want you to promise me that you’ll remember this, that you’ll remember that I loved you.” Florence tugged my collar down, her cool fingers resting against my neck. “That I love you now, and that I’ll love you always. That you’re my everything.”
“I promise.” I ran my fingers through her hair and pressed my lips against the crown of her forehead. “I promise,” I repeated. I’d remember everything until my dying day. I’d remember the feel of her in my hands, the ache in my chest, the longing in my heart. The way just her voice made my day, the smell of her hair, the pain of the possibility of a life without her.
“Make love to me.” Florence’s breath blew hot against my neck. She was fingering the buttons along the front of my shirt, tugging at them absentmindedly. She had a look of utter despair, as i
f she was lost and needing, as if she was lonelier than she ever had been before.
“Florence.” My fingers went up to still hers. “Is everything okay?”
She shook her head, hair slipping against her cheeks. “I … I just can’t help but feel this will be the last time we’ll ever be together. I want to say a proper goodbye.”
“No. This isn’t goodbye. I’m not leaving forever.”
Her voice was faint. “I know. A part of me knows, but another part of me … I just don’t want to be the needy small-town girlfriend.”
“You’re not, you never will be.”
Florence slipped her fingers out from between my grasp, pressing her knuckles against her lips. “I just don’t want you to resent me,” she said tremulously.
“Don’t think like that.” I tried to say it as gently as I could. “You know that isn’t true.”
Florence didn’t answer. Instead she leaned forward and pressed her lips against my collarbone, the gesture sending searing agony deep into my heart. My hands moved up to her hips, tracing her form through the plush robe.
“Take me, Alistair. Take all of me. I’m yours. I’m yours.” Her sentence lingered against my skin and I remembered that time, years ago, the first time she’d breathed against me. That first time we’d kissed. The way her essence had permeated my skin and infiltrated me, digging into my veins, becoming a part of me forever.
Florence’s slight fingertips traced a line in between my shirt lapels, to the edge that hooked my top button. She undid one button, then two, then slowly, agonizingly all the way down. It became difficult to breathe, to think; all my blood rushed from my head to my chest and my groin, my love and my lust waging a battle. The love told me to wait, but the lust wanted it now; it had been too long, too much.
No, I couldn’t pressure her. I had to let her take it at her pace. I fought to concentrate on Florence, to watch the movement of her thin fingers, the divergence of her pale skin with my white shirt. But the more I stared, the more I watched, the further down she got, the harder I became until my fingers clutched at her sides, digging deep.
We were both breathing heavy. Florence’s robe slipped down over a shoulder, her milky pale skin glistening in the low light.
Finally my shirt was unbuttoned. Florence flattened her palms against my abs, fingers contracting and digging into my flesh. She pushed upwards, taking my undershirt with her, trailing just the edge of her fingertips against my skin. She let go and then rounded her hands over my shoulders, pushing my dress shirt over my shoulders. I lifted my arms and pulled my undershirt off.
I was going to explode.
“Let’s go to the bed,” I said with difficulty, my attention on the sliver of exposed skin.
But Florence didn’t move. She backed up and flattened herself against the wall, as if she was trying to disappear. I wanted to give her space, I wanted to let her breathe, but I couldn’t breathe myself without her. I stilled, waiting for her.
“Can … can you turn off the lights?”
I didn’t want to turn off the lights. I wanted to see her body, wanted to study it. We had done everything but sex and I knew her body well. Every dimple, every soft curve and quivering angle. Her taste, subtle from each crevice. The sweet, the salty, her indescribably lush floral scent, it all mixed together into a cocktail that drugged me senseless each time.
But when I noticed the slight tremble of her hands, the way she drew them back to clutch against her chest, I took a deep breath and stepped back.
“Okay,” I said. It took every ounce of self-control, every fiber of my being screaming in agony as I backed away from Florence, keeping my eyes locked with hers.
I felt around for the light switch when I got to the door, and then, darkness. I stood by the entrance, letting my eyesight adjust to the shadows.
“Sit on the bed,” Florence said. Her voice was gentle, disconnected, coming from the air.
I obliged.
There was a barely audible shuffle and Florence came to stand in front of me, her knees resting lightly against the inside of my thighs. My pants were becoming agonizingly tight, my need in all ways unbearable.
But I couldn’t push, I wouldn’t push.
“I’m so scared, I’m so nervous. I’ve never been so terrified in my life,” Florence whispered. “But when I’m near you, it makes sense. My body is crying for you.”
A swish. It all happened in slow-motion, Florence loosened her belt, the shadowy dip of the robe as it slipped off her thin shoulders, down her arms, past her waist, over her hips … onto the floor. The silhouette of her body was just enough to hint and my erection became even more painful.
“I’m going crazy,” I grated out. “I need to touch you.” In the darkness, reservations didn’t exist. The words spilled out, reality seemed not to matter anymore. All that mattered was now, each passing second, each inhale and exhale of desperate breath that traveled past my dying lips.
“Touch me, Alistair.” I loved the way she said my name. Like a prayer, like a secret. No one called me Alistair, only Florence, only her. She raked her fingers through my hair, bringing me towards her.
“Florence,” I murmured, testing the way her name felt upon my lips. Like a treasure, reserved for only me, reserved for only now.
I rested my hands upon her hips. Soft, smooth, warm skin. I massaged, I caressed, I molded her underneath my grasp. I leaned in and nuzzled her flat stomach, raining kisses, tasting her, breathing her in.
A groan escaped my throat.
“I can’t hold back anymore.”
“Don’t.” I barely heard her, I could have imagined it. But in one fluid action, I wrapped my arms around her waist, trapping her against me, and I twisted back so we landed on the bed, her back against the mattress and my body hovering over her.
I cradled her face in my hands, hunting for her lips, finding them and kissing desperately. I bucked my hips against hers, seeking relief.
The sound of my belt buckle was loud in the dark room. Florence struggled to get it off, her hands slipped and tugged, and for every slide of the slightest pressure or stroke brushing over me, I swore I was going to come then and there.
My hand met hers and I tugged my pants down, hissing sharply as I pulled my underwear over my cock. As soon as I was freed, Florence’s fingers found me and I moaned in relief at her touch.
Her palm smoothed down my erection and I bucked reflexively into her grip. She felt so good, I could just finish in her hand and get this all over with. Just like we had done before, no change, no questions asked, no need for all this second-guessing. But this had to last, it had to. The final wall between us, the one things we’d both held back on for years, it was to be gone.
As if reading my mind, Florence let go and lightly scratched up my hip bones. I gripped the backs of her knees and pulled her open, spreading her legs for me.
Florence gave a sharp inhale just as I pressed up close to her. I circled the edge, groaning at the slick heat that teased. I wanted so badly, so desperately just to thrust in, to fall all in one fell swoop. It was taking every ounce of self-control not to fuck her fast and senseless.
“W-wa … wait,” she said. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I continued to press up against her, her wetness giving me a craze-inducing taste of what was to come.
“Alistair,” she said again. My name. I slowed, then stopped. I was so close, just the lightest press and I would feel her, feel me in her and her around me in all the ways I had dreamed of for so long.
I groaned. In lust. In frustration. In guilt. In agony. I leaned down and pressed our foreheads together, our desperate exhales mingling. “We don’t have to do anything,” I rasped. I had to stop. I didn’t want to stop, but if Florence said no or pulled away, goddamn it, I would stop.
Florence’s breaths were deep and heavy. When she spoke, it was labored. “I want to. I do. With you. Alistair. Alistair. Only you.”
Her body began to quiver, ever so gently underneath me. Go
ose bumps texturized her skin and her voice wavered at her next words. “I’m … I don’t know, I’m just scared. I’m scared of everything, but I know I want this.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t be scared.” I kissed the inside of her neck, forcing myself to gentle my fingers and to slow down. I caressed her, slipping my fingers from my grip behind her thighs. My fingers traveled to meet her heat, and when wet desire greeted me I sucked in a sharp breath. My fingers slowly circled her clit, just the way I knew she liked it. I wanted her at the edge; I wanted her needing and desperate and just like me. I wanted to feel her cum on me, to clench around me.
Florence started to pant, her hips bucking against my palm. I inserted a finger in her and she cried out. I fucked her slowly with my finger, then two, my lust deepening to the point of no return.
“Make love to me, I want you to,” Florence begged. I pulled my fingers out and rounded her hips, relishing in her luscious curves. I wanted to taste her so bad, to put my mouth on her until she came, but to be in her, to fill her. I palmed her ass and yanked her to me, so close our hip bones crashed into each other.
“Please.” Florence tightened her legs around my waist and rocked her hips up to me. “Please, Alistair. I’m burning. I need you.”
“Please,” she whispered over and over. She leaned up and wound her arms around my neck, kissing me hard. I tasted her air, her tongue, her sweet words of desperation and pleas for relief.
“I love you, Alistair. Don’t forget me.” She exhaled the words into me from between a kiss, her hips gliding underneath me.
I dug my fingers hard against her soft flesh, needing her to believe me, needing her to feel the intent behind my heart. For her to feel her utter possession of my soul. That I was no longer myself, but a tangent to her existence. I pressed closer to her, almost in.
“I love you, Florence,” I whispered between her lips.
Sensation, emotion, waves of intensity crashed over me so potently, all I could process was her. This moment. Everything. All senses—taste, touch, smell, sight, sound—they were all concentrated onto the single entity before me.
The Beginning of Always Page 27