"So when you said you left to become a man worthy of my love...?"
"That's not the only reason. Maybe it started out that way, to some degree. But I love doing this. It's a mission. A purpose."
"So...do you feel like a man worth my love, now?" I sound...I don't even know. Desperate, and hopeful all at once.
"Yes." He's looking at me, those blue-green eyes searing and tender at once. "I'm not letting go, this time."
"You better not."
"You know it's going to be weeks before we get any privacy, right?"
I sigh. "That crossed my mind, yes. I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer. Besides, there are a lot of people that need our help."
"What if I can't wait?"
"Then we'll figure something out. You're a creative guy, you'll think of something, I'm sure."
He's fading, I can tell. I let him get some sleep. I bury my face against his chest. Feel his heart beating. Resting on his chest, I listen to his heartbeat and let myself miss Oliver for a few moments.
Thump-thump...thump-thump...thump-thump.
That's Oliver's heart. Beating. Alive. A reminder. It hurts, even still, and I know it always will. But then Lock's hand squeezes my waist, and I feel his breathing even out, and the heartbeat is steady, reassuring, and strong, and I don't mind the pain so much.
Sometimes I think you need a little pain to remind you of the good things in life.
I spent so long avoiding everything because I couldn't handle the pain. But when you face the impossible, when you let yourself feel the pain, when you let it pass through you, when you refuse to let pain and fear keep you prisoner, you discover that life is always worth living. You discover your own strength. You rediscover beauty.
Love is always a risk. Sometimes you lose, as I did. But I'd still not trade a single moment of my time with Oliver, not for anything, even if it meant experiencing the agony of losing him again. I had something amazing, and yes, I lost it. It hurt. It still hurts. It will always hurt. But the pain isn't the only thing that exists in the world. There's more. There's beauty.
I don't sleep right away, even with Lock snoring beneath me. I hold him; let myself be held by him. Feel that heartbeat, count the thrums, and I'm thankful for each one.
*
Lock and I barely see each other for the next month. He's busy with the recovery efforts, and I'm busy with the endless stream of injured and sick. We find each other now and then; share a meal, a couple hours of conversation.
And honestly, as hard as it is, as much as we both want more, want privacy, this time spent simply getting to know each other feels...necessary. We learn each other. We find comfort in just being near each other. Sometimes we'll share a kiss in the midnight hours, but we always stop before we get carried away. We both know a single touch is all it will take for either of us. Touch is a lit match in a room full of gunpowder. A single spark will set off an explosion we won't be able to prevent. So we're careful. Quiet, slow, brief kisses as we share a meal, sit under the Nepali stars and bright silver moon. Hold hands, walk between mounds of rubble and wreckage.
What a place for romance.
But that's what this is: a bizarre courtship. Dating in the ruins of an earthquake-flattened city, in a far-flung corner of the Earth.
*
My MSF team has been reassigned to a malaria outbreak in South Sudan, but we've been given a week off, first. Lock needs to get back to California eventually, so we're unsure what's next for us.
He'll head to wherever, and I'll head somewhere else. When will we see each other? Is there a future for us, if we're never able to be together?
I'm packing my things as I think about this.
I feel him, as I always do, before I see him.
He's behind me, silent, watching. We haven't spoken much about what our reassignments mean for any possibility of an "us", because I don't want to bring it up, and neither does he, and it's easier to put it off as long as possible. But I'm supposed to be on a truck out of Basantpur later this afternoon, and he's on a flight tomorrow, and we're running out of time.
"Niall," he says, his voice hesitant.
I keep packing, don't turn around. "Yeah?"
"You have some time off, yeah?"
I nod. "Yeah. A week."
"So...what if we spent that week together? Just you and me. I was thinking Madagascar. Not too far away, and it's supposed to be a great place to visit."
"And then what?"
"We'll figure that out along the way. Niall, there's no way in hell I'm letting you get away. I walked away once, to find myself. Well, I found myself, and now I've found you. I'm never letting go again. The details are things we can work out, together."
His hands rise. One cups the back of my head, the other cradles my cheek. He tips my head back, and his lips find mine. Slant across my mouth, teasing a kiss. I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer. I wrap my arms around his burly shoulders, cling to his neck. Leap up, curl my legs around his waist.
Delve my tongue into his mouth and taste him.
I begin to lose myself in his kiss.
But then a knock on my door interrupts us, and I slide off Lock, straighten my shirt, my hair. It's Dominique. "Hi, um...hi."
She grins. "It seems you and Monsieur Lachlan have resolved your differences." Her eyes twinkle, but they betray a sharpness. "May I have a moment with Niall?" she says to Lock.
He nods. "I gotta go talk to Federico anyway." A wink to me. "Save me a seat on the bus?"
When he's gone, Dominique moves to sit cross-legged on my bed, toying with the zipper on my bag. "He is a fascinating man."
I nod. "Yes, he is."
She eyes me. "Is he good for you? After what happened, I worried for you, you know. I still do."
I smile. "He's good for me. I'm good. I wasn't, for a long time. But I am, now, and that's thanks in large part to him."
Dominique stands, moves past me. "Well, that's good then. Just don't let your personal life interfere with your job."
"Have I ever?"
"I must say it, to be clear. You know this." She taps her watch face. "If you are coming with us, the truck to the airport leaves in two hours."
Thank God I'm yours
We didn't get the week in Madagascar. In fact, we don't get any time off until three months later. I also never got back to the LA office, because there's just so much to do out in the field. I've got the team at Beyond Thirty-One working closely with MSF, both for professional and personal reasons, and things are running smoothly.
So as soon as Dominique gives the word for Niall to have some time off, I've got us on the first plane out of here. I literally just bought tickets for the first commercial jet leaving town.
Turns out Johannesburg, South Africa is a damn nice city. I find us a hotel, based on the recommendation of my office manager back in Cali. My only request was a suite with a view, and something special.
We go up to our room. I tip the bellman and close the door.
Niall glances around at the room, which, admittedly, is pretty fucking nice.
"Damn, Lock. This place is...amazing. Like, wow."
I shrug. "Yeah, it's not exactly the La Quinta."
A moment of humor, and then the tension of the moment takes over.
It's a strange moment, finally being alone together. Two years have passed since I drove away from her in Ardmore, Oklahoma.
I'm a different person.
And she...is the same.
So beautiful she leaves me breathless.
Suddenly, I don't even know where to start. We're alone. In private. I've been dreaming about this for months. Long, lonely months. For years, in fact. There's been no one else in that time, because there is no one else. Not in the whole world. I thought about it, but I couldn't follow through. I kept hoping, somehow, someday, I'd find her, and I didn't want anyone between us when that day finally arrived.
I'm glad for those years of abstinence, now.
; Because the need is...a wild, hungry presence inside me, a nearly sentient being in and of itself, dwelling within me.
I stand and stare at her for long, tense moments.
Thick, curly brown hair tied back out of her face. Eyes brown with flecks and streaks of green, wide and bright and fixed on me. Tiny khaki shorts molded to her amazing ass. A forest-green spaghetti strap tank top, the shade of which makes her eyes appear more green than brown. She was wearing flip-flops, but she's kicked them off. Had a purse on her shoulder, but she dropped it to the floor by our bags.
"Is it weird to be nervous?" she asks.
I shake my head. "I am too."
"It's not like we've never done this before."
"Not like this we haven't."
I take a step closer to her. Another. She remains motionless, her gaze tilting up to mine as I get closer and closer with each step. Her breathing deepens, swelling her breasts in her shirt. Finally, I have her in my hands. Cup her waist. Slide a palm down over her hip. Up her side, around to her spine. Pull her closer to me. Flush. Body against body.
I want this to be perfect. But the ravening part of me wants to rip the clothes from her body, shove her down to all fours and bury myself in her. Take her hard and wild.
I have an image of Niall, naked, on her hands and knees, hair loose in a curly brown explosion, spine arched as she thrusts back into me.
Something of my thoughts must show on my face, because Niall sucks in a sharp breath. "Whatever it is, Lock, don't just think it. Do it."
I gently tug the elastic out of her hair, freeing it to blossom around her face. "How do you know what I was thinking?"
She frees the bottom button of my short-sleeve button-down shirt. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I know that look, so I can guess."
"What if I thought something crazy?"
Another button. "Then feel free to muffle me if need be."
Holy shit. I stand stone still, collecting the shreds of my restraint. Letting her undo the rest of the buttons, slide the shirt off my shoulders. I just breathe, and focus on not ravaging her like some kind of goddamn caveman.
"I've been missing you for two years, Niall. You have no idea how crazy I feel right now." I tug open the fly of her shorts.
She meets my eyes. "You're saying this whole time you haven't--"
"There's been no one. I've barely had time or privacy for my own hand."
Her eyes narrow. "Damn, Lock."
"You sound surprised."
She shrugs. "You used to be--"
"I used to be a lot of things. You made me want to change. So I did." I slide my palms up under her shirt, find the clasps of her bra and unhook them. "I always hoped I'd figure out a way to find you. Turns out fate or whatever had a different plan. You're it."
"I'm it?" She's barely breathing, working at the button of my shorts, gazing up at me, eyes glittering with need.
"You're it for me." I push up her shirt and bra at the same time, strip them both off her. Toss them aside. Take in the lush wonder of her big, beautiful, bare breasts. "I'm yours, Niall."
Her breath hitches in her throat as I cup a breast in my palm. "Lock..."
I lean in, close my mouth over her nipple.
"Oh, thank god, thank god," she whispers, arching her spine, pushing more of her soft skin into my mouth. "I'm yours, too."
Her fingers, even as she revels in my mouth on her tits, are not idle. They're unzipping me. Tugging shorts and underwear off. Fisting her fingers around my erection, sliding her hand up and down my length, stroking swiftly, eagerly, greedily.
I pull out of her touch, abruptly. "God, Niall. It's been so long, I'm--I won't last long if you keep doing that."
She reclaims her grip on my shaft. "I don't care how long you last. I need to touch you. I need to feel you. If you come too soon, I'll just make you eat me out."
"That's happening anyway," I say, gasping as she closes both hands around me, now.
"Then shut up and let me touch you."
We're still standing in the middle of the living area of our suite. Curtains wide open, sun shining bright. Bathing Niall's skin golden. Gleaming off her hair. I want so many things. I want her touch. I want her mouth. I want to pin her to the wall and fuck her senseless. I want to kiss her breathless and love her delirious.
But I'm helpless to do any of that. She's got me in her thrall, hypnotized by her touch. Struck dumb, paralyzed by the ecstasy of her hands on my skin. Her mouth on my chest, her lips on my stomach. Her hair tickling and sliding lower. Her kisses to my belly, to my thighs. Her tongue gliding up the underside of my erection. Her lips closing around me.
Suction.
Wet warmth enveloping me.
Her fingers sliding and her hands gripping, stroking, plunging. Her moans humming around me.
"Niall, shit. Shit...oh Jesus. I'm--I can't hold back, Niall. It feels too good."
She doesn't respond. Doesn't say anything. Just moves faster. Strokes harder. Works her mouth on me relentlessly. I can't help burying my hands in her hair and guiding her motions.
When I come, it's a heady rush of bliss pouring out of me, erotic visions of her mouth sliding around my erection, hair obscuring her features, breasts swaying.
When she releases me, I stagger backward. Sink to my knees, dizzy. She's in front of me, staring down at me. Bare from the waist up, shorts unbuttoned and low around her hips. I clutch her ass and haul her toward me. Tug those stupid, useless shorts off. Bare her completely for me.
Stare up at her.
Sink two fingers into her opening, watch her gaze go glazed and vacant as I slide those fingers in and out, smear her own essence everywhere. Pull her to my mouth.
Keep those fingers moving, lap at her. Feel her hips begin to grind. Feel her hands in my hair, as mine were in hers. She shows me how she wants it, as I showed her. Hard and fast. Relentless. Tongue swiping and flicking until she's mad with the impending orgasm.
When she comes, it's with a breathless scream, clutching my hair in clawed fingers, grinding against my mouth, calling my name over and over.
Hair in her face, panting, staring down at me. "Take me to bed, Lock."
I stand up, take her in my arms. Carry her to bed. She wipes at my face and beard with her hands, cleaning her juices away.
I lay her down gently, press my body against hers and kiss her.
Slowly and gently at first.
So she knows, so she feels it.
She breaks the kiss first, breathless. "Need you, Lock." Reaches between our bodies.
Strokes me to readiness. Pulls me to her.
"I don't have--"
"It's fine," she cuts in over me. "We're covered."
"They're out there with my things."
"I said we're covered, okay?" She arches, guides me to her opening. "I don't want that." Works her hips, sliding me deep, sliding me home. "I want this. Just this. Just us."
I rest my forehead against hers, struggling for breath, for thought, for sense. This is so intensely, deliriously perfect it hurts.
She clings to my ass, pulls at me with each thrust, as if to make sure I don't try to escape. God, I couldn't. We move together in silence, watching each other, eyes wide, breath coming hard and fast as we meet each other with each thrust. I cup her face, my other fist pressing against the mattress. I refuse to look away or even to blink.
Her face takes on that lovely, wild, almost pained expression of a nascent orgasm. "Lock...god, Lock. I missed this so much. I missed this with you more than I can...oh god, oh god...more than I can say."
I'm incapable of speech right then, focusing on holding out until she's at the edge, until she's falling over, until she's writhing beneath me, crying my name, weeping with the intensity washing through her, hips bucking against me.
When I feel her clench around me, I'm lost. I can't hold it back when she does that, when she clamps down around me, writhing, moaning.
"Niall, Niall...god, oh....oh god." I feel three
words on my lips as I come.
I kiss her as my orgasm fades to shudders and I taste them on her tongue.
And then, in the brief, trembling moments after we've both emerged from post-orgasm stupor, she rolls us so she's on top.
Pins my shoulders with her hands, all her weight on me. Leans down, leans close.
"You told me you were in love with me, but I haven't really heard you say the words." Her voice is a hoarse, vulnerable rasp. "Fucking say it, Lachlan."
I had it all planned out.
Romantic date. Strolling down some secluded avenue, my arm around her waist. Press her up against a wall and kiss her and say those words I've never said to anyone.
But she's demanding them now.
Thank God I'm yours
Is he panicking?
God no. Please, no, Lock. Not after everything we've been through.
He carves his hands up the backs of my thighs, over my ass, along my spine and up to comb into my hair. Tugging my face down, slanting his lips across mine, kissing me with such fragile tenderness that my heart beats fit to burst in my throat.
"I love you." He whispers it. As if stunned to hear such a thing emerge from his lips.
I, meanwhile, revel in those words.
"I love you, Niall James." He says it again.
I'm overwhelmed, then. Collapse onto him, and of course his heartbeat thunders under my ear.
"I keep thinking about that song," he says. "The one we heard that night in Oklahoma? After the tornado?"
I nod against his chest. "I remember."
"There's a line... 'You put a new heartbeat inside of me.' Not many people can say--" His voice catches, and he has to start over. "Not many people can say that and mean it literally. But you did. Literally, and metaphorically."
"I love you." I murmur it to his chest. To his heartbeat.
And I think I'm speaking twofold. To Lock, of course, but also to Oliver. To the memory of Oliver, that is. The Oliver that will live on in the deep, secret portions of my heart. Not secret, perhaps, but private. Deeply, intensely private. Totally mine. Something I'll never talk about, because they belong only to me.
But it's also for Lock. The start of something new. Something different, and beautiful. Something wild and primal, yet also domestic and comforting.