I’ve never been so turned on in my life.

“Jesus, Lila,” I groan, begging my body to hold on just a little bit longer.

She breathes ravenously, her chest heaving as she blinks lazily. When she looks at me again, she has a content look on her face and a faint smile. “Your turn,” she says, and then she nudges me to move.

I more than willingly obey, rolling off her and onto my back. She stands up on the mattress and slips her shorts and panties off, then undoes the button on my shorts and removes them, along with my boxers. She takes a condom out of the back pocket of my shorts before tossing them aside. My hand glides up her leg to her waist, pulling her toward my mouth, but she wiggles out of my grip, tears the condom wrapper open, and puts it on me. Before I can even respond to her touch, she’s straddling me and lowering herself onto my cock.

I grip her waist as her warmth surrounds me and I lift my hips and rock inside her, slowly, savoring every single goddamn aspect of the moment.

“God, this feels so good,” she mutters in ecstasy as she lets her head fall back and rocks her hips with me.

My hold on her waist tightens as I give another slow thrust into her, deeper this time. “Yeah, it does…”

We start to move rhythmically together, having orgasm after orgasm, getting lost over and over again inside each other. I think we break our record for how many times we have sex in one night—it’s five now. Exhausted and sweaty, we finally settle down for the night, holding on to each other as we drift to sleep. She falls asleep first and I end up just watching her breathe softly in my arms, never wanting to move. Never wanting to do anything ever again but this. In fact, I can actually see myself doing this over and over again with her. Every night…

Shit. I’m thinking about the future and I’m so… Confused… This is such a perfect and beautiful moment and I wish I could just stay like this forever with her. Yeah, we’re starting the long drive home tomorrow, but I want things to say the same when we get back. I have a revelation as I think about heading home. I meant what I said in the truck. I want more road trips like this with her. I want to hold her in my arms in a shitty motel one day again in the future. I don’t want to lose her—I realized that when I thought she was breaking up with me at the rock. I want her and I don’t want to be scared to want her so much.

I’m suddenly fucking freaking out as I realize something. My biggest fear is right in front of me and I want to get over it, but I’m not sure I can. Making sure she’s still asleep, I get out of bed, go over to my suitcase, and take my journal out. The moment the pen touches the paper, my feelings pour out of me. When I’m done, my hand is shaking, but I have the truth right here in front of me. And I’m not sure if I’m terrified, happy, relieved, or what.

But one thing’s for sure. I need to tell Lila.

Chapter 4

Lila

Last night was amazing to say the least and when morning comes around, I feel like skipping and singing because I feel that happy. But instead we end up going for a hike and I listen to Ethan chat about the wildlife. Sometimes listening to him can be magical, especially when he’s just laid back and not overthinking things. It happens a lot when we’re hiking.

“I seriously could just live up here and write all day,” he admits as he sits down on the top of the hill we just hiked up, stretching his legs out and staring down at the rolling hills and small town below.

I sit down with him and crisscross my legs. There’s a gentle breeze blowing through my hair and I have to pluck strands of it out of my mouth. “What would you write about? The view?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, squinting against the sunlight. “I’m not even sure… something, though.”

I rest back on my hands and lean my shoulder into his, breathing in his scent of cologne, mixed with campfire and a hint of dirt. “Do you think one day you’d like to become a writer?”

He shrugs again, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “I haven’t thought that far ahead of what I’m going to do for the rest of my life… what I want to be.” He looks down at the ground, seeming confused, and I’m suddenly reminded of the bigger problems ahead of us, ones that I want to shove aside for now.

“Well, maybe one day you should think about what you want to do,” I dare suggest. “It could be fun, you know. To write for a living. Well, at least for you since you seem to love it so much.”

“You don’t even know if I’m good,” he says with a smile.

“Well, if you can write like how you talk sometimes, then I’m sure you are.” I pause, considering my next words carefully. “Or you could just let me read some of the stuff you wrote.” I actually heard him last night when he thought I was asleep, scratching away in his journal, and I wish I knew what he was writing about.

He pauses, biting at his bottom lip, and for a second I think he’s considering it. I start to get a little excited and nervous, because I might finally get a full insight into what goes on in that head of his. What he thinks and feels—what he sees when he looks at me.

But then he says, “Trust me. You don’t want to read what goes on in my head.” And my hopefulness crumbles.

I fake an exaggerated pout. “Yes, I do. I promise. Even if it’s bad, I want to know.”

He stifles a smile as he leans in and grazes my bottom lip with his fingertip. “Stop pouting to try and get your way,” he says, and then he kisses me.

We kiss until we’re panting and then we pull away, breathless and sweaty. We relax for a while and look out at the land below us, enjoying the view and the quiet and I know at that moment that he’s happy because it’s the kind of moment he loves.

“The thing is,” Ethan says, startling me. “I don’t really write stories. Just my thoughts.”

“But isn’t that what all stories are?” I ask. “Just someone’s thoughts?”

“Yeah, but my journal isn’t like a book,” he says. “It’s just a bunch of rambling about how I feel… about stuff… and my feelings… It’s sort of how I discover what I’m really feeling.”

“About me?” I sound a little nervous.

He looks even more nervous. “Yeah, sometimes I write about you and how I’m feeling about you.” He pauses with his mouth open, like he wants to say more, but then he snaps his jaw shut.

“Do you ever write anything mean about me?” I hold my breath in anticipation.

He shakes his head, looking stunned by my question. “I would never write anything bad about you. Ever.”

“Then why can’t I read just a page or two?” I ask.

“I’m not sure I can let you,” he mumbles. “Not sure if I’m ready yet…” He trails off, staring out at the hills in front of us, looking as lost as we probably do out in the middle of thousands of trees. If it wasn’t for him, I’d never be able to find my way back. Thankfully, he has a good sense of direction.

I want to press him more, because I’m really curious what he’s writing about all the time, but I can tell his mind’s already wandering, so I seal my lips and pretend to be happy. Eventually he starts to get up. I bend my legs to stand up, too, figuring we’re leaving, but he puts a hand onto my shoulder and gently pushes me down to the ground. Then he winds around behind me and sits down, putting a leg on each side of me and winding his arms around my waist. He pulls me against him and buries his face into my neck, kissing it. “This past month has been amazing,” he whispers, and sucks on my neck, rolling his tongue out, teasing my skin with kisses. “I really wish we could stay this way.”

I let my head fall to the side to give him more room to tease my neck. “We can’t just live in a tent forever… as much fun as it’s been, I really can’t wait to have a real roof over my head.”

He moves his lips up my neck to my earlobe. “What if we built a cabin for us to live in?”

“Why would we do that?” I ask, breathless as his kisses make my skin dot with goose bumps. “Or better yet, how would we?”

“Save up.” He makes a path of kisses down my neck as his hand slips underneath the front of my shirt. “Build one. Move out here. Live. Write. Do whatever the hell we want for the rest of our lives.”