I walk out onto the balcony, leaning against the wall, staring at the sea. I imagine this in her voice, her tone getting higher in pitch, the sense of betrayal in it.

Honestly? I was trying to delete your number. Instantly, the idea I could ever erase her seems absurd. I hold my thumb over the ‘delete contact’ option, but then a text appears. It feels wrong and cruel that I would even toy with the idea of shutting my woman out like that. I could get her number again, of course, if I did delete it.īut even crossing that line feels like too much. I’m trying to force myself to delete Brooke’s number.Įverybody is relaxing until later, when some will be partying, others rappelling, paddle boarding, or just hanging out. The sun glistens across the ocean into my room, flooding it with light. I’m in my room, sitting on the bed and staring down at my phone. Instead, I swallow a lump of emotion, lust, affection, need – and a dozen other feelings clashing and rioting. I’d strip her naked slowly, letting my woman feel every single moment of it, the tingles against her skin.Īnd then I’d feast on her, the sopping place between her legs, knowing nobody else could hear her scream, even if sound carries across the water. I could get one of the boats and return to one of the other islands with nobody around. My instincts flare, growling at me to flip the table and sprint over to her. I hold her gaze, trying not to lose control. Nobody else knows what’s happening here, the significance of our eyes meeting when we’ve been battling just this all day. She’ll be able to use both sides of her caring heart, the reasonable and the empathetic, a union of love.īrooke looks up at me, staring bravely. It makes me think of the future when one of our children scuffs their knee or has a bad day at school. It’s the strength in her voice, how she can laugh in the face of things instead of letting them paralyze her.

A pulsing certainty that this woman is the woman for me. But beneath the laughter, there’s a growing admiration for Brooke inside of me, not that I don’t already.

Baby Lust by Flora Ferrari