Withering Hope

I frown in confusion. "And which way is that?"

"Completely."

My breath stumbles as I climb in his lap, hitching my legs around his waist. Tristan unbuttons my shirt with exquisite slowness, placing a kiss on my skin after he pops each button open. I revel in the feeling; the brush of his lips on my skin sending hot and cold shivers down my spine, prompting a painful ache deep down in my body.

"I meant to ask you, what's this?" He points to the scratch on my shoulder. The one I got by running into the spine bush outside the fence at the entrance. The scratch is just as black as it was when I got it.

"Yesterday I scratched myself with some of those spines I planted near the entrance. The black doesn't wash off. Will it be permanent?"

"I doubt it." He resumes taking off my shirt. My job is easier, since he has no shirt on. I take in the rippled muscles of his stomach, the strong, hard-as-steel shoulders, and after I yank down his pants, I delight in his muscled legs. He lays me on my back, stripping me and then covering my body in kisses.

"I want to memorize every single part of your body," he says in a breathy voice as he feasts on my inner thighs and then the valley between my breasts. Each kiss fuels the passion brewing between my thighs, pushing me further down the slope of consuming need.

When I can't tolerate the ache anymore, I pull him to me, kissing him, and rocking my hips against his. He plunges inside me, filling me, ripping whimper after whimper out of me. His mouth dusts my arms, calling my name in deep, guttural sounds that unhinge me. He increases the pace of his moves, thrusting so deep my thighs wobble. Eagerness swirls up inside me as wave after wave of pleasure engulf me, my body surging forward when my release shatters me.

We lie in each other's arms for a long time afterward. I trace my fingers along the expanse of his chest while he plays with my hair.

"You didn't sleep well last night," Tristan says.

"I had bad dreams. But you didn't have any."

"No. They tend to stay away when I'm with you. I was searching for peace in my nightmares. But when I'm with you, I don't have to search for anything. I already have everything. I feel whole.” I catch my breath as he continues. “I need you in a way I never thought I could need anything. It's like air. You don't notice how much you need it until you don't have it. I love you, Aimee. For being selfless and giving me your strength. For giving me the things I never knew I needed. If there's something I learned in war, it's that no one is unimportant. Every person means the world to someone. That makes us vulnerable, but it also makes life a gift. I had no one who could give me that gift. Now I do."

When you find the person who sees you clearer than you see yourself, you know you've found true love. "I love you too," I whisper.

"Can I tell you something very selfish?" he asks.

"Can't wait to hear it."

"A small part of me wishes we could stay here forever."

"How can you say that?" I snap my head up, raising my eyebrows.

He takes a deep breath, cupping my cheek with his hand, his thumb caressing my lips. "Because I've found something here I’ve never had before. Hope. You gave it to me. And I have you here. You’re more than I’ve ever had, and more than I'll ever wish for." He stops, as if what he planned to say next is too painful to express. But I don't pull my eyes away from him. "If we go back, things will be like they were before… and I can't bear losing you."

"Nothing will be the same as before," I say, sitting up, affronted. "You think I’ll go back to Chris? Marry him? Of course I won't." His eyes search me, doubt reflected in them. "You're not the only one who found hope here, Tristan." He pulls me into a long, heartfelt kiss and doesn't let go until my stomach growls, reminding both of us that my meltdown and our lovemaking kept us away from food.

"We'd better go search for some fruit," I say, pushing him away. "Unless you can shoot something with your hurt arms."

"I might."

As we both dress I say, "I still want us to be found. Even if it means facing Chris and telling him everything."

"How do you imagine he’ll take it?" he asks in a clipped tone.

"He’ll forgive us." Chris has always been that kind of person. Which makes hurting him so much crueller. "I am not sure if I was truly in love with him," I whisper, voicing the doubts that have plagued me since I first acknowledged Tristan’s effect on me. "I cared about him a lot. I still do. But… what I feel for you is so intense, so different… I've never felt that way about him." I never had with him the kind of connection I have with Tristan, one that runs so deep, it seems to run through my veins. Chris didn’t understand me in that profound way Tristan does, even whe

n I thoroughly explained things to him, like how I feel about my parents. Tristan understands with just a few words, and sometimes, with no words at all.

Tristan's expression brightens and I realize this is something that has weighed on him a lot.

"That was a common theme among the employees at the Moore’s mansion," he says as we exit the plane.

"What was?"

"That the two of you seemed more like best friends; you lacked a spark."

I groan. "How would you know what the employees at the mansion said? You work for Chris, not his parents."