Fiona held back, worrying her ghostly lip, waiting for him to leave so she could rearrange Bella’s journals like she liked them (Prentice had totally messed them up).
But he turned back, switched on the light and carefully arranged the journals, chronologically and stacked precisely.
Then he turned out the light again and retraced his steps to Bella.
As she crossed the threshold to her old bedroom, Fiona went back to the stream.
* * * * *
Prentice
Prentice wasn’t thinking.
Couldn’t think.
Wouldn’t allow himself to.
He put a knee to the bed and pulled the covers down Elle’s body.
Then he joined her in bed and turned her to him.
Then he put his mouth to her neck and his hands went to her panties.
“Pren?” she whispered drowsily, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest.
He pulled down her panties.
His mouth left her neck so he could yank them down her legs, over her feet and toss them away.
“Pren.” Her voice was less sleepy, her hands more firm on him when he rolled into her.
He kissed her as he forced his h*ps between her legs.
At his kiss, she opened her legs and her arms wrapped around his back.
His mouth trailed down her cheek to her ear and he tasted the sweetness of her.
She sifted her fingers in his hair, lifted her head, now whispering in his ear, she repeated, “Pren.”
His hands went up her shirt and he found her br**sts.
His mouth found hers.
“I’ll no’ let you go,” he vowed, his voice so rough, it was hoarse.
His thumbs slid over her ni**les.
“Okay,” she breathed.
“Never. I’ll never let you go.”
Her hand cupped the back of his head, the other trailing down his side, between their bodies, down his stomach.
“Okay,” she repeated.
She pushed into his sweats and found him.
He groaned into her mouth.