When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

43. Patrick

Chapter 43

Patrick

T he night wraps around us, the beacon of the lighthouse cutting through the dark surges of the harbor, the sound of the waves magnified, rolling through the inside of the lighthouse. The air in the round stone room is full, the weight of our confessions crowding everything else out, and Emmy is retreating into herself, those walls being pushed back into place.

The hazel of her eyes have contracted, bands of brown squeezing out the green, the vulnerability mirroring my own, but I don’t know how to reach her. I step closer, my heart beating a staccato rhythm against the bars of my ribs, and pull her into an embrace.

At first, she’s stiff, her body tense and unyielding. But I can’t let her slip away, not now. I tilt her chin up, capturing her lips with mine, pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss. She resists for a heartbeat, two, then I feel the change.

Her lips soften against mine, hands finding their way to my chest, and the tension starts to melt away. I deepen the kiss, my arms tightening around her, letting her know she’s not alone. Her body responds, pressing against me, wanting, like the entire force of the ocean couldn’t pull us apart .

A shiver runs through her, and it’s not just from the cold. We’ve both laid our hearts bare tonight, and we’ve talked about all those things that are too hard to talk about, the things that cause a physical pain that starts in my gut and cuts right through my lungs.

I pull back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. Sharing my past, the guilt over Riley and Danny, worry about dropping the ball, about how someone else I love could get hurt—it’s all out there now. And I know she’s feeling just as exposed, just as unshielded.

“I get it, Emmy.” I brush a strand of hair from her beautiful face. “Talking about this stuff, it’s like ripping open old wounds. It hurts, and it’s messy, but none of it changes how I feel about you.”

She shakes her head. Bites her lower lip, and there’s a coolness, a stillness in her eyes, a layer of ice. “I don’t want to talk. Enough talking for tonight.”

Her mouth presses to mine roughly, hands trailing fire over my chest, and as much as we should probably talk, I’ve lost all sense of reason as her hand skims the front of my jeans, the hardness of my cock.

The kiss grows more urgent, more desperate. It’s clear she wants me just as much as I want her. Hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of us in this small, hidden space.

Her jacket sheds to the floor, mine following, desperate hands yanking at my belt. A soft moan as my tongue traces her bottom lip, darting into the sweet heat of her mouth that still tastes of Applejack.

One hand goes under her sweater, her T-shirt, the weight of her breast perfect in my palm, her nipple hard and wanting, while the other hand slides down to her waist, slips inside her pants, feeling the wet of her through the lace between her legs.

Her hands finally work the belt buckle free, unzipping my jeans, reaching into my boxers, finding the throbbing hardness, gripping and pumping as my fingers slide inside her at the same time. A moan rolls over the perfect cage of her ribs and we’re both yanking down her pants, her lacy panties, pulling off her sweater and T-shirt, bodies melting together as she kicks off her boots.

I pick her up, the smooth of her legs wrapping around me, her wetness slick against me. Taking a step toward the wall between the windows, pressing her bare back against the stone, my chest flush against hers, my lips fire on her neck as I suck and nip at the soft expanse of perfect skin.

She adjusts her hips until my cock is right at the slick heat of her core. Waves crash against the rocks below us, the sound rushing back into intense focus, and my fingers trace the lines on her body, every touch making me want her more.

She’s like a drug and I give in to her completely as I push inside her, one hand rolling her nipple before sliding between us, finding her clit, thrumming against her, urging her toward the intensity of her orgasm as I thrust on and on, bringing us both closer to the edge.

The rhythmic crash of the ocean echoes through the lighthouse as we move against one another, her pushed up against the wall, legs wrapped around me. Each time the waves break, a low groan escapes her lips, the sound intensifying with each thrust, each pulsing stroke of my thumb.

Her moans fill the small chamber, fingers digging into my shoulders, hips bucking into me. Her taste, the apples, the sweetness, the cherry-blossom scent of her hair. Being inside her is like nothing else. It’s like coming home for the first time, like returning to the place I’ve been since the beginning of time.

My lips find their way across her neck, as my hips piston faster and faster, our breathing growing heavier. There’s no me and no her, there’s just the movement of our bodies and the relentless pounding of the waves against the jagged rocks.

Emmy’s hands tug at my hair, pulling me closer, her body meeting every thrust with equal force. She cries out, nails digging into my scalp, as she wraps her legs around me tighter, head falling back against the wall, the curve of her neck pale and exposed.

Salt water in the air mixes with our sweat as we breathe hard, skin flushed. Her mouth finds mine again, teeth grazing my lower lip, her kiss desperate. I grab onto her thigh tighter, lifting her higher against the wall, kissing down her jaw to her collarbone and then back, thrusting, circling her clit with my other hand as she moans loudly against my mouth.

Her walls clench around me as she comes with a loud cry—slick heat gripping me tightly. A primal groan, then I’m spilling inside her warmth, the lines of my body tensed as I pulse once more, then fold over her, completely spent, tender kisses planted along the perfect line of her jaw between panted breaths, before I pull out and slowly lower her feet to the ground.

We stand there for a moment, holding one another, ragged, shuddering breaths jerking over my shoulders until my breathing returns to normal. I pull up my jeans and boxers, which had bunched around my ankles, then pass her jacket when she asks.

She pulls out a packet of tissues from her pocket, me turning to fetch her pants and sweater, giving her a hand for balance as she dresses. She lets go of my arm, straightens, smoothing the mess of her hair, then glances at her cell phone, not meeting my gaze.

“It’s late. We should get back.”

“Emmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s all good. Everything is fine.”

The half-empty Applejack is on the ground where we left it, and I pick it up. Unsure of what to say to her, a knot of frustration tightens in my chest because one thing is abundantly clear: everything is not fine.

She reminds me of a wild cat in the forest, one that’s skittish and scared and not sure who to trust. It’s like she’s ready to bolt at any moment, and I don’t know how to keep her from running.

We make our way down the stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under our weight. The darkness of the lighthouse feels oppressive, now, the silence between us uncomfortable. I shrug into my jacket once more, helping her into hers, the cool night air washing over us as we step outside, the sound of the waves ragged, the salt air stinging. I lock the door behind us.

We walk home hand in hand, but I get the sense she’s only tolerating me touching her. Her grip is loose, her arm stiff, and every now and then she glances around as if making sure no one can see us.

The streetscape is still damp from the hurricane, fetid puddles reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights, a constant reminder of the destruction we’ve endured.

I steal glances at her, her profile illuminated by the occasional streetlight. Her impossibly pretty face is set in a mask of calm, but I can see the tension in her jaw. I thought opening up to one another would help, but if anything, it seems to have made it worse.

“Emmy.” I squeeze her hand gently. “You can talk to me. Whatever’s on your mind, I want to hear it.”

She shakes her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s nothing to talk about, Patrick. Really.”

I stop walking, pulling her to a stop beside me. “No, there is. I can see it in your eyes. You’re shutting me out, and I don’t know why.”

She finally looks at me. “Because it’s hard, okay? It’s hard to talk about this stuff. It’s messy and painful, and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I’m already in it, Emmy. We’re in this together, whether you like it or not. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping a little. “You just need to give me time. Some space. I’m processing.”

I step closer, cupping her face in my hands. “You don’t have to do it alone. Let me in, Emmy.”

For a moment, she looks like she might cry, her eyes glistening, before she shakes her head. “Trust me, I’m fine. Just let me be. The last thing either of us needs is more dramas. It’ll work out.”

I lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead, and she tenses slightly against me. “We’ll take it one step at a time.“We’ll figure it out together.”

But she doesn’t answer, and I’m left wondering if I’m fooling myself. As we walk in silence, the gap between us feels wider than ever, and doubt gnaws at me, leaving me unsure where we stand, the night air cold and unforgiving, heavy in the space between us.