“Oh fuck, yes, Myles, I fucking love you Myles, I love you, oh god I love you,” I said, my voice ragged and broken and wet with tears and shaking with awe. “More, Myles—give me more, give me more.”
He sank down to the mattress, and I pulled away, up—his hands clawed into my ass, clutching with mad bruising strength, and he jerked me down, hard, thrusting into me, pouring his cum into me in a hot flood of thick spurts, growling and gasping with each one, and I felt them, accepted his orgasm into me and squeezed around him and rode him frantically as my own orgasm continued, expanded, broke open into another, a harder one. I sat up, then, balanced on him and leaned backward, head tilted up, breasts thrust to the ceiling, and his hands covered them and squeezed them and then he pinioned my hips and helped me roll and ride and lift up and slam down. He was still throbbing inside me, still pouring rush after rush of seed into me and I was screaming and he was groaning—
And then his eyes flicked open at the same moment as mine did, our gazes locking as our mutual orgasm finally released us, and we stilled. I sat on him, squeezed around him and felt his cum seep out of me around his pulsating, subsiding erection.
“I love you, Myles,” I whispered, no longer saying it from the wild insanity of climax, but in the tender glow connecting my soul to his. “I love you.”
“I love you more, my sweet, darlin’ Lex.” His voice was soft and rough and low and awed and thick with his emotional Texan twang.
I laughed, and fell forward, wrapped my arms around his neck and he clung to me, hands on the back of my head and neck, clutching at my ass. “Hold me. Don’t let go, not ever.”
“I won’t, I can’t.”
We gloried in the afterglow. How long? I couldn’t have told you. Yes, it was messy, but I didn’t care.
And then at some point, after a timeless beautiful eternity of dozing in his arms, I felt him thicken and swell against me, not quite inside me anymore. And I writhed against him until he was ready for me and we lay on our sides and I accepted him into me and we moved like that, face to face, my thigh over top of his, slow and tender the whole while, gasping together in almost-kisses. We came together without a word, and he overfilled me yet again and I loved it all the more.
He told me he loved me as he fetched a towel and cleaned me as well as he could. Then he carried me to the bathroom and we showered together and it was just a shower, but an intimate one, washing each other and sharing the stream of lukewarm water.
When we were clean, we dove naked into the warm ocean and swam together.
We made love on the sandbar in the sun with the water lapping around us—sitting up on our knees, him behind me, his hands clutching at my breasts, as he pushed into me, and I had to reach awkwardly behind my head to clutch at him, or behind my back to find his flexing ass and pull him against me, and then as he began to reach his climax I fell forward into the water on my hands and knees, the water lapping around my thighs and low-swaying breasts and he grabbed my ass and began to just fuck me with abandon, and I screamed as loud as I could to encourage it, feeling him slam into me and shake me all over with the power of his thrusts, and he came like that, taking his orgasm without pause or thought of me, exactly what I wanted: to feel him lose control and give me all of his wild alpha dominance. And then it was my turn. We swam back, and I lay on the porch of the hut in the golden hour evening glow and he knelt between my thighs and gave me orgasm after orgasm, until I lost count and he claimed his jaw had gone numb.
And that was just the beginning.
The seaplane came after a week of nonstop lovemaking, and dropped off supplies, and I told Captain Callahan to come back in another two weeks because I wasn’t even close to being done with Myles.
We made love everywhere there was—in the shower, on the porch, in the water, at the peak of the island’s summit, in bed, in the hammock; and in every position we could think of and a few I think we made up.
If anything could heal me and erase the specter of John David Henley, it was that month in paradise with Myles North.
The only shadow on our time there was the knowledge that this perfect idyll would end and I would have to have a very hard conversation with my mother in the near future.
18
Myles
I’d had to reschedule four shows: Dublin, Glasgow, and back-to-back shows at Wembley in London.
Cost me a shitload of money and some pissed-off sponsors and venues, but my only concern, outside Lex, was the fans. I’d put up a video I’d taken on my phone explaining that I a sudden and unavoidable personal emergency, and that I would honor all tickets and offer full refunds to anyone who wanted them. Almost no one asked for refunds, and in the end the venues accepted my rescheduled dates at the beginning of the fall. I still wasn’t sure if the Myles North band was starting another domestic tour then or not, or if we were going to take time out to record another album, or take time off.
It didn’t matter. I’d figure it out later.
For now, I had all that mattered: Lexie, her head on my lap as she snored her way across the Pacific. The most incredible, memorable, unforgettable month of my life behind us, and a beautiful future ahead of us.
I knew she was still scared to talk to her mom, and I’d offered to fly my personal therapist up to Ketchikan to facilitate the conversation, but she’d declined, saying she needed to do it herself.
So, we were en route back to Ketchikan—unannounced. No one knew where we’d gone. The public only knew I’d canceled four sold-out shows at the end of my most successful tour to date, and that Lexie had vanished with me, and I’d gone totally radio silent for a month—highly unusual for someone as active on social media as I was.
I’d had offers before, of course, from some of the most highly sought-after publicists and social media gurus to manage my accounts for me, promising increased viewership and revenue, but I’d always declined. I wanted my socials to remain authentically and organically mine, run by me personally. So, when I fell off the face of the earth to sort out the love of my life and the future of our relationship, it meant my socials were silent as well.
I didn’t care.
I’d post an update when I was ready, and my fans would be there, hungry to know what I’d been up to, and I figured I’d probably release some surprise new music or something.
It was a long, long flight from the South Pacific to Alaska; we stopped to refuel in Hawaii, and spent a day there shopping, as incognito as we could be.
Finally, after almost two days of travel, we were on the ferry from the Ketchikan airport. I was wearing my ball cap pulled low and mirrored aviators despite the overcast day, and Lexie was, well, just Lexie. Ultra mini denim skirt with scarlet fishnet stockings and knee-high black leather shitkicker boots, a loose, flowy silk blouse with no sleeves and a wildly plunging neckline showing the entire inner swell of her cleavage, bold smoky eye makeup, and her hair done in stiff spikes every which way, the tips temporarily dyed bright pink.
