Fisher's Light

“You’re a romantic asshole, I’m sure you’ll think of something else. I need to get Ellie and head over to the mainland. She’s got an appointment for one of those fancy 3D ultrasounds in an hour. I guess the machine Doc Wilson has here on the island isn’t good enough for the first look at our little munchkin.”

We shake hands and I tell him to have Ellie call Lucy after their appointment to let us know how it went.

Bobby heads inside the house and I finish my coffee, wracking my brain for ways to convince Lucy that I truly love her, I’m not going anywhere and that I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

Chapter 37

Lucy

Present Day

“I can’t believe it’s already the middle of September,” I grumble, burrowing myself closer to Fisher under the covers. “I miss summer.”

Fisher laughs, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me tight.

“According to the weather report, today is going to be one of the last hot, sunny days for a while. You should take advantage of it,” he tells me.

“I’m planning on it,” I inform him as I slide my hands down the front of his bare chest, across his stomach, and run my fingers teasingly above his groin. “I’m meeting Ellie down at the beach and we’re going to lay around like bums all day.”

I wrap my hand around his quickly thickening length and he groans, tossing his head back on the pillow. I take my time sliding my hand up and down his cock as his hips begin thrusting up to meet me, enjoying the sounds that he makes as I tease him by moving my hand fast and hard and then slowing it down, barely grazing him with my palm.

After the night in the kitchen when he finally let go, the last few weeks with Fisher have been nothing short of amazing. We’ve christened every room in the inn more than once. We’ve had hard, fast sex with most of our clothes on and we’ve taken our time, stripping each other and slowly making love. He talks to me when he’s having a bad day and he’s started to open up to me about his time overseas, what he saw, what he did and how those things affected him in return. He let me run my fingers over the scars on the back of his shoulder and kiss each spot marked by the shrapnel that imbedded in his skin after he finally told me about how he sustained his injury. My heart broke for him learning that men he considered brothers were killed during the explosion and I understand now why he was so angry when he came home, feeling like the injury wasn’t ‘real’ enough to warrant a ticket stateside.

I love him more and more each day that I spend with him, but something keeps me from saying the words. They’re on the tip of my tongue every time he looks at me, every time he touches me and every time he shows me how much he loves me, but I still feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world the first time I fell in love with him, and it feels like a dream that I’ve been able to do it a second time. How many people get a second chance at love with the only person they’ve ever held in their heart?

Pushing aside my negative thoughts, I slide on top of him and straddle his waist. Fisher moves his hands to my hips and helps me lift myself up so I can position him right where I need him. I slide down slowly on top of him until he’s seated fully inside of me. I begin rocking back and forth on top of him, pressing my hands against his chest to help give me leverage. He brings one hand up to my face and holds it in his palm, staring up at me as I ride him, moving slowly and letting my need for him consume me and erase everything else from my mind. I’ll never get tired of these moments with him, when all we have to do is look into each other’s eyes and feel our bodies moving as one and everything else melts away, leaving just the two of us without a care in the world.

My orgasm comes fast and hard, even though we’re moving slowly and taking our time. I lean down and press my lips to Fisher’s, kissing him with all the love that I have as I come. He wraps his arms around me and slowly lifts his hips off the bed, pushing in and out of me at a languid pace until his own release takes hold of him and he jerks his hips against me, coming with my name on his lips.

I collapse on top of his body, rolling off of him to my side after a few minutes and resting my head on his chest. As his fingertips lazily trace patterns on my back, I blurt out something that has been on my mind for years.

“Why didn’t you ever write to me?”

His fingers still on my back and I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about the past and how all the things he said to me the day everything fell apart were lies, but he never mentioned the letters. I’d like to believe that he was lying when he told me he didn’t want to write to me, but he’s never given me any explanation about those words he threw at me.

With a deep sigh, he goes back to running his fingers over the skin of my back.

“I DID write to you. I just never sent them,” he admits softly.

Lifting my head from his chest, I turn and stare at him in shock.

“For every letter you wrote me, I wrote one in return. Then, I’d read through them and realize how depressing and pathetic they sounded and I couldn’t bring myself to send them,” he explains. “All I could write about was how much I missed you, how much I needed you and how much I hated being away from you. I knew it was hard enough on you being here all that time with me so far away and I didn’t want to make it more difficult. I also didn’t want you to worry about me and a lot of the stuff I wrote would’ve freaked you out. I detailed my days and the shit I saw and you didn’t need to read about that. You didn’t need to know those things. It would have just been worse each time I went back.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">