Once again, out in the warm sea that bathes those deserted islands, Killian made love to me in a way that left me breathless. Yes, girl, I honestly think I could breathe easier underwater than with him inside me, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. He's all man... as he thrusts into me, gently but relentlessly, he reads my every reaction. He does it to protect me, making sure that in his arms I experience the utmost pleasure. He wants me to fall for him, but he doesn't need me to scream it out loud; he'll know when the time comes. And while I usually get lost in his eyes—which never leave mine—right now I prefer to look at his neck, the veins standing out, his muscles drawn tight.
He knows me; he knows he can pick up the pace. Everything is so warm, so wet... and now I can't even keep my mouth closed, because over and over I need to let him know just how much I love what he's doing to me. It starts as subtle whimpers, but not anymore. Then he runs his thumb over my lips and slips it into my mouth. It was magical. One, two, three... and I shattered in an orgasm that forced me to bite and kiss his neck and chest. One, two, three, four, five... he came right along with me.
By the time we made it back to the villa, Killian was completely certain of my feelings—our fingers intertwined, our eyes locked with intention. Wait, girl, I have to tell you about that. I once read a novel—I don't even remember the title, it wasn't very good—but the protagonist said, "I gave him a look with intention." Ever since the night Evangelina watched me with Killian, I couldn't bring that phrase back no matter how hard I tried. But I didn't tell you before because I was afraid you'd think I was losing my mind with all these lapses and stop loving me. You never will, right? I know you won't.
And what exactly is a look with intention? It's wonderful because it works for everything. Right now, Killian is holding an apple, gazing out the window. When I walk over to the refrigerator and bend down to grab some water, he's instantly behind me, gripping my waist. The moment I feel him gently pressing me back against him, I can already tell it excites him. But there's no crude lust in his eyes—just that look with intention, telling me that he is there for me, always, and that to him, there isn't another soul in the world but me.
Desire, love, greed, envy... you can read it all in someone when they look at you with intention. With the intention of what? Of telling you too much, of expressing how much, of making sure you know.
Imagine, girl, some girl at a party who envies your dress and thinks it would look better on her. Well, she doesn't have that look.
The look I'm talking about is the one where, when she sees you in the dress she covets, that envious girl's eyes completely change. She smiles, but in that exact instant, you notice she's the saddest person in the world, and you realize her look with intention is trying to say: "God, I wish you'd fall down the stairs and break your legs!"
Yes, I adore you, girl. I don't know how you do it, but talking to you always makes me feel better. Wait, one more thing: I just realized something else about Killian. His intentions are always to make me feel good, to make me happy, to make sure I'm not afraid. And it works. He promised me back then that he would be there for me, that he would find me.
I was drinking my water on my way to the shower, but I retraced my steps, kissed him tenderly, and whispered:
"You found me."
He understood, and he was happy too.
I could get used to this life. Killian is skilled at everything. His cooking is delicious, and he serves portions that weigh more than I do—meals that seem impossible to finish, yet somehow they always are. And the moment that thought crossed my mind, I started laughing to myself. Sorry, girl, everything with him is just so big and... I can't. I was about to repeat a phrase Carol used to say whenever I laughed at my own jokes: "What's wrong with you today, Carmilla? Did you swallow a clown?"
I don't even like clowns; they scare me a little. The truth is, I love Killian. There, I said it. Not the same way I loved him yesterday, let me be clear. It doesn't feel right to say "I super love him" or "I love him so much," but it's so different that it almost feels absurd. It doesn't take away from what you already know I feel for his brother. But I just need to say it. I talk too much, I know. Right now I can't seem to stop, but that's how I deal with things this big: once I tell you, I'm forced to accept it. If I haven't said it out loud yet, my dear friend, it's as if I don't even know it myself.
This is a fact. I love him so much that if he were to leave right now in a boat like Lucius—that idiot brother of his—did, just to fix who knows what with the perfect architect Moetia Heiva, I would cry an entire ocean all over again. I'm in trouble. Killian could break me right now. Yes, if I saw him go into another woman's arms... it would hurt so much.
And yes, of course Lucius's departure made me jealous. I'm only human. Today I don't feel flawed—I just feel human.
Lucius returned in the middle of the afternoon. He wasn't alone. "The little mermaid" docked alongside him, arriving in separate boats. She carried a work bag, a laptop, and all that, but she was only wearing a long white shirt that barely covered her backside, showing off a pair of stunning legs. Her smile was so fresh and bright I almost had to shield my eyes.
I just hope she's awful, awful, awful, so it'll be easy for me to hate her. Damn it! She wears a perfume with peony and lilies, just like Carol's. No, no, no, I want to hate her, but here she comes, kissing me on the cheek, telling me how beautiful my eyes are. She has a sweet accent and she's genuinely happy to be here—I can tell. She loves Lucius, and she seems so nice.
And him? Of course that's the best question in the world, girl. They walk through the house together; she jokes, touches his shoulder, but every so often she looks back at me. She's beautiful—no one could deny it. She's just checking if there's something between Lucius and me. I stay perfectly still, like in a game of chess. I don't touch the piece I'm going to move—I won't let her know. In a typical novel, this would be a competition: she would show how close she is to her man, and I'd run to Killian's side, like a challenge to see who is more desired.
But I can't hate her. She came to talk to me, asking for my opinion on where to place a large gallery. We walked around the house. She spoke first. She was direct but shy, and right then everything changed. Listen to this, for God's sake!
"I think he still hates me..." Moetia said. "Has Lucius talked about me? I hurt him, I know. If he hates me, tell me."
I was speechless. In pictures they looked like the perfect couple, unbreakable—the kind where he goes to war and comes back ten years later wounded and changed, and she, who stayed faithful, is happy. Well, no—they're not that kind of couple, and now I want to know everything.
"I can't answer that without making Lucius look bad," I said, "so I won't."
She understood, laughed nervously, covered her mouth, and said: "No! He never talked about me? How embarrassing. I thought I was so important, and he didn't even mention me. Maybe that's for the best."
One more lap around the house and she had told me everything. She loved him, Lucius acted as he always does, and she broke up with him over the phone to focus on a new love who gave her what she needed: tenderness. The result? Everything went wrong. The tender man turned out to be a lie, and on top of that, she never forgot the sex with Lucius. There she was again, alone, feeling like she had ruined her chance—and then, unexpectedly, Lucius walked into her office.
Sometimes I can be cruel. I told her: "Well, you'll always have this house to remember it. At least something will connect you."
That was heartless. I regret it. But I don't want to like people this quickly. Not just because of Annia, but because she wants the man who... yes, I know. But if I don't say "the man I love," it would place him below Killian—and he is, right now. But I'm afraid that means choosing, and that Clara the psychic will send a tsunami and take him away.
Killian came over and held me, speaking politely with Moetia Heiva. She insisted we made a beautiful couple. He replied:
"We know. We've always known. But in this house you built for Lucius, we truly found each other. Beautiful work, architect."
She smiled. He walked down to the dock and waited for her. Moetia took a few photos and got on her boat. He said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.
At dinner, he was distant, miles away. I whispered: "Are you angry?"
"Yes," he said.
"Did she hurt you?" I asked.
But he didn't answer that. He stood up and said:
"I'm angry at myself. I can't forgive an offense. I can't accept that I wasn't chosen. I'll never be able to move on from Moetia and accept that she didn't hurt me on purpose—that she was just protecting herself from me. Knowing I can't forgive... it feels so stupid, and it fills me with rage."
Killian said: "Pride, Lucius. It's so fragile."
I looked at him and asked: "Could you forgive?"
He placed his hand on my thigh. "You are the absolute queen of my world. Your wishes are law to me. You could never be wrong. If I ever have something to forgive you for, it means I'm not truly seeing you—that I don't understand there is no one above you in the universe."
His hand moved slightly higher. The look with intention. His green, crystal-clear eyes shine—he's telling me I excite him.
A gust of wind rattled the windows. Lucius came back and said casually:
"By the way, I forgot to tell you—Moetia said a hurricane is coming to these islands tomorrow. The house will hold. It's not a big one, but we'll be stuck here for a few days."
Killian said: "We could leave now, though it'll get rough up there."
Lucius added: "Agreed."
I said: "Absolutely not. I'm not flying in a storm. I'm staying. I could cry just thinking about it."
Killian said: "Settled. We stay."
Lucius added: "Of course. It's only a few days."
They're so lovely. Of course storms scare me, but I'll admit something, girl... the three of us, trapped together... it sounded like a very good plan.