All of Me

thirty three • the long haul

• • •

It turns out that after the first time, the second time isn't nearly as intimidating. Neither is the third. Or the fourth. Over the past few days, we've snuck quiet moments after everyone else is in bed, even more tantalized by the need to be silent. On Tuesday afternoon, while Allie and Daria went to pick up the boys from school, we stole thirty minutes without restriction. Liam took full advantage of there being no-one else in the house.

I feel more connected to him now. It's as though we share a deeper bond now that we've slept together, several times. It's hard not to feel validated in the way he touches me, the words he murmurs when he's inside me, his nails leaving deep crescents in my skin. I don't want to leave. Tuesday comes too soon.

I woke up sore this morning. We may have overdone it last night, exploring every inch of each other in a feverish haze after we stayed up late with Liam's mom. While she sipped soda water, we substituted alcohol, bubbly champagne popping on our tongues until tipsiness took over, and we were a little less reserved when we made it to bed.

Now my body's screaming at me that three times was too ambitious. Fun at the time, writhing in the sheets until we were a sweaty tangle, sharing hushed giggles as we tried – and struggled with – a couple of different positions, but now I ache. We went from zero to sixty pretty fast, just a couple of days separating our first time and our seventh, and I think my body's in shock.

Judging by how late we slept in, definitely in shock. I'm an early riser by nature, rarely sleeping in past eight – anything close to nine is a luxury – but it was almost twelve when we eventually rose. I repeat, twelve. We slept in until midday, having exhausted ourselves the night before. Allie was waiting for us when we made it downstairs, having already taken the boys to school and come back again.

I feel a lot more human after a bit of breakfast and a huge glass of orange juice, with pulp. Liam turned his nose up at that. I love the pulp. He can't stand it. He literally used a coffee filter to get rid of the fleshy bits in the glass his mom poured for him, and he stuck his tongue out at me when I teased him.

It's well after lunchtime now. I was supposed to have left already, but I can't bring myself to get in the car and drive three hours back home on my own. I never drive alone, except for the occasional day that Gray hasn't come to college, and it makes the ninety-minute trip drag on forever. Three hours will feel like a lifetime.

Liam and I are sitting out on his back porch, soaking up the last of the weak heat before the rain falls. The sky has been darkening all afternoon, a storm predicted to rage over us before long, but we're stubborn, sitting out here wrapped up in sweaters with a steaming mug of hot chocolate each.

"What's on your mind?" Liam asks, gently nudging my calf with his foot. "You look lost in thought."

I sigh, tearing my eyes from the huge expanse of garden that stretches out beyond Liam's house. "I don't want to go home," I say, shifting closer to him on the bench.

"So stay."

"I can't. I told Mom I'd be back today," I say with a sigh. Mom doesn't ask for much, and she doesn't expect much either, but I make sure never to go back on a promise. From the start, I told her I'd be with Liam until Tuesday. I'm not going to bail on her just to hang out with my boyfriend.

I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh, long and slow. "I'll miss you," I say, my voice quiet. "This has been a great few days."

"It's been awesome." He catches his hair and twists it into a bun that he secures with an elastic band, and I wince at the thought of trying to take that out. My own hair is ridiculously long, down to my waist, and spends a lot of time tied in braids. I should probably just cut it, but I can't bring myself to. Dad used to plait it for me each day before school and he joked that I was Samson – my hair made me strong.