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My window's wide open, the air more balmy than cool. The delicate white sheers hanging from it billow in the breeze, dreamy and soft, as does the mosquito netting around my bed. It's very romantic, all of it, making me wish my room at home was like this.

Outside, across a lawn and down a soft slope of sand, waves crash quietly, pushing and pulling at the shore. Sometimes, when the wind shifts, I can smell the freshness and salt. The tide's come in by now, and I think fleetingly of the sandcastles we built.

You'd teased and then humored me, decorating the castle walls with seaweed and sea glass the same green as your eyes. I'd slipped a couple into my beach bag before leaving, wanting to remember the day, the castles.

You.

In this light, your eyes are almost grey, and the warm tones of your brown-blond hair cooled dark. Between words and kisses you watch me. Your attention makes me giddy-drunk, and though I'm on your lap, inside I'm higher than the highest high. You shift beneath me, your hands a little calloused, and bring me closer in, letting me feel how hard you've become. We have been here for some time: you in my bed, me in your lap. The words have all but been replaced by kisses, and some time between the sun setting and now, we became nearly naked, eager to feel more skin.

The mosquito netting that drapes my bed posts is practical, but it's utterly lovely, too, falling down around us in a gauzy swoop. It feels like we're protected, like as long as we stay right here, nothing else exists. And I don't want anything else to exist. I want to believe that what we have is real, that even when tonight becomes tomorrow and that becomes the next day, we'll have this.

Fingers clasped lightly behind your neck, I pull myself closer still. Your fingertips trail up and down my sides, making me shiver a little, tickled. I'm nervous, in a good way. Anticipating.

Mutually fascinated.

"You're beautiful."

I look at your mouth, your lips. It's you who's beautiful, but I say, "Thank you."

You shake your head slightly, and then come at me with another kiss, angling your mouth against mine so that we fit. Your hands spread over my back, fingertips tracing my shoulder blades and down, rough against smooth, stopping right where my bikini bottoms start. And then back up, warm and welcome.

The purple-grey of dusk darkens into night, and I reach over to turn my bedside lamp on.

In the new light, we stare a each other for just a second before the kissing resumes, and now it intensifies. The sexy, meandering making out of before morphs into something passionate and driven, and I can feel you now, trying to pull back like always.

I'm grateful for what you're trying to do, because I can tell you care about me and respect me, but stopping is not what I want. Without leaving the the hot and sweet of your mouth, I tug the ties holding my bottoms closed. The fabric gives, and I pull it off completely, leaving myself naked in your lap.

You exhale harshly, holding me at arm's length. My heart speeds, and my hands shake, and I'm wondering if you're with me on this, and then you look down. Your breathing picks up.

I slide my fingers through your hair, still rough with salt from the sea. You bring me close again, drawing my nipple into your mouth. You kiss everything you can reach, my ears, shoulders, neck, always coming back to my breasts. I nearly collapse from way it feels, and I can't stop moving against you, craving the feeling.

"Yeah?" you ask eventually, the backs of your knuckles grazing where I'm wet.

I nod, and you manage to get your shorts off, leaving you naked in my bed.

Kissing.

Hold me close, closer.

So close. The only way you could get closer would be to get inside, and you're about to be. Back and forth, you ease me over you, getting you wet with me. You feel so good. This is right; it's what I've wanted. You're close, and then you're pushing inside. It's a struggle, and it's painful, but you break through.

I've done nothing but accommodate you, but I'm panting, my heart racing. Your face is buried in my neck, breath tickling my hair. It hurts when I rock against you now, and you stay my hips with your hands.

"Why?" you ask, breathless. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," I say. Maybe I thought you could tell. Maybe I didn't want you to say no.

"You should've said something." You're almost pleading, looking up at me.

"Wouldn't have mattered."

"It would have mattered," you insist, looking conflicted. "To me."

"You're all I want."

"You don't know what you want." You say this quietly, and I wonder if you're trying to calm your body down. But I don't want you calm; I want you to burn like me.

"Don't say that...I do know. Love me," I beg, kissing your face. I start to move, wincing a little, and you move with me, slowly, carefully. "I want you to love me. Please..."

Our lips touch, and then our tongues, and it's like you're everywhere.

You hold me so close I can barely breathe, and then you show me what it's really like.

I fall apart in your arms over and over.

My window's shut tight, but, it's cold for a beach morning.

Shivering, I pull the blankets up, realizing belatedly that I'm not only still naked, but alone.

On the pillow beside me, like a scene from a movie or a book, sits a folded note.

It's inevitable, but I'm crushed.

Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

I hope you can forgive me.

I stare at it for a long while, eyes flying across the script over and over until tears blur the words.

A loud trio of knocks at my door jolts me from my sadness. "Bella?"

I clear my throat, shoving the note beneath my pillow. "Yes?"

"You up, honey? Can I come in?"

"Yes."

Uncle Riley pokes his head in. Behind him, in the hall, there's a flurry of activity: voices, footsteps, walkie talkies.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"You see anything out of the ordinary last night? Anybody hanging out by the beach entrance or something?"

"No, not really," I say, shaking my head. "Did something happen?"

"The safe," he says, sighing loudly. "Somehow someone got in to it last night...or maybe this morning . Took everything."

Nausea seeps through me, and for a moment, I'm afraid I'll actually vomit.

"Charlie's on a rampage, so you might want to avoid him," he continues, oblivious.

I nod, and he leaves, shutting the door behind him. I retrieve the note, reading it one last time before ripping it to shreds.

*Emily Dickinson

this is what happens when you love books and movies and live half the time in your imagination. ;) this will be like, multi-genre. also, i'm not sure what my posting schedule will be, only that i will post regularly. thanks for reading, guys.

xoxo