Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

Unsure where to go, he stopped in the hallway in front of the bathroom, still holding her. Moonlight lay silver in the living room just enough to see the shimmer of her blue irises, the heat in her eyes lighting a fire in his body. He breathed, trying to think, to stay rational, but the shape of her wet breasts against his chest blocked every ounce of reason he had left.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, still holding her shivering body, and startled when her thin fingers touched his lips.

“No,” he whispered. “Stop it.” Deciding to put her down and go out for a run in the cool mountain breeze, he carried her into her bedroom and set her gently on the covers, moonlight guiding his steps. As he lay her wet body on the silk sheets, her towel came undone, exposing her perfect body.

She clutched his neck and pulled him toward her. “Stay with me,” she pleaded, “until the power comes back. Please.” She caressed his cheek, then ran her thumb across his lower lip, and he came undone.

He thought he was pulling away, but was pulled into her, yearning to feel her wet body against his, to smell the shampoo in her dripping hair, knowing he could warm her up and keep her safe in his arms. Before he took her, he realized he’d always loved her like that. Not like a sister, but like a lover he’d been waiting for. She was the reason he’d driven home every night after school, and risen at six every morning to drive back. Seeing her, even if only at the dinner table was the reason he existed.

And still, she was his sister. The thought of what he was about to do made him dizzy and nauseous, but he couldn’t stop. He reached for her, touching her lips with the tip of his thumb, wondering if his kiss would be welcome. She trembled under his touch, her body drawing closer to his, folding into his. It was as if their entire existence depended on Blanche and him becoming one.

And they did.

That night burned a blazing memory in his mind, one he’d recall for years to come. She’d slept in his arms, breathing gently, her chest barely moving, while he didn’t dare fall asleep, because he didn’t want to miss a single moment. When he reached out and touched her, she responded, craving him just like he did her, like an unbreakable and lethal addiction. She was shy and had never before been touched, but her instincts drew her to him mercilessly, her soft body undulating and molding around his, a perfect match.

The power came back moments before their parents returned. He barely made it into his bedroom, and that night he would’ve gladly skipped dinner if it wasn’t for his yearning to see her again, to search her eyes and read in them if she felt any regret or just overpowering joy. But she was her normal self, at times making him wonder if he’d dreamed it all, until she caught the opportunity to smile at him a certain way.

He was hooked, hers for life.

She was the one, the only one for him, and she fell in love with him just as hard. They snuck in each other’s bedrooms for a while, careful to not get caught, and never thinking or talking about the future. Their parents, tired from spending their days at the new house, barely noticed them at all.

It was the best summer he’d ever had. They took day trips together. Big Sur, Miramar Beach, Half Moon Bay, Inverness, Drakes Bay, walks on deserted beaches watching the angry waves of the Pacific smashing against the rocky shore. They hid from everyone, because no one would understand.

One day, it all came to an end. Carole came home late to find Bill sleeping on the sofa and Blanche pale, sick, throwing up in the bathroom, crying. Carole locked herself in the bedroom with her daughter and didn’t emerge for hours. When she came out, she communicated her decisions in a tone no one dared take lightly.

“Blanche will be going to boarding school on the East Coast,” she announced. Carole’s words cut him like a knife, gutting him, leaving him breathless. He searched Blanche’s eyes, but she avoided looking at him. “She’ll finish high school over there, maybe continue to an Ivy League college. She will leave tomorrow morning.” Then she turned her attention to him. “It’s time to find you a wife, my dear boy, someone who can bring happiness to you and wealth to this family. Count on me for that,” she’d added, patting him on the shoulder. His mother’s touch burned his skin, and, for a moment, he envisioned himself breaking that arm and wringing her neck. But Blanche wasn’t there for him anymore; she was looking away, avoiding his gaze, distancing herself.

That night, hours after he’d closed the door to his bedroom and succumbed to the tears that burned his eyes and choked his every breath, she came to see him one last time. There was fire and pain in their embrace, then, while their tears blended, they made promises to each other. They’d write. They would rent post office boxes under fake names and correspond in secret. They’d stay true, even if Carole forced Bill to marry. As soon as he came into his own money, he’d come find her.

She’d never kept those promises; her first betrayal. She’d simply vanished from his life, leaving his mailbox empty and his heart shattered. The next summer she didn’t return, and the one after that, she told everyone she was going to Europe instead.

She was gone.

That same year, he earned his graduate degree, cum laude, and his father had asked him what he wanted as a graduation gift. He must’ve expected something else, because when Bill had asked to let him keep the