Brazilian Memories

"You know we can't do this," He said, his lips nuzzling my neck. "It's wrong." I laughed. "Oh, but it feels so right." I said, plunging my lips into his. But deep inside, I knew something was missing. It didn't feel right. Suddenly memories flooded back to me: A stormy summer night, his face, the feeling of his cold hands against my skin, the wild adrenaline rush when we knew that we were doing something forbidden. And his parting words, as I was dragged into that ship: "I will always love you!" He screamed into the mist as I drifted farther and farther away, and my words that slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Don't leave me!" Which was unfairly ironic, because there I was, sliding farther and farther away into the swirling gray fog, never to see him gain. But there was that feeling, when I saw him, even before that night, my palms got really sweaty, my heart racing, my hands tingling in his... and then him returning after ten years, and finding me in a loft in New York. The way I looked must have been very comical, because when I opened the door I saw that same amazing face, only with a small hint of a beard brimming on his chin. "J-Jack?" I studdered, unable to form a coherent sentence. But I knew it was him when I felt that familiar need to yank off his clothes. "Amy." He sighed, opening his arms to me. "You came back." I whispered into his shirt, the familiar smell of Tide filling up my nose, my hormones raging. "I thought I'd never see you again." I gasped. "I'd fuck the world to have you in my arms." He comforted, rubbing my back, and I knew he really meant it.
Four years later, there we were, in the backseat of his Mercedes, underneath the stars. We were still wanted by all of Brazil, Chile, Argentina and even some parts of Peru. But we were in love, and that's all that mattered.
I thought, anyway.