Page 31 of Embers

I sob and squirm in his lap.

My helpless pleasure must confuse him because he pauses for a minute and asks in a different tone, “You still feelin’ good, baby?”

“Yeah. Oh yes. Please, I need more.”

“I’m gonna give you more. I’m gonna give you everything you need.”

“Please.” I moan long and low when he starts pumping his hand between my thighs again. My pajamas are pushed down past my bottom, and it’s not entirely dignified, but I couldn’t care less right now.

He brings me to orgasm over and over again until I’m limp and hoarse and exhausted. My pussy is sore, but everything else about my body feels perfect. I never knew it could be this way. So perfectly satisfied.

I’m mumbling out “thank you” as I’m slumped over his lap.

He finally slides his hand out of my pants and pulls my waistband back up where it belongs.

I can barely move. I’m gasping like I’ve run a marathon, and one of my hands is still clutching his shirt.

Even in my worn-out state, I’m aware that his body isn’t nice and relaxed the way mine is. He’s tenser than I’ve ever felt him, and he’s fully erect in his sweats. Instinctively I reach for him, but he moves out of my grasp before I can wrap my hand around him.

He settles me into his bed under the covers and then gets up and strides outside. He comes back in just a few minutes, pokes at the fire a few times, and gets back into bed with me.

“You feel okay?” He spoons me from behind in our normal position. He feels more relaxed now. He must have jerked off out there in the freezing cold.

“Yeah. I feel real good. Thank you. You okay too?”

“I’m good.” He nuzzles my hair. It’s not a kiss, but it’s close. “Go to sleep now.”

I do. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt better than I do right now. Before I know it, I’m sound asleep in his arms.

7

Year Five after Impact

The next day,Cal acts like nothing happened the night before.

He hasn’t shut down or pulled away. Instead, he’s his typical gruff, companionable self. In some ways, it’s a relief. What happened between us didn’t change everything. But last night meant a lot to me, so it would be nice to know that it meant a lot to him too—and there’s no way to tell that from his behavior.

So we go through the day like normal, and I keep waiting for him to say something. Mention it. Tell me it can’t happen again. Something. But evening comes, and it’s like nothing new or different occurred between us last night.

For hours, I wage a mental debate over what to do when the sun goes down, and I never come to any conscious conclusions. I have no idea what he expects or what he wants or what he needs, so I end up doing what I want instead.

I climb into his bed after I change into my pajamas and brush my teeth.

When he’s done working on the fire, he stands above his bed and stares down at me.

I am a little embarrassed, but I meet his gaze without wavering.

Several seconds pass, and he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move a muscle. His eyes never leave my face.

“Did you think I’d want just a onetime thing?” I ask at last.

“Didn’t know.”

“Well, I don’t. I want more. So unless you’re prepared to tell me you don’t want it too—”

“Course I want it,” he mutters, sounding almost offended. “You know that already.”

The clench of anxiety relaxes in my chest. “Then what exactly is your problem?”

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