Page 129 of Jagger's Remorse
"First time for everything."
She leads me back from the edge, into the shelter of the pines where moss makes the ground soft.
There's a fallen log that makes a convenient backrest.
She pulls a blanket from the saddlebag—always prepared, my girl—and spreads it out.
"I love you," she says simply as she starts unbuttoning my shirt. "Whatever else happens, I need you to know that. This isn't about revenge anymore. Hasn't been for a while."
"When did it stop being about revenge?"
"Maybe when you washed my hair. Maybe when you trusted me enough to let me stab you. Maybe the first time you called me yours. Maybe it was the first time I saw you after you killed my father," She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, traces the scars there. "Doesn't matter when. Just matters that it did."
I catch her hands, bring them to my lips. "You know you've ruined me, right? For anyone else. For any other life."
"Good." She pulls her shirt over her head, stands there in the fading light like something mythical. "I'd hate to think I was the only one completely wrecked by this."
We come together slowly, savoring instead of consuming.
My hands map every scar, every curve, while she does the same to me.
I worship her body, claim her as mine in yet another way.
When I lay her back on the blanket, the last rays of sun filter through the trees, painting her skin gold.
She looks up at me with those amber eyes, and I see forever there.
However long or short that might be.
"I love you," I tell her as we move together. "Love you so much it terrifies me."
"I know," she breathes, arching beneath me. "I know, baby. Me too."
We take our time, drawing it out, making it last.
This isn't about the explosive passion we usually share—this is about connection, about saying with our bodies what we can't quite put into words.
After, we lie tangled together on the blanket, looking up at the first stars appearing through the pine canopy.
She's traced lazy patterns on my chest while I play with her hair. "My dad used to take me camping," she says quietly. "Before everything went to shit. We'd lie under the stars and he'd make up stories about the constellations."
"What kind of stories?"
"Silly ones. That one," she points, "was a dragon who fell in love with a motorcycle. And that one was a princess who became a lawyer to defend the stars in cosmic court."
"Sounds like he knew his daughter."
"He knew who he wanted me to be." She turns her head to look at me. "Think he'd recognize who I became?"
"I think he'd understand. We all become what we need to survive."
"Even you?"
"Especially me." I pull her closer. "But maybe we can become something else now. After Eduardo. After all this settles down."
"Like what?"
"Whatever we want. That's the point of being in charge, right? Getting to choose?"
