Page 10 of Good Golly Miss Molly

We’re coming together almost frantically now, and I’m rising toward that peak once more. So close, so tantalizingly close…

Logan claims my mouth with his own, moaning into me, pushing deep within me, body and soul, and I tip over the edge, falling, falling, clinging to the man in my arms as if he was a parachute. He gasps, plunging one last time within me before his orgasm takes him, and we collapse against each other, spent, in so many ways.

After a minute, Logan slides free of me and steps away to dispose of the condom. He returns and lies by my side on the bed, drawing a blanket over us both and putting his arms around me before settling in, quiet and satisfied. I lift his hand to kiss his palm, leaving it across my chest and praying he can’t tell that every single breath is agony for me, full of regret for what I have done, desperate, hope tangled up with doom. A tear trickles from my eye, and I blink it away. I’m already saying goodbye to him in the back of my mind.

It isn’t easier the second time. But maybe that’s because this time means even more than the first. Chances are neither of us will survive this.

5

Strange As It Seems

Logan

Thesunisshiningthrough the window by the bed, tracing shadows in the morning light as it hits my legs under the blanket I pulled over us in the wee hours.

Us.

Molly.

Molly and me.

Us.

I’m tempted to open my eyes with urgency, expecting her, like so many others, to have fled before the sun could rise over this bed. But I know she’s still here. Even if my arm wasn’t resting across her chest, I think I’d have known she was still by my side.

My awakening seems to be contagious, as she stirs lightly next to me. The pale rays of sunshine highlight the curves of her body with shadow, picking up the tinges of russet and gold in that mahogany hair. I should make a guitar in mahogany, with red oak fret markers, and it should be the most glorious instrument ever created by man. Then it might come close to being worthy of its inspiration. But what would I call it? I’ve already got my Molly. MyotherMolly...IfI’m luckier than I’ve ever been in my life and can have them both... But I can’t count on keeping the woman by my side, even if I’ll hold onto the guitar as long as I live.

“Good morning, Molly.”

A smile and a yawn. She snuggles back in, seeming content.

“Good morning, Logan,” she purrs.

I smile at her, my delight at her presence getting the better of me.

I look for an answering smile, but I instead find her expression serious, heavy with anxiety.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Not anything. Nothing,” she says nervously.

My eyebrow — yes, the one with the scar — arches up.

“I’m not buying that for a second.”

She’s lasted longer in my bed than anyone else ever has. Having her run was inevitable. I sigh and steel myself for the excuses. “It was a mistake…” “Too fast…” “I’d had too much to drink…” “You sounded amazing last night, and I just got carried away…”

I lift my arm from around her to run my fingers through my hair. Suddenly,I’mthe one who’s anxious. Because there’s no charm dangling in front of my eye. No bracelet at all. Neither of us got rough, or even clumsy, last night, so there’s no explanation at all for how a steel cable or the solder that held it all together could have broken.

I sit up.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. My expression must be panicked.

“My bracelet. It must have broken off. It’s… uh… got a lot of sentimental value. Do you see it anywhere?”

She sits up, too, the blanket sliding down over her bare breasts, and I’m temporarily distracted.

“Here!” She reaches beside her and then hands me the bracelet, neatly broken in two, right where the charm hangs. Melted? How the fuck did that happen? Is this some kind of changeling magic? Did I demand too much of the charm in my eagerness to have Molly?

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