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I’d never felt anything like that in my life.
And I wanted to experience it again and again until I gorged myself on her.
She slumped against the mirror, and I forced myself to move, gathering her to me.
Our bodies were slick with sweat—mine more so than hers—and we panted in each other’s arms.
When I forced myself to pull away, a small whine left her throat at the intrusion of the cold.
“No,” she sniffed.
I chuckled, pulling out of her slowly.
The condom got tossed in the trash, and then she was on her feet, cleaning herself up with paper towels and water from the sink.
By the time we were both presentable, I was nervous on what I’d find on the other side of the door.
“Why are you so weird about this?” she asked as she walked to the door.
“Because I’m worried there’ll be a crowd after how loud you…” She opened the door, and I was right. Security was there, janitorial services that were about to open the door, and even a crowd of people all laughing. “…were.”
She eyed them all with disdain. “I nearly died, guys. I’m allowed to celebrate still being alive any way I see fit. At least I found a bathroom first.”
Nobody argued with her, and they all got out of her way, unwilling to say a word.
Because she was right.
We were celebrating our aliveness.
So we did it in public.
Sue us.
We made it to the rental car counter with our luggage thirty minutes later, and only then did she turn to me and whisper her worries.
“I’d just like you to know that I’ve never, ever, ever done that before.” She spoke quietly. “This is the very first time I’ve slept with someone I haven’t been in a committed relationship with, ever.”
I looked down at her, curled my hand around her chin, and tilted her face up to me. “I’ll count myself lucky then.”
CHAPTER 7
I understand, but I also don’t care. So it works out.
-Text from Keene to Simi
KEENE
Gunshot wounds were the worst.
“This one looks like it’s all bluster,” Callister, our pseudo-medic, said. “I think it’ll be fine, but you need to get checked out the moment we get home.”
I gave him a thumbs up, and felt my wound pull.
Only when we were on the plane, a handful of scared as fuck children in the corner with a child psychologist talking to them, did I pull out my phone and text her.
It’d been four weeks since we’d seen each other, and in those four weeks, I’d only grown more and more fond of her.
Me: How are you?
