Page 75 of Liquids

I look up at his rough face with its Band-Aids and nod and nod. It’s been too long since I’ve had him inside and rubbing all over me.

“Condom in my front pocket, babe.”

I pull it out and rip it open with my teeth as he shucks his jeans and his boxers. Then I roll it down his length, and he lifts me up and I guide him in in one smooth motion. And I can hardly hold on to myself with how full and achy I feel. My hands grip his shoulders as he pulls my hips into his, and he lurches me into the wall of the shower stall on a long groan.

“Gonna last about sixty seconds.”

“Need you touching me, Rig,” I gasp.

And then his fingers are there, and I’m arching my back, and the stretch and the slide is almost too much for me. It’s like the first time he was inside me all over again.

“I can’t … I can’t …”

But he doesn’t let up, and the hairs on his chest make my nipples all sensitive after the cold and his thumb, shivers running down me and coalescing where his fingers are pressing in. I tighten around him, and his answering rumble vibrates through me.

I lose his hand as he pushes me harder into the wall, grinding all over me and something catches, it’s rough and, oh Christ, it’s amazing, so fucking good. My head hits the tiles with a thunk as I tip back, heat burning up from where we’re joined, rolling through my torso and my shoulders. Before I can open my mouth to say anything, I’m shaking against him as my orgasm rips through me and he lets out a long groan in my ear as he explodes inside me.

Rig curls around me in bed later and yawns in my ear. I’m warm, he’s safe, and he didn’t die in a fight funded by the mafia. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more content.

“Moving my stuff in, babe,” he rumbles behind me.

I start laughing quietly into my pillow, but he can clearly feel me shaking because he says, “What’s fucking funny?”

“You are. You just tell me shit that’s going to happen. No consultation: This is the way it is.”

He huffs. “Quit bustin’ my balls when I’m asking if I can move in.”

I laugh even more. “That was you asking?”

“You got a problem with me movin’ in?”

I wrap my hand around where his is resting on my stomach. “No, Rig. No, I don’t.”

He grunts. “Changed my mind about liking the sass, babe.”

I squeeze his fingers. “Too late.”

25

DISTILLATION - THREE MONTHS LATER

Rig wanders into the living room one evening when I’m curled up on the couch, a dish towel over his shoulder and wearing nothing but worn jeans. He said he walks around like this now because I always end up jumping him. He leans on the doorjamb, a smile playing over his lips.

“Babe, you up for an adventure?”

I blink at him. “An adventure? What kind of adventure?”

He hands me his phone and on the screen is a WhatsApp message from someone named Jimmy:

Want my fucking picture done. Got approval from management to bring your woman out here. Said they’d be happy to have an extra nurse to call on if needed.

“Jimmy?”

“Head of operations at the rig I go to. Recruits all the guys, organizes their rosters, works the pipe, too.”

“You want me to go out to the rig with you?”

“Thought you could draw some awesome stuff out there. You up for it?”