Page 113 of And Now, Back to You

I shiver, and his eyes find mine.

“Cold?”

I nod, even though that feels like a half-truth.

He bundles me back beneath the quilts with quick, efficient movements. I grab his arm before he can hesitate, dragging him into my little cocoon with me. I lie there like a lump while he rearranges pillows and situates blankets, then hum happily when he curls himself against my back. His arm is a delicious, heavy weight over my hip. Maybe, still, a little bit like a harness. But one that keeps me safe.

“Better?” he asks.

I smile into my pillow that smells like him. “Much.”

SIMONE LEEDS: Tonight’s broadcast out in the mountains has been canceled due to a power outage.

SIMONE LEEDS: But we’ll check back in with Jackson and Delilah soon.

SIMONE LEEDS: If you’re anything like us, you’re eager for an update.

CHAPTER 28

JACKSON

“I just don’t think you can discredit seven seasons of excellent television,” Delilah says as she smears more jelly onto her biscuit. She woke up this morning and seamlessly picked up the threads of an argument we were having while we got ready for bed, like there wasn’t bare skin, panting breaths, and a pair of incredible orgasms in between.

Meanwhile I’m caught somewhere between What did last night mean to you and When can we do it again, tongue-tied and stupefied. More than usual.

Delilah sets her knife to the side, pushes up the sleeves of the navy blue sweater I forced her into, and continues, “It’s practically a crime that Buffy never won any major awards, you know? Like, I feel like it should have won at least one Emmy. One.”

I can’t stop staring at her mouth. At the slight divot under her bottom lip. It’s the same exact spot I fixated on while I worked myself to orgasm against her belly last night. That tiny half inch and her teeth clamped against it while she wiggled beneath me.

I clear my throat and continue stirring my coffee. Lottie got one of the generators working late last night. Enough to power the common rooms and the small café where the coffee lives. Dustin and his portable pour-over are no longer needed, thank you very much. “I thought we established that entertainment industry awards are meaningless when defining objects of taste.”

Delilah narrows her eyes, brandishing her butter knife like a weapon. “I can’t tell if you’re agreeing with me or not.”

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny.”

I love arguing with Delilah, almost as much as I love everything we did last night.

I keep waiting for the existential dread to rise like acid. Fear that I’ve made a misstep, or anxiety that I’ve reached for something that should not belong to me. But all I feel is bone-deep satisfaction, especially when Delilah’s collar slips and I catch a glimpse of the mark I bit into her neck.

I guess that’s what happens when you have the most intense sexual experience of your life without ever removing your pants.

Delilah’s eyes soften. “You look happy,” she says quietly.

“I am happy,” I answer. I poke at the feeling and examine it, turning it over and looking for cracks. I’ve always had trouble trusting my own happiness, but Delilah makes it easy to lean into the feeling.

Especially when she’s wearing my sweater with pastry crumbs at the corner of her mouth, looking at me like maybe I could make her happy too.

“Good,” she says, nodding to herself, glancing down at her plate and then peeking up at me through her lashes. Shy, a little bit. Pleased too. “I liked what happened last night.”

Relief crushes my lungs, swift and sweet.

“Me too,” I answer, a little too quickly.

Her smile pulls wider. “How long were you going to wait for me to bring it up?”

“A respectable two to four business days.” I take a bite of cinnamon roll. “Then, maybe I would have sent you a notarized letter to discuss it.”

A loud snap of laughter tumbles out of Delilah. “Well, I’m glad we discussed it before we made it to formal documentation.” She pauses. “It was good, wasn’t it?”