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After another few seconds, his gaze turns suddenly hot. Now he knows. I can see it. He holds himself perfectly still.
“I’m twenty-one years old. And I’ve been trapped in this bunker for four and a half years without ever having the chance to get close to a man because you’ve insisted on treating me like some kind of princess on a pedestal.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly saying this. Completely shameless. “I’m not a princess, Grant. I’m not. And occasionally I’d like to be touched.”
His hands have clenched into fists, and I’m almost shuddering. Neither one of us says anything as we stare across the few feet of distance between us.
Then he finally mutters, “We’re coming out of lockdown in the next few weeks. Everything will be different then.”
“I know.”
“We’ve been living in a weird limbo down here. What you want now isn’t going to be what you want when you’re back in the real world.” His voice is full of gravel, but he doesn’t sound bossy or condescending or resentful or disappointed. Mostly just matter-of-fact.
“I know that too.” I’m telling him the truth. I don’t doubt a word of what he’s saying. Arousal is still pulsing through me, but I know that he’s right. It would be foolish of me to act rashly right now, compelled only by a random, passing impulse, and make a potentially life-changing decision when our whole world is about to change.
I did some hand stuff with my high school boyfriends, but I’ve never had intercourse before. And having sex for the first time with a man who doesn’t love me—one who still sometimes feels like a stranger to me—is likely something I’ll later regret.
I no longer live in a world where I feel safe taking chances, so I don’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, I just walk out.
* * *
I take a shower when I get back to my room and stay under the spray until the hot water shuts off automatically after ten minutes (which is one of the built-in methods of preserving the facility’s power and resources).
Then I dry off, brush out my wet hair, and pull on a tank top and black cotton pajama pants. I look at myself in the mirror for a long time. My skin is clear and pale—since I haven’t had a suntan in years. My mouth is a little too big for my face. I like the long curve of my neck and shoulders. My body is tall and slim with lean muscle development from swimming and training with Grant. My breasts aren’t terribly impressive, but they’ve got a nice shape, and I can see the outline of my tight nipples beneath my top since I’m not wearing a bra. I look almost sexy despite my worn clothes and wet hair.
I’ve never noticed myself looking sexy before.
I’m still pulsing with lust. Simple, visceral lust. My body didn’t get what it wanted. It doesn’t follow common sense and logic like my mind.
Shaking my head at my reflection, I brush my teeth and then get into bed. It’s a little early, but nothing I might do is going to hold my attention right now.
I lay in the dark for fifteen minutes, telling myself to relax and let it go. I made the right decision. The wise, mature one. The one Grant knew I would make.
He might find me hot, but I’m not convinced that he cares about me much. He’s never been soft with me. Never let down his guard even in the smallest way. That’s not the kind of guy you just randomly decide to fuck one evening, not unless you’re asking to get hurt.
It doesn’t matter how much I still want to.
Everything will change when we come out of lockdown. Nothing will feel like it does right now. This bleak, lonely half-life in the bunker will finally be over.
It’s that thought—more than anything else—that compels me out of bed and to my feet. I slip on flip-flops and leave my apartment since my pajamas can probably pass for regular clothes. I take the elevator down to the staff level and look down the empty, dimly lit hallway.
I know where Grant’s apartment is. I’ve never been there before, but I took note of its location a couple of years ago. Just a random detail there was no reason to remember, but I did anyway. So I’m able to walk right to his door and knock on it.
I’m not even thinking anymore. Just existing in a hot, needy blur.
He opens the door after my knock and blinks in surprise. He’s obviously taken a shower too because his hair is damp and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a white T-shirt. He steps back automatically to let me in.
Closing the door behind me, I turn to face him, opening my mouth because now is the time I’m supposed to say something. Explain why I’m here. Tell him what I want.
No sound comes out. Just a weird, ragged gasp.
Grant’s breathing has picked up too, and his eyes have taken on that fierce heat I saw briefly back in the training room. The vivid blue of them seems to darken as he gazes at me, like his pupils are getting bigger.
He doesn’t say anything either.
I’m not sure how long we stand there. Probably no more than a minute. Then everything inside pushes me into action. I grab the bottom of my tank top and pull it off over my head. The motion causes my naked breasts to jiggle.
Grant’s eyes rake over my body, and he’s already grabbing the back of his own shirt with one fist and yanking it off the way I did mine.
I’ve seen his bare chest before when he swims, but it seems different now. More naked somehow. Firm muscles and tight flesh and a scattering of dark hair. I’m watching as he drops his shirt on the floor and then shucks his underwear too.
