His head was tilted back, eyes still on me and I looked down at him.
“I wanna see your face when you come,” he murmured.
Um.
Wow, again.
My arms went around his shoulders and immediately I started to move, my mouth at his, we were both breathing hard, not kissing, lips just touching. It didn’t take long before my Grade Nine and Three Quarters bypassed Grade Ten and went straight to Grade Thirteen and a Half.
* * * * *
I shivered.
“I’m cold,” I whispered, face in his neck, lips at his ear.
He reached across the bed and pulled the blanket over us. I was still on top, still astride him, my torso against his, my knees pressed against his sides.
I was trying to quiet my mind.
Once he covered us his arms went back around me and he held me pressed tight against him.
We hadn’t used protection again which was another thing I did not need. This time I understood that it was out of either of our control. But we were playing Russian roulette with my ovaries and eventually my ovaries were going to succumb to the bullet.
Gently he rolled me to the side, still under the blanket and he moved away.
“Furnace,” was all he said and he was gone.
I lay there alone, under the blanket while he went to turn on the furnace. I hadn’t realized how cold it was inside but then again it was colder outside and I’d been half frozen when I walked in.
At this though, my mind finally stilled and that side effect that I thought before was annoying now seemed charming because the ridiculous thoughts didn’t hit me. What just happened came over me in a humiliating rush.
Everyone told me he was a player. He’d get into my panties and even as pissed off as I was and he was, he did and I’d let him. I hadn’t begged him with words but my body had done it and I hated myself for it.
I got up, wrapped the blanket around me and was trying to pull my underwear on when he walked in.
He was naked, apparently oblivious to the cold, looking beautiful (as usual). His ponytail had come out somewhere along the way. There was a clean, white bandage wrapped around his thigh where he’d been shot and behind him the house was dark.
“Don’t do that,” he said to me.
“I’m going home,” I told him, still trying to get the panties up under the big blanket. I was no longer looking at him but anywhere else. “Can I borrow your truck? You can pick it up from the Shelter tomorrow. I’ll give May the keys.”
He came forward as I was still fighting with my panties and he hustled me, moving me gently but firmly back, around, over, his arm coming around my waist to hold me to him. He leaned down and flipped back the cover. I wasn’t much use fighting him and trying to keep the blanket around me and my panties in place at the same time. Then my hands gave up on my underwear and they dropped to the floor. I was trying instead to keep hold of the blanket at the same time I was slapping at his hands. I lost that battle too. He pulled the blanket away from me, tossed it on the bed, he leaned into me and we went down.
I tried to roll away while he pulled the comforter back but he caught me and rolled me to him face-to-face, his arms going around me.
I stilled and stopped fighting. I knew I wouldn’t win, no matter how many moves I knew.
“I’m going home,” I said, looking at him.
He didn’t say anything.
I closed my eyes tight and dipped my chin so I wouldn’t see his face. Then I opened them again and said what I had to say.
“Please, Vance. I can’t stay here now,” my voice was barely audible, “not after that.”
“What was wrong with that?” he asked.
“It was humiliating.”