Page 25

"I know."

"Then don't hold back."

"I'm not holding back," he says against my throat. "I'm trying to make it last."

"Don't."

He makes a sound that's half laugh, half groan.

And then he moves.

He pulls back. He thrusts in, slow and deep. I gasp. He does it again. Slow. Deep. Each thrust deliberate. I meet him with my hips. My nails drag down his back.

"More," I whisper.

He gives me more.

The pace changes. It's harder. Deeper. The bed frame creaks. The headboard knocks the wall once. Twice. A rhythm starts, steady and unmistakable, and I decide I will never be embarrassed by it.

He thrusts again. And again. His breathing is ragged against my neck. I can feel the muscles in his back, tight and straining. I can feel the weight of him, the heat, the slide of skin on skin.

"Ben," I say.

He thrusts harder. My breath leaves me in a cry. He does it again. And again. The pleasure coils again, hot and fast. He slides a hand between us and finds me with his thumb.

"Come for me," he says, low. "I've got you. Let go."

He thrusts again, hard and deep, his thumb circling, and the pressure breaks.

It tears through me, and I cry out his name. My body clenches around him. He groans, a sound ripped from his chest, and thrusts twice more, hard, and then he shudders. His whole body goes taut. His face buried in my neck. My name broken on his lips like it's the only word left in him.

We lie tangled. The lamp glows, and I feel his heartbeat slow against my ribs.

After a while, I try to shift. It's an old reflex, the I'm crushing you shuffle. His arm tightens around my waist.

"Don't," he says into my shoulder.

"I'm heavy."

"I know what you weigh." His voice is thick and lazy. "Stay put."

I stay. A great shaky breath goes out of me. I turn my face into his hair and laugh, helplessly, a small wet sound. He lifts his head and looks at me with a question.

"Nothing," I whisper. "It's just... nobody's ever said that and meant it."

He kisses me, and when he lies back, he pulls me against his side. My head on his chest, my leg thrown over his. I hum something, I'm not sure what, until his hand goes still in my hair and his breathing deepens.

The last thing I know is the steady thud under my cheek and the weight of his arm across my back.

Sleep comes like a tide. The kind that pulls you under all at once and holds you there, warm and heavy and dreamless. I don't know how long I'm under. It feels like minutes. It feels like years. When I surface, the room is still dark, the window still black, and for a second I don't know what woke me. Then I feel it.

Ben's body has gone rigid beside me.

It's a sharp, bright jolt. Ben is sitting up. The sheet has fallen to his waist. His breath is coming in great ragged hauls. The whole long line of his back is wet with sweat in the low glow of the lamp. The clock says 4:07. His hands are clenched on his knees. His lips move. I recognize the cadence, the counting, the thing he does to climb out.

I don't flinch. I think about what he told me behind the Granary, in the warm sun, with his hands hanging between his knees. You don't have to talk. Don't fix it. Don't whisper. Stay.

I sit up behind him and put my palm flat between his shoulder blades. That's the only thing I do. His back goes taut under my hand. I breathe in slowly and let it out, loud enough to hear. Then again. Then I lean forward and lay my forehead against his spine.