Chapter 17: The Night Before

Roz's POV

On Saturday night I turned the lamp down in the loft and told Eli to sit on the bed.

"What are we doing?" he said.

"Nothing fast."

"I'm not good at that."

"I know. That's why I'm asking."

He sat. The mattress dipped, and his hands rested on his knees, big and still, thumb missing its nail.

I had spent the day with my lawyer and my father, planning for four o'clock the next afternoon.

I kept picturing a hall full of faces turned my way.

I wanted one hour with nothing in it but his skin.

I stood between his knees and took his face in my hands.

"Keep your hands on the bed," I said. "Until I say."

"Roz."

"Until I say."

He breathed out and pressed his palms flat to the blanket.

I kissed him slowly.

I took his bottom lip between mine and let it go.

I felt him fight the urge to reach for me, the cords standing out in his forearms.

"Good," I said against his mouth.

He made a low, helpless sound.

I undid his flannel one button at a time.

He had white scars over his ribs from chisels and saws, and a burn on his shoulder the size of a coin.

I kissed every one I could find.

By the time I pushed the shirt off his shoulders, his chest was rising hard.

I pulled my own sweater over my head and dropped it, and unhooked my bra, and let him look.

"You can look," I said. "You can't touch."

"You're going to kill me."

"Slowly."

His eyes went over me and stayed there, on my breasts, my stomach, my mouth.

His hands stayed on the bed.

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