Chapter 22: Moon Night

The moon was nearly full, and it lay across my floor in a white bar.

For two days Eamon had barely spoken.

He had stared at the photograph, split wood until his hands blistered, and slept on the cot in the back room with the door open.

At midnight I stopped pretending to read and walked down the hall in my bare feet.

He was sitting on the edge of the cot, fully dressed, with his elbows on his knees.

He looked up.

"I'm still angry," I said.

"Good."

"I'm not forgiving you tonight."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I want you anyway. Both things are true."

His whole body went still, and then a long shudder ran through it.

"Say my name," he said.

"Not yet."

I crossed the room, and he opened his knees, and I stepped between them.

He tipped his head back and I took his face in both hands.

I kissed him slowly this time.

His mouth was warm and unsteady, and he made a small raw sound against my lips.

His hands came up to my hips and stopped, waiting.

"Touch me," I said.

He pulled my shirt over my head.

He pressed his mouth to my breast through my bra, then took the clasp apart with one hand, and when his tongue found my nipple my knees nearly went.

"Eamon."

"Yes."

"Lie back."

He lay back on the cot, and I pulled his shirt off him and dragged his pants down his legs.

His cock stood hard against his stomach, thick and flushed and wet at the tip.

I put my mouth on it.

He swore and his hips jerked off the cot.

I took him deep, with one hand around the base, and he grabbed the rail of the cot so hard that the metal bent.

"Hazel. Fuck. Hazel, stop, I'm going to..."

I pulled off, wet-mouthed, and looked up.

"Not yet," I said.

He laughed, shaky and astonished, and hauled me up the cot by my arms.

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