Chapter 20: Slow

Greta's POV

The boiler loft over Shelter Four's utility room had a mattress, a space heater and one window onto the lot.

Ward had checked Hollis's burns for twenty minutes and written NO STRENUOUS ACTIVITY on a paper towel.

"I'm a medical professional," Ward had said, handing it over. "That's an order."

"I'll make sure he follows it," I said.

"You will not."

"No."

"Then please be quiet about it. The shelter has a very thin ceiling."

Now the door was shut, the lamp turned low, and the whole county was asleep or trying to be.

Hollis stood by the window with his shirt off.

The burn ran from his hip to his throat now, branching and red.

It was beautiful and terrible, and every line of it matched a line of mine.

"Sit," I said.

He sat on the mattress.

I knelt in front of him and put my palms flat on his chest.

My hands were dark and quiet.

"Your rule," he said.

"It's dead."

"You made it a week ago."

"I made it for someone who wasn't you."

His forehead came down against mine.

I felt his stubble on my skin.

I kissed him.

It was nothing like the first time, in the gray morning with my fists in his shirt.

I kissed him slowly, and then more slowly than that, with my mouth open on his and his hands in my hair.

He tasted of coffee and salt.

I took my time with his lip, where it was split, and he made a soft sound against my teeth.

"Slow," I said.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

I took off his belt, and then his boots, and then the rest, one piece at a time.

I wanted to learn him.

I had not done that before.

I put my mouth to the burn on his ribs, and followed it with my tongue, up and across to his shoulder.

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