Chapter 10: Her Name

"Wynne," I said. "Wynne Larkin."

"Again."

"I'm twenty-eight. I live in Anchorage. I hate fish and I love the sea."

"Again."

"I was shaking on your floor three years ago because my father was dead."

"And because I'd been touched like I mattered for the first time in a year."

"Wynne," he said.

It sounded different in the dark than it had in the light.

He said it.

"I'm still angry," he said.

"I know."

"I'm going to be angry for a long time."

"I know that, too."

"I came here to tell you that, and I can't make myself leave."

"Then don't."

I took his hand and drew him into the room, and I shut the door on the dark corridor.

I pushed him backward until his legs hit the iron bed.

He sat down hard, and the springs shrieked.

I stood between his knees.

"I want this one to be mine," I said.

"Yours."

"Last night you decided everything. Tonight I'm deciding."

I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it, and the lighthouse beam swept across the window and lit him for one second.

He was looking up at me with his whole face open, hungry and furious and wrecked.

Then the room went black again.

I unbuttoned his shirt with fingers that weren't quite steady.

I pushed it off his shoulders and kissed the scar on his hand, the crescent, the one I had never seen.

I felt him shudder.

I knelt, and undid his belt.

He caught his breath as I took him in my hand, hot and heavy and already hard for me, and I licked a slow stripe up the underside of him.

"Wynne."

"Shh."

I took him in my mouth, as deep as I could, and he swore.

His hand knotted in my hair, not pulling, just holding on.

I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, and I felt his thighs go rigid under my palms.

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