Chapter 11: The Boat Shed

I didn't let go of his hand when the call ended.

The shed was quiet, with the lantern ticking as it cooled and the harbor sloshing against the pilings outside.

Finnegan stayed on his knees on the floor in front of me.

"What do you need?" he said. "Tell me and I'll do it."

I thought about it honestly.

For four years my body had belonged to a calendar, a clinic and a bottle.

None of it had been mine.

"One thing," I said. "Just one thing that's mine. That nobody planned for me and nobody sold."

He understood me at once.

"Samantha," he said, very low. "You're in shock."

"I'm angry. It's different."

"You're married."

"Not in this shed."

His hand tightened around mine.

"You said the owner bites," he said.

"I did."

"I've been thinking about that for an hour."

"Then stop thinking."

I pulled him up by the front of his coat, and he came, and I kissed him.

It was not gentle.

I kissed him hard, with all of it in it, and he made a low sound against my mouth and kissed me back.

His hands came up and held my face.

He had said he would let me decide, and he did.

He didn't move until I pushed his coat off his shoulders and let it fall on the floor.

Then he backed me against my father's workbench, and the tools on the wall rattled.

"I'm not going to stop," he said against my throat.

"Good."

I felt him smile.

I got my hands under his sweater, over warm skin and the ridge of his ribs, and pulled it up and off.

He had a scar low on his side that I touched with my thumb.

"Appendix," he said. "Boring."

"I like it."

He undid the buttons of my cardigan one at a time, slowly, and I wanted to scream.

"Faster," I said.

"No."

"Finnegan."

"You said one thing that's yours," he said. "I'm taking my time with it."

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