Chapter 19: The Second Key

August cooked.

I sat on the kitchen counter in his warehouse apartment with my boots off, and watched him chop an onion.

It was the first meal anyone had made for me in five years.

"Eat," he said, and put a bowl of pasta in my hands.

I ate all of it, and he watched me do it with something close to satisfaction.

When I put the bowl down, he took it and set it in the sink.

Then he stood between my knees and didn't touch me.

"The signing's over," I said.

"It is."

"Nothing until the signing. Remember that?"

"I've been remembering it for a week."

"Well, it's over."

"Marlo." His voice was very low. "Tell me what you want."

"The same as before. Everything."

"No. Before, you were angry. Tonight you can have it slow."

"I don't want it slow."

"I know," he said, and smiled. "You'll tell me when you do."

I took his face in both hands and kissed him, and this time I took my time.

I learned the line of his jaw, and the place under his ear where he stopped breathing.

He lifted me off the counter and carried me to the bed.

He undressed me one piece at a time, kissing each place the cloth came away.

He found the bruise on my wrist, nearly yellow now, and put his mouth against it.

It was the gentlest thing anyone had done to me in a year, and my throat closed.

I pushed him onto his back and climbed over him.

"My turn," I said.

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