Chapter 12: The Cellar

I dragged the plank door shut behind us and dropped the bar across it.

The lantern was still burning from the night before.

It threw soft yellow light over the shelves, the cans, the stone walls, and Eli.

He stood in the middle of the cellar with his hands at his sides, waiting for orders.

"Take your jacket off," I said.

He did.

"The shirt."

He pulled it over his head and dropped it on a flour sack.

His chest was broad and hard, scarred in two places, with a dusting of dark hair that thinned to a line below his navel.

The dog tags hung against his breastbone.

I closed my fingers around them and read them by the lantern.

AB NEG. In Helmand I had once spent a whole night hunting for a donor who matched that, because the Army had almost none.

I let the tags go and put my palm flat over his heart.

It was pounding.

"Lena," he said.

"I told you what I was going to do."

I kissed him.

He made a low sound against my mouth, and his hands came up to my waist and stayed there, barely touching, shaking.

"You can hold on," I said into his lips.

His fingers dug in.

I kissed along his jaw and down his throat, and across the hard ridge of his collarbone.

I kissed the scar on his left side.

His breath hissed in.

I opened his belt, and then his jeans, and I felt how hard he was before I even touched him.

When I wrapped my hand around his cock, it was thick and hot and heavy, and he dropped his forehead to my shoulder with a groan.

"God, Lena."

"Look at me."

He lifted his head.

His pale eyes were dark and wet and wide open.

I stroked him slowly from base to tip, and I watched what it did to his face.

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