Chapter 5: The Last Night

Joost knocked at midnight on Thursday, three nights before my week ran out.

I stood behind the door in his old gray T-shirt, with my bag already packed upstairs.

I could see his boots through the glass.

Since Tuesday I had worn his loosest shirts and checked the curb every hour for the prospect's truck.

Pieter's look at my stomach had not left me.

If Joost had come to ask about it, I would have known by his face.

I opened it.

He stood on the porch with his hands hanging at his sides and no cut on his back.

"I don't want to talk about her," he said.

"Good."

"I don't want to talk about anything." His voice was rough. "I just can't stay away."

I looked at him for a long time.

He was thinner than he had been on Sunday, with a shadow under each eye.

I wanted to hit him.

I wanted to put my face in his neck.

"One night," I said. "Then I'm gone, and you don't ask me why."

His jaw tightened.

"Femke."

"That's the price, Joost. Take it or leave."

He stepped in and shut the door behind him with his heel.

I pushed him back against it.

He let me.

I grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him hard, and he made a low sound in his chest.

His hands came up under the T-shirt, big and warm against my bare back, and he lifted me with one arm until my feet left the floor.

"Down," I said against his mouth.

He set me down.

I pulled his shirt up over his head and dropped it on the floor.

I ran my palms down his chest, across the old scar under his ribs, down to the buckle of his belt.

He was already hard against my wrist.

"Say it," I said.

"Say what?"

"What you want."

His eyes were dark in the hallway light.

"I want your mouth," he said. "I want you on your knees, and I want you to take my cock."

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