Chapter 14: What She Never Asked

He carried me up the stairs two at a time.

I kicked off the uniform's flat shoes on the landing, and he laughed against my neck.

His bedroom was at the end of the hall, under the slope of the roof.

There was a quilt on the bed, a lamp with a paper shade, and a window open to the cold field.

He set me on my feet beside the bed and stood there, breathing hard.

"Tell me when to slow down," he said.

"I will not."

"Claire."

"I have been very good for nine days, Weatherby."

He made a sound that was half a laugh and half something else.

Then he took my face in both hands and kissed me until my knees gave.

The black uniform came off in his hands and went somewhere onto the floor.

I tugged his borrowed shirt out of the borrowed trousers and pushed it off his shoulders.

His chest was broad and warm, and there was an old pale scar along his ribs that I traced with my thumb.

"Fell off a roof," he said. "Eleven years ago."

"Hush."

"You asked."

"I'm asking something else."

I put my mouth on the scar, and his whole body went tight.

He lowered me onto the quilt, and his hands moved over me slowly, and he did not waste any of it.

He kissed my collarbone, my breast, the soft place under my ribs where I had never been touched on purpose.

I arched into his mouth, and I said his name, and he said mine back against my skin.

When his hand slid between my thighs and found my wet pussy, I stopped being able to think.

He took his time with me, circling my clit with his thumb until my hips lifted off the mattress.

He watched my face the whole time.

When I pulled at his hair he did not hurry, and when I begged he made me say it again.

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