He kept a close eye on her all the time. Watching her, trying to gauge if what she’d said in her fevered state was true. How much of it had been hidden deep inside her for years, and how much of it was just frenzied talk? He couldn’t really tell, but at the same time, he remembered how she’d looked at him for all those years. From the dance at the party years ago, to how her eyes had widened when she’d dropped the towel and realized it was him, was there more to their relationship than he’d thought?

She was embarrassed about the other night and probably much of their time in the cabin together, he could tell. However, not nearly as embarrassed as she would be if she realized everything she’d revealed, he was certain of that.

I want you to be my first. Her words kept echoing in his mind nonstop. “Ellie, how are you feeling?” he asked as he headed into the office.

She rolled her eyes slightly. “I’m fine, Henry, seriously. You ask me that all the time! It was just a flu.”

“I’m just worried about you,” he told her.

“I’m okay. It’s much better now,” she said, turning back to the television. Was she flushed again? Or blushing? It was difficult to tell. He wasn’t the best at reading emotion, or compassion as the VA therapist would put it, but he was getting better. Distinguishing emotions wasn’t exactly the kind of skill they taught you in the military.

Henry. I want you to be my first. He also couldn’t figure out if her saying she was a virgin was true. Could it be? She'd dated Sean for a couple of years, and surely there were shorter relationships and flings between that. I mean, look at her, he thought to himself. And she wasn’t overtly shy. He remembered her at sixteen, bold and flagrant enough to come up to him even when he was talking to a woman his own age. She had no qualms about cutting in and claiming a dance. Surely her confidence had flourished even more since then.

But why would she lie about such a thing, especially in her state that night?

There was no denying that being with a virgin was a turn-on. Hell, it was for any man, right? But the idea of Ellie being a virgin—and wanting to give herself to him—that was more than he could handle. She’s still Ellie, he told himself. She’s still Eli’s sister, the president’s sister! And she always will be.

“Hey.” He turned in the office chair to see her draped across the doorframe. “I’m lonely out here,” she said. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

“Oh, hey,” he said, adjusting his jeans. He’d taken to wearing them unless he was changing for bed. These days, he never knew when she’d do something to make him hard, and he already was, sitting there thinking about her. “I just—yeah, give me a minute. I need to finish something up.”

“What are you always doing in here, anyway? We don’t even have Wi-Fi.”

“Just working on some stuff,” he said.

“Well, yeah. I figured that,” she said, smiling at him. “What kind of stuff?”

“Personal stuff, Ellie.”

“Oh, okay, I get it,” she said. “Well, once you’re done with your personal stuff, come watch a movie with me. The DVD player’s messing up again.”

“Yeah, well, it’s old. I guess Eli hasn’t been up here enough to upgrade the system.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But sometimes older things are better.”

He swallowed hard. “Like wine,” he said.

“Something like that.”

As he watched her turn on her heels, bare feet padding into the living room, he struggled to figure her out. In some ways, she still seemed so young and innocent. Of course, compared to him, she was. Thirteen years younger and there was something war did to a person that aged them in incomparable ways. He didn’t know if he’d ever get a strong hold of his PTSD, or if he’d ever be able to connect with someone—anyone—without it getting in the way.

He turned back to his computer and pulled up the document he’d been working on. The VA therapist had encouraged him to write down his dreams and thoughts, ideally right when he woke up. He hadn’t been very diligent about it though. “On paper if you can,” the therapist had told him, but that hadn’t worked out well. His thoughts moved too fast, and he'd had to rely on typing. For weeks, he’d struggled to type out even a few sentences, but now? They were flying out of him. The only problem was that his thoughts and words were now wholly consumed by Ellie.

His therapist wouldn’t ever see what he’d written, and wouldn’t ask. “This is solely for you,” he’d told Henry. However, he could just imagine how ashamed he’d be if anyone, especially Ellie, ever saw what he’d written about her. On the other hand, it was the only outlet he’d allow himself. Otherwise, he might explode.

“Henry!” Ellie called from the other room. “Come on, I’m bored out here! I’ll make popcorn.”

“I’m coming,” he called back to her.

The afternoon hours stretched out long and languid. With constant temptation wrapped up on the couch next to him, wearing nothing but men’s boxer shorts and an old button-up, it took all of Henry’s willpower to not stare at her constantly.

“Whose underwear is that?” he asked in the middle of yet another rom-com.

“They’re boxers,” she corrected him.

“That’s underwear.”

“Not when girls wear them,” she said with a laugh. “They’re mine.”

“You went and bought men’s underwear for yourself?”

“Yeah, they’re comfortable!” she said. “And cute. You men have much cuter underwear than us. All kinds of fun designs and stuff. You can’t find women’s underwear with monkeys and bananas on them,” she said, fingering the suggestive scene displayed across her hip bones.

“I wouldn’t know,” Henry said. “I’ve never shopped for women’s underwear.”

“Not even for one of your girlfriends?” she asked.

“Not even for them.”

“Another movie? I don’t know if I’m up for it, though,” she said. “I’m really tired.”

“Go get some sleep,” he said. “Your body’s still fighting off the last of that flu.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Okay, ’night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“’Night, Ellie,” he said. Henry listened to her soft loping up the stairs, the click of her door closing, and the hushed whirring of the shower upstairs. What was she doing in the shower for so long? His imagination started to wander, and there was that now-familiar stirring in his jeans.

“Screw it,” he said, getting up and going upstairs himself. This time, he locked his bedroom door behind him.

He could still hear Ellie’s shower turned on in the next room as he turned the heat on his own shower to as hot as it could manage. Pulling off his jeans and T-shirt, he caught a glimpse of his own boxers in the mirror. They had a simple blue checked pattern. Ellie would probably never approve. “Boring,” she’d say, tossing her head back with a laugh.

Pulling them over his muscular legs, holding the waistband out as far as it could stretch to clear his erection, Henry stepped beneath the pounding water and closed his eyes. What if Ellie were in here with me?

She’d probably demand to soak in the majority of the water, and that would be fine with him. Her youth and innocence would make her a nearly selfish shower partner in all the best ways, and he wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, he’d love to give it to her, all the heat she could handle. Picturing her before him, he let his hand rake up his thigh and finally grasp his cock. Even in the intense heat of the water, it still radiated the most heat.

Now, Ellie would be lifting her head, letting the water race through her hair and drop down her backside in torrents. She’d have a sliver of soap in one hand, tracing it up her stomach and across her ribcage to brush across her breasts. He’d want to ask her if she needed help, but he’d resist. Ellie wasn’t the kind of woman he could use such lines on.

As he imagined her lathering up her breasts, he began to slowly stroke his cock. Even in his fantasy, he didn’t want to come too fast. “Will you do my back?” she’d ask him, feigning innocence even in this compromised position. How much of an act was it?

She’d turn her back to him, pulling that curtain of hair around one shoulder. He’d never seen Ellie’s bare back before, not in reality. In his mind’s eye, it was pure marbled magic. He began to stroke himself a little faster, pausing at the tip of his cock with each gentle pull forward, willing himself to slow down. Keep pace.

She’d hand him what was left of the soap, and look over her shoulder with that smile she must reserve just for him. Right? It had to be just for him.

He’d trace the lines of her body, the sharp wings of her shoulder blades all the way to the dimples at the small of her back. He loved those dimples, the indents that perfectly fit his thumbs. He stroked even faster, giving in to his instincts and the animalistic nature of what felt right.

With just a hint of hesitation, as the soap disintegrated entirely and his hand was slick, he’d slide his hand into the crevices of her ass, eliciting a low moan from her. With both hands, he’d cup her cheeks and squeeze, pulling her labia open gently from the backside to let her juices cover her entirely.

With that image, he came hard, letting out a small cry just in case she was listening from the next room. Opening his eyes, with water from the shower dewy on his lashes, he watched the buildup he’d been holding onto for months go down the shower drain. But he was still hard—that was how crazy she’d made him.

With a sigh, he dried off, slipped on fresh boxers, and climbed into bed after unlocking the door. Just in case she needed him in the middle of the night. Dutifully, he snapped the restraints back on and closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly and stubbornly.