Adam

The rain’s still pounding the windows and roof outside, when I wake up at dawn. My hair's stuck to my forehead and my lower back's aching. I had a nightmare, but I don't remember it. Taylor's sleeping beside me, grasping my left hand in both of hers. I have to piss real bad, but I don't want to wake her. Her breaths are tickling my arm, and I have no idea how I could even have bad dreams around her.

I can wait this out. Having to piss is a pain that reaches a high point, and doesn't get worse after that. The rain's not helping, but I can deal with it. For Taylor I have all the patience in the world, it seems. I wish I'd met her sooner. Then maybe I wouldn't have so many nightmares.

She stirs and just when I think she'll go back to sleep her eyes open, staring up at me. They glow amber in the overhead light. My stomach's still all warm from the sex, but I'm ready for more.

She sits up gingerly, wrapping her arm over her stomach. Shit. I lost control last night, and she was so tight. Maybe it was too much, maybe I hurt her. But the build up to the sex took days, I couldn't help myself. Story of my life.

"You OK?" I ask.

She kinda shakes her head and nods at the same time, moving to the edge of the bed. "I think so. Are you?"

It's one of her loaded questions, so I ignore it. Her breasts are soft and round, and so bouncy, her skin glowing in this light. I'm fully hard already, the pain of having to piss a distant memory.

She's still looking at me like she wants an answer, so I swing my legs off the bed and get up with my back to her. "I will be as soon as I piss."

I hate to hog the bathroom, since she's obviously heading there too, but I don't want any more of this conversation. Maybe I talk in my dreams, maybe I even scream out. I sure feel like I've been screaming the whole night on some mornings, but there hasn't been anyone to confirm or deny this in the last few months.

It's hard work, pissing with a hard on, but I manage it. I brush my teeth too. When I come out, she's standing by the bathroom door, her arms still wrapped around her stomach. All my annoyance at her flees like it never was.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask.

She smiles up at me, and shakes her head. "I'm fine, don't worry. I had a great time last night."

I know my smile is contagious because she beams right back at me.

"Alright, then I hope you're ready for more," I say and laugh at the shock that flashes across her eyes.

I smack her ass as she walks past me to the bathroom, not hard, just enough to make it jiggle. She's got the greatest ass, it's shaped like a heart. And I can hardly take my eyes off it long enough to meet her disproving look before she shuts the bathroom door in my face.

I wait for her by the door.

She's wearing one of her overlarge t-shirts when she comes out again and my heart literally sinks down to my stomach. It's not just because it probably means no more sex, it's more the fact that I can't look at her anymore.

She shuffles over, so close I can feel her warmth, and glides her fingers down my stomach. The touch alone is enough to raise all my hairs. "I don't think I'm up for any more…" she whispers, letting her voice trail off, looking up at me with really big eyes. "Is that OK?"

"Of course it is.” I wrap my arms around her, pull her closer and kiss the top of her head. Though I wish she'd take her shirt off at least, but I don't say it.

And then we're lying down again, her body pressed into mine, her eyes softer than the mattress beneath me. She leans over and kisses me softly, just a peck, no tongue, but her lips against mine, exploring, tasting, is all I need from this day.

She kisses my cheek next, then rubs hers against it. "Wow, you have like no stubble yet," she whispers.

"Yeah, it's like a genetic defect," I say, God knows why. It’s also one of the reasons my dad is so fond of calling me his daughter, and worse. "I don't even have to shave more than once or twice a week."

"Really, you have a genetic defect? I guess there had to be something, right?" she says smiling and running her hand up and down my abs. "We should all be so lucky."

Yeah, well, I only look good on the outside. Inside I'm a total fucking mess. But she never has to know that.

"What? You're fucking perfect," I say, reaching under her shirt and squeezing her ass.

"Shut up. You're just saying that because…"

"Because I want to do you?" I ask after she just leaves it hanging. "No, that's not even it."

"Come on," she says, leaning up on one elbow. "I could loose some weight for starters, and being a couple of inches taller wouldn't hurt either. And then there's all those little things wrong with my face that keep it from being beautiful. Like that my nose is too small and my eyes are too big."

Now that's a list. I don't even know how to start debasing it. "Who told you that? I think you're gorgeous, and very hot, and appealing. And that goes for the whole package."

She's staring at me with her soft eyes, like she wants me to keep talking. "And you're a really good lay. And cook."

"Now I know you're just saying all that."

"No I'm not."

I'm still cupping her ass, and I slide my hand up to her lower back, pull her closer, kiss her before she can say anything else. I might as well just prove it, since I’ve never been very good with words.

Then I get lost in her soft lips, the tentative, slow way she likes to kiss, with all the passion brimming under the surface.

She pulls away too soon, lays her head on my chest and yawns. It's still raining hard outside, but if it wasn't the sun'd be out. This kinda feels like it is anyway.

"Do you want to talk about your dreams?" she asks, and my breath hitches.

"What gave you that idea?" I ask, more harshly than I should’ve. But this, being with her, is not about my nightmares, or what the fuck I'll do about my family once it's all over and I have to go back. It's about being right here in this moment, utterly and completely, and I won’t let anything ruin it.

She lifted her head and is looking at me. Not angry or hurt, just confused and sorta sad. "I just meant…if you wanted to…you can talk to me. I'm a good listener."

"Finally you say something nice about yourself," I blurt out, since I'm that desperate for a change of subject. "Let's just enjoy ourselves, alright?"

I watch her face change to disappointment, but she nods slowly and lays back down, her lashes tickling my chest as she closes her eyes.

"I just want to get to know you better," she whispers. "That's why I ask questions."

"Yeah, you really don't, though," I mutter.

She doesn't say anything more, and the rain hitting the roof is putting me to sleep too, though I fight it. I really don't want to have any more nightmares in front of her.

* * *

Taylor

He falls asleep easily, but I can't. I feel bad for lying to him about being in too much pain, but he could be less eager to just have sex with me, and a little more eager to get to know me. Though the sex was awesome, and my belly grows warm just thinking about it. I never had much respect for women who are there for their boyfriends 24/7, like my sister, but with Adam, he could use me like that every night, and I'd still be begging for more in the morning.

Which is decidedly scary. So, yeah, I want to see what's beneath all his wild passion. I want him to talk about something other than how much he wants to have sex with me. Otherwise, I'm just someone for him to use and discard. And the thought of that is starting to hurt.

He's growing restless again, moving around like he wants to get away from something but can’t. I slide off him and kiss his forehead, which is cold and clammy. It does nothing to calm him, like it didn't when I tried it after his nightmares woke me in the middle of the night. He doesn't make a lot of noise, and the sounds he makes are strangled, like he doesn't want anyone to know he's suffering. But I know he is, because his face is all twisted up like he's in pain.

I want to help him. I really, really do. And I have no idea why the wish to try is so strong. We've barely met, and he's come very close to telling me to shut the hell up every time I try.

I slide off the bed, careful not to move it too much.

The desire to wake him, and tell him it will be alright abates a bit once I shut the bedroom door behind me, but it doesn't go away.

So I busy myself with arranging my suitcase more neatly, after I put on my sweats and cardigan. It's so cold, I can't believe it's still August. It's actually cold enough to light the fireplace. We could do that later and just lay in front of it, talk, or make love. Like I've seen in the movies. And it will have to be the latter, since he's not much for talking. I giggle at the thought, right there, alone in the middle of the living room. I'm silly beyond words. Henry would make a face and tell me so. Adam would probably kiss me. He seems to like it when I laugh, or just smile, or simply walk across the room naked. My face turns hot, and I'm embarrassed like the whole world just heard my private thoughts.

Maybe if I tell him about my life, he'll tell me about his. Maybe I just have to go first.

It's not until a couple of hours later that I hear him moving around in the bedroom. I've fixed up everything I need to make lunch, but I didn't want to start cooking until he woke up, since maybe he doesn't like quiche lorraine, which I planned to make.

He's standing by the window, staring out when I peek into the bedroom, wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie just tight enough to show off the perfect wide V of his back. He looks amazing with clothes on, any kind of clothes, and he looks even better naked. No wonder he won't tell me anything about himself, I'm just a lay of opportunity to him. He'll be moving on as soon as he sees someone better. So I better not let him leave this house. I'm such a psycho! My face is all hot again, and I'm just about to retreat to get my composure back when he turns.

"Hey," I strangle out.

"Hey," he says quietly. "I was thinking about going for a run."

"Now? But it's pouring rain outside," I blast out, making him cringe.

"No, I think it's clearing up," he says in that monotone voice, so different from my shrill one. So dead.

"Is it because of the dreams?" I blurt out without thinking.

He sort of shrugs a yes, and grins at me sheepishly. It's not an act this time, I can feel his pain in my stomach.

I pause for a second, fighting the urge to ask him to tell me more. But he'll talk when he's ready, I know that too.

"Well, OK. I'll cook something," I say instead, as lightly as I can. "Do you like quiche lorraine?"

"Yeah, I do," he says and walks to his backpack, pulls out a black nylon packet and unfolds it into a rain jacket. "I'll be back in an hour or so. Maybe two."

The jacket makes a swishing noise as he puts it on.

"Be careful out there," I say automatically, not even sure what compelled me to do it.

"Of what? Hunters and wild beasts?" he asks, smiling wryly, but it's not meant to mock me for saying stupid things like Henry would've.

I shrug, suddenly very aware of my face, my whole body because of his intense gaze.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," he says, his eyes turning dangerous. He's not prey, he's the hunter, and I knew that about him the first time I saw him.

I can only nod.

He stops about half a step away from me on his way out the door. And I know he wants to kiss me, hold me, but he doesn’t know if he should. So I close the distance between us, stand on my toes and pull his head down for a kiss. Just on the lips, but I pour a lot of myself, my care into it. He makes it easy to do that, and it comes naturally. It was never natural with Henry.

He squeezes me into a tight hug, then lets me go abruptly, and strides out the door. I don't know how long I stay in that same place, my lips tingling from his kiss, the imprint of his arms on my body not fading, because I don't want it to.