Taylor

I went too far. Way too far. Went straight from letting him tell me stuff at his own pace to blasting right through with my insinuations and allegations. I should've just taken the gift. But he was giving me the medal as a way of throwing it away. And I couldn't have that.

I shouldn't be putting his clothes in the wash now. I should be giving him the opportunity to leave without hindering him. But I press the button that starts the cycle anyway, my hands shaking.

They don't stop shaking even after I reach the kitchen.

He's waiting for me, both our plates already full, the candlelight casting shadows across his face. I just want to run over, climb into his lap and tell him I'm sorry.

He doesn't say anything as I walk slowly to the table and sit down in my place.

"I was out of line," I mutter.

"No, I was," he says and picks up his fork, his eyes soft, searching my face. "I didn't mean to snap at you. All of that was just such a mess. But it's getting better now."

He smiles faintly and I return it. "Let's just eat now. You must be starving."

He nods and starts eating. I do the same. And apart from him telling me how good it is, and helping himself to seconds and thirds, we don't talk much. The tension between us is palpable, but it's been like that from the first day he came here. Yet it's got a different timbre to it now, more flowing, less urgent, like long waves on open ocean.

"How about you start that fire, while I do the dishes?" I ask, getting up and collecting our plates once we're both done eating.

His hand is hot as he lays it across mine. "How about I help you with the dishes?"

I smile, can't help it. "That’s OK, I'll be done in a few minutes."

He shrugs and gets up, drinking off the rest of his water. I had some wine with dinner, but he didn't want any.

When I come into the living room later, the fire's crackling and he's got the blanket and pillows all arranged on the floor in front of the fireplace, exactly like I pictured it, and my stomach melts into this soft pleasant mush.

It's almost full dark outside, the rain still pounding against the roof.

I sit down on the rug, leaning against the sofa and tap the floor beside me, inviting him over. He grins and obeys. I drape the blanket over us both and my head against his shoulder. He puts his arm around me, resting his hand on my stomach, setting off all sorts of butterflies inside me. Slow soft ones, frenzied fast ones, gently flapping ones. But I'm OK for now with us just sitting here, trying to commit this moment, this feeling to memory, so I'll never forget it.

"I got a battlefield commission," he says softly. "That's how I got to be an officer so fast. It's sort of a big deal."

"I know," I say, gasping. "My dad went on and on about it when they reinstated it a few years back."

"So your dad's some sort of military buff?" he asks, grinning at me.

"No, well yeah, I guess. He's a Politology professor, but also teaches military strategy. It's his way of keeping the family tradition going, because he never served in the military like his father and grandfather did."

"So you know about this shit?" he asks in a tone of hopeful surprise.

"Some, I guess," I venture. I never understood much, or wanted to know. Mostly since war scares me.

"The less you know the better, probably," he says and stokes my side. "I wish I didn't know everything, and I chose it."

"Was it very terrible?" I ask.

"Yeah, some of it, lots of missions. I was special ops, working with an international group. Covert stuff, deep inside enemy lines. It was exciting to begin with."

"Until it became too much," I finish for him. "You just got burned out."

He laughs, a sound not altogether happy. "That's one way of putting it. The last mission, the one I got hurt on, was a total fuck up. Bad intel, bad support, and not for the first time. My whole team died. After that I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted out. But like it is with everything, there's a price. I got demoted in rank and dismissed."

There's an edge to his voice as he tells me all this, but I feel the sharp pain underneath like it's my own.

"I'm sorry," I manage.

"Whatever, I kinda deserved it. Wasn't on my best behavior after they put up such a fight over me wanting out."

"What will you do now?" I don't know if that's even my question, or him speaking through my mouth.

"I don't know. Do some travelling maybe, or go live in Asia somewhere. I don't have a lot of money saved up, but there's always jobs in security. I was gonna go there on my next leave, start free diving."

"Free diving as in no oxygen tank? Isn't that dangerous?" I ask, peering up at him. But he's looking at the fire, not me.

"Lots of things are dangerous," he says, and looks down at me, his eyes glowing, the look intense enough to raise my own temperature. And all I know right now is that I won't have him for very long. It's a fact, nothing I can do to change it. It's who he is. I don't know how I know, but I'm certain. So, I might as well make the most of it. But the knowledge makes me very sad too.

"And you're not really a romance writer, are you?" he asks, inclining his head toward my computer and the stack of sociology and history textbooks next to it.

"No," I say, feeling my cheeks grow hotter and not from the fire. "But I am writing a book. About how fairy tales and other stories shape society in as much as they are influenced by it."

"Sounds interesting," he says, and I'm still waiting for him to start laughing, when he adds, "It's fitting though. You do remind me of Little Red Riding Hood."

I move away and glare at him. Of all the fairy tale characters he could've called me…why not Snow White, or someone more desirable like that.

"Not happy with Little Red?" he asks, trying to fight down a smile.

I cringe at him. "I didn't think you saw me as a little girl."

He loses the battle with the laugh. "What? She was such a bad ass. Walking alone through the woods, defeating that big bad wolf with no help. She was like my idol."

"And I suppose you're the big bad wolf in this version," I say and grin too, because his enthusiasm is contagious, and I can't stay mad.

"I don't know…do you want me to be?"

"Maybe," I answer, my voice velvety and hoarse like I've never heard it before.

Then his hands are in my hair and he's kissing me, wild yet gentle, not urgent like before, just right, like I'm the only girl he wants, ever wanted, and ever will. It's enough to set all the butterflies loose again and then some.

My hands are pushing his shirt up, brush his hard abs, pointed nipples, and I only break the kiss long enough to rip my own shirt off and press my naked skin against his.

* * *

We're both naked now, and he's still just kissing me, his hands soft and hot as they trail down my body in the wake of the kisses. My nipples are aching from the soft pinches from his lips and teeth and my pussy is so wet, so warm, so ready; I have no idea what he's waiting for.

I'm caressing his hard, taut back, his arms, my hands moving on their own. I sigh as his kisses finally reach my pussy, arch my back and buck forward, needing more of his lips on me. But he's going slow, so maddeningly slow I might just explode.

"Please," I blurt out, because I can't take it anymore.

His lips leave my clit, and I groan in disappointment.

"Please what?" he asks, grinning at me, his lips glistening. I lurch up and kiss him, because I want to taste myself on him, want that memory, so I'll always know that this was real.

"Please fuck me," I say, the word strange in my mouth, and yet right at the same time too.

Me saying it wipes the grin right off his face, but it's back again in a split second.

"Let me get the condoms then," he says and moves to get up. I snatch him back by grabbing his arm.

"Without," I whisper. YOLO and all that. But I know he'd never hurt me, intentionally or unintentionally, I know it for a fact, the truth.

"You sure?" he breathes, and I know he just needs a yes.

"I'm on the pill," I say just to put that fear to rest. "So, yes."

"Alright, as you wish," he says and smiles at me again, his eyes more alive than I've seen them yet. "But we do it right tonight."

"What…" I blurt out, the rest of my thought lost as he lays me down on my back and spreads my legs wider, hovering over me with that dangerous look in his eyes.

"Oh, we're getting more than just two inches of my dick into you tonight," he explains, and the fear mixing with sweet anticipation is almost more than I can take.

"What do you mean? There was more last night," I say and he just shakes his head.

"Not much more. But it can be, if we go slow," he says.

I know the fear's showing on my face, and my heart's beating really fast. "I don't know…"

"Let's just try?" he asks, running the head of his cock over my clit, eliciting a sigh.

I can't say no, there's no way, so I just nod and lay back, hoping it won't hurt too much. The nerves I'm feeling are worse than my first time, but sweeter too, because this time I'm absolutely sure I want it. One hundred and ten percent certain.

I gasp as he enters me, already fearing the worst, but he does it slow, stops before it's too much, pulls out, pushes in again, his eyes fixed on mine, reading my face, reacting to every grimace I make by slowing down or stopping. I don't know how much of him is inside me, but it's a lot, yet it doesn’t feel too much. So I let my fears go, allow myself to get lost in the slow strokes, the feeling of fullness I begin to miss the second he pulls out, welcome with my whole being the moment he pushes back in.

His strokes grow faster, more demanding, but I love the fullness, the way he's stretching me right to the brink, pushing me over. My breaths are growing faster, wilder, the warmth from the fire caressing me, matching the one he's causing inside me. We're both glowing in the firelight, the scene so surreal I'd swear I was dreaming if his cock wasn't so big, so hot inside me, grounding me, making me moan with no voluntary control.

My breath catches in my throat as I feel his balls slap against my ass, and I arch my back, wanting more, because the emptiness when he's not inside me is too much to bear.

It's all he needs to start thrusting into me faster, until I can feel his cock somewhere in my stomach, and it's too much, too fast, too demanding. But I don't want it to stop, I want all of him, and more. My hands are ripping up the rug as they form fists on their own. It’s my body's way of trying to retain some control, because I'm unraveling. All I see is the fire's glow, but it's inside me now, burning everything, and he's thrusting into me so hard, I feel like a doll in his arms, here only to give him pleasure, but my own orgasms aren’t abating, each one hitting me hotter than the one before, more devastating, until I scream out, something…I don't know what…maybe his name, because I'm afraid I'll never come down from this high, never again feel anything but this burning pain, this scorching pleasure.

We're both panting by the time the fire finally dies down. His cock is still inside me, his weight pressing me into the floor. I feel his cooling semen flowing out, so I know it's over, but I don't want it to be. I want him to use me again and again exactly like this, and I tell him so as he lifts up and tries to pull out. He smiles and shakes his head, as he plops down next to me, pulling me on top of him.

"There's plenty of time yet," he says breathlessly and kisses the top of my head. "We should rest now."

But I don't want to, even as my eyes slowly close on their own.