I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t take this offering of comfort, no matter how badly I need the human contact today. A better man would walk away.

But I am not a better man. And the storm brewing outside matches the turmoil inside me.

And she is a shelter. Safe harbor beneath the rumbling skies.

I want to feel her pulse beneath my touch. Feel her body press against mine. Her eyes have never left mine. I’m intensely aware of the rise and fall of her chest, the rush of air from her lungs.

My body tenses and tightens, blood rushing to my groin. Her lips part, her pink tongue traces the inner edge before disappearing once more. I want to kiss her again; more than anything in the world, I want to touch her. To slide my fingers over her body, to feel her heart beat beneath my touch.

To feel her slick heat cover my fingers, my cock.

I’m aching now, my cock hard as steel. It’s all I can do to avoid adjusting my pants.

Her gaze flicks down and I’m exposed and vulnerable. I can almost imagine what her skin would feel like against mine, how her ass would feel in my hands.

How her tight body would squeeze my cock.

I reach down, needing to move my cock away from the ragged zipper of my jeans.

She watches me. Watches my hand slide over my cock, watches me grip it. Christ it feels good, watching her watch me touch myself.

She’s close, close enough that her breath mingles with mine. Close enough that heat from her body brushes against me. Wraps around me. Draws me closer, until her hand closes over mine and squeezes me, a gentle, demanding pressure.

I flick my jeans open, offering, hoping, praying that she’ll keep touching me. That she’ll stroke me until I can’t see straight.

Praying that I can do this. That I can touch her how she wants to be touched. That I can find out what makes her squirm and what makes her scream.

What makes her wet.

The air is cool against my cock, her palm hot as she strokes me. Her touch is electric, sparks of jagged lust arching down the length of it with each slide of her palm.

I slip my palm over her waist, drawing her closer until her breasts brush against my chest. Her hand is pinned between us, her palm raw heat. She presses her cheek against mine, her breath hot on my skin.

“I want to touch you,” she whispers. An erotic request.

She nips my earlobe, her breath a rush of sound and heat as she frees my cock from my jeans completely. “Say yes,” she whispers.

“Please.” She does that thing with her thumb again, sliding it through the moisture on the tip.

I’ve never done this. Never talked dirty with a lover. Never whispered the wants and the needs in the bright light of day.

There are so many ways that Nalini is my first taste of life after a decade spent as the walking dead.

Her hand moves faster now, gripping me tighter. She nips my shoulder and before my brain can fully register what she’s doing, she slides down the entire length of my body.

She is on her knees, her eyes locked with mine. Her lips part and slowly, so slowly, she traces the tip of my cock with her tongue. Watching me watch her.

Until I fall away, tumbling into the darkness as she draws me deep inside of her mouth.

---

It’s an act of trust, taking him into my mouth. Pure, erotic trust as I taste him. My entire body clenches tight as I lick the tip of his cock, moist heat flooding between my thighs.

I’m aching as I draw him deeper into my mouth, sliding my lips down his thick length.

When I saw him watching me, I knew, in that moment, that this was how we’d end up. With me touching him, burning for him. Needing to touch every inch of his body, feeling his skin against mine.

I suck him gently, one palm flat against his hard belly, the other holding him where I need him.

A little erotic thrill spikes through me when he finally closes his eyes and drops his head back, surrendering.

There is power—raw, intense, female power—in feeling him tremble beneath my touch.

His palm is warm against my cheek, cupping me while I suck him deeper into me.

And then he’s urging me up, away from the pleasure I’m bringing us both. One hand cradles my hip, pulling me against him as he urges us down to the floor. The blue satin of my yoga mat is warm now against my bare skin. I don’t know where my clothes are, or when or how they went there.

All I can see, all I can feel, is Caleb above me, between my thighs, surrounding me until every shred of my awareness is consumed by him. Only him.

I tilt my hips, urging him closer, urging him to press into me, to fill me. I need this, this reminder that I’m whole, that the scars don’t define me. That the fire didn’t consume my ability to feel.

His skin is hot against mine and I arch into him, practically purring with raw power.

His palm slides over my ribs, trailing lower toward my hip, toward the scars I know he can see but I’m not ready for him to touch. I thread my fingers with his, lifting our hands over my head. The movement pushes me closer, sliding down the length of his cock, feeling him slip closer to my core.

“I need you.” A plea that’s a whisper away from begging.

He slips his cock into my wet folds, sliding along my length. His touch is electric, pure thick fire.

He pulls away abruptly, rocking back on his knees and—praise all the gods in the heavens above—produces a condom.

I could make a joke right now about obstacles but it’s not really conducive to getting me what I want—and what I want right now is Caleb, deep and thick inside me.

And then he’s crawling over me, urging me to surrender, to lean back and accept him once more between my thighs. He’s there, the wide flat crown of his cock brushing against my tight opening. He threads his fingers in mine again, lifting our hands over my head.

He’s there, just there.

And he doesn’t move.

It’s an impossibly long moment before he lowers his forehead to mine. “I’m afraid,” he whispers.

In that moment, I know what this has cost him. What he risks in being naked and vulnerable with me.

I cup his cheeks with both palms. Brush my nose against his. “Don’t think,” I whisper. Then I arch into him, using the angle of my body to draw him—finally—inside me. Just a hint, just the barest push of pleasure against my body that is craving the erotic friction. “Touch me.” A nip against his bottom lip.

Please.

But I don’t say that wanton phrase. This is too new, too risky.

Everything with Caleb is a risk. One massive backsliding risk.

But in this moment, the risk is worth it as he slides into me, thick and hard and full. My body vibrates as it expands to accept him. To squeeze him.

To…oh, sweet baby Jesus. His touch is fire. Pure liquid fire as he pulls out, then pushes back inside me. Striking the tinder until it bursts into flames, tearing the remnants of my soul apart and binding them forever with his.