Moonlight spilled through the room's unadorned window, painting the simple space in silver and shadow. The furnishings were spare—a double bed covered in mismatched quilts and a dresser with a cracked mirror. A small nightstand held nothing but a battery-powered lamp.
Michael released my hand to frame my face between his palms. He studied me with an intensity that made me shiver.
His lips found mine, not tentative as they had been in Tahiti and not desperate as they had been in Seattle. They were certain and focused. I opened to him immediately, my hands finding his solid pec muscles and feeling his heart thunder beneath my hands.
When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, the world beyond the bedroom door seemed impossibly distant. There was only this moment, this man, and the small sanctuary carved out of our dangerous world.
Michael whispered against my lips. "Whatever happens tomorrow, tonight is ours."
He guided me toward the bed.
The quilts were rough against my back as Michael lowered me to the bed. He moved over me with deliberate weight, anchoring me to the present when my thoughts threatened to spiral toward tomorrow's uncertainties.
The historian in me noted the precise moment: May 3rd, approximate time 2:38 AM, the night before we challenged an algorithm that decided who lived and died. Like medieval scholars preserving knowledge before book burnings, I collected sensory details with desperate precision.
"Stay with me." He sensed my thoughts were drifting and pulled me back to the present.
I nodded, reaching up to trace the contours of his face. He captured my exploring hand and pressed his mouth to my palm—not a kiss, something more primal. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, sending a jolt through me that stole my breath.
"We need to be quiet," he whispered against my wrist.
I almost laughed at the absurdity of the comment—discussing discretion while his brothers slept across the hall, unknown forces hunted us, and the world teetered on the edge of dystopia. It was like worrying about proper citation format while the library burned.
The laugh died in my throat when his hands found the waistband of my jeans, fingers working at the button with urgency. My body responded with an immediacy that still surprised me—eighteen months of grief had convinced me physical pleasure was archived in my past, accessible only through memory. Yet here I was, present and wanting, my skin alive with sensation in ways I'd thought were gone when I lost Marissa.
We undressed each other with clumsy efficiency, clothes discarded onto the floor in near silence. Each revealed inch of skin became territory to be claimed—his mouth on my collarbone, my fingers tracing the ridges of scar tissue along his ribs, and our hands intertwining briefly before separating to explore further.
The old bed frame protested beneath us as Michael settled his weight fully against me. I felt the press of his cock against my thigh, hot and insistent. My own body responded with embarrassing eagerness, hips rising to meet his in wordless invitation.
"Need you," he breathed against my throat.
His hand moved between us, finding my cock pressed hard against his muscular abs. His thumb, rough and commanding, began to circle the sensitive tip of my cock with deliberate teasing that made me arch into his touch. When he finally pushed a finger inside me, then two, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
A third finger plunged in, unleashing a raw ache that had me clutching his shoulders, nails raking into his skin. He didn't flinch; instead, he drove deeper, his gaze fixed on my face as if memorizing every expression.
"Now," I whispered, urgent. "Michael, please."
He withdrew his hand and reached toward the nightstand, retrieving a condom from his wallet. The silver packet caught the moonlight as he tore it open, the sound unnaturally loud in our bubble of silence. I watched him roll it on with practiced movements, my mouth going dry at the sight.
When he positioned himself between my thighs, his hands gripped my hips with bruising force. There was desperation in his touch, a need to claim, mark, and remember. I welcomed it, spreading my legs wider.
He entered me with a single, forceful thrust that sent the headboard knocking against the wall. We both froze, breath suspended, listening for any sound from the other room. Nothing. Only the whispering pines outside and the distant hoot of an owl.
Michael began to move again, more cautiously now, though his rhythm remained relentless. Each thrust was deeper than the last, as if he were trying to forge a connection that couldn't be severed by what awaited us.
A particular angle sent pleasure spiraling through me, unleashing a moan I couldn't suppress. In a swift, commanding motion, Michael silenced me with a hand over my mouth, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of control and fierce protectiveness that sent thrilling jolts through my veins. I nodded helplessly against his palm, and he slowly withdrew his hand, replacing it with a searing kiss that devoured all sound.
The bed creaked beneath us, a rhythmic counterpoint to our muffled breathing. Michael's movements grew more erratic, his control slipping as we both neared the edge. He pushed my arms above my head, locking my wrists to the pillow with one hand.
Bracing his body with his knees, his free hand slipped between us again, gripping my cock. His fingers circled my shaft. The twin sensations of his thrusts and his skilled strokes drove me to the brink, spiraling uncontrollably toward an explosive release.
"Look at me," he demanded, his whispered voice raw and ragged.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze as the first waves of orgasm crashed through me. The intensity caused me to writhe uncontrollably, and the pleasure threatened to unravel me completely. Michael watched, his eyes open wide, as I came apart around him.
My body's pulsing triggered his release. He buried himself deep inside me one final time. I felt the throb of him, the slight trembling of his arms as he braced himself above me, his face contorted in silent ecstasy. He breathed my name against my throat.
Afterward, we lay tangled in sweat-dampened sheets, neither willing to separate. His thumb rubbed my hipbone.
