K

Vlad Tepes Pov

It was our 5th wedding anniversary at a beachfront restaurant in Dakar.  By then, we’d traveled all over the world together. Dakar was our favorite destination by far. The first time we visited, I played her songs from my music collection on my antique record player and cooked her a nice meal. That was the night I asked her to marry me. And because she was a witch, she already saw it coming. We always came back to Dakar at least once a year. Our 5th anniversary was no exception to the rule. We’d made love 4 times in a row on that particular evening. I eventually convinced her to get dressed and come out to celebrate properly.

I know every detail about that special night. The hour, the temperature, what the bartender was thinking, what the air smelled like. And yet, the most important detail I can remember was how she looked at me. A humidity hung in the air, clinging to her like a second skin, though her clothes left little to the imagination. She was shining. God lived in her face. Really, her beauty was proof that there was someone out there behind the curtain one called life. 

The slit in her dress stretched from her chest all the way down to her belly button. If she turned, I could see her entire back from top to bottom. Her wedding ring matched the piercing on her navel. Absolutely superb, she was. She no longer flinched at my stare. She grew used to it. There was a self-assurance she accumulated with each new year of her life. She was 34, the oldest and most striking she’d ever been. I was relieved when she reached her thirties. It was all I ever wanted for her—for her to live her life. And she had. 

The assertiveness was always there deep down. It came on slowly as Amina became more successful.  Her financial independence from me was a ship that passed years ago by that point. At the very least, she appeased me by letting me pay for dinner. She vacationed on the other side of the world with Nya, who was in medical school at the time. She drove a paid-off car that she bought within her first year as a professional painter. She paid the rent on a brownstone in Manhattan to make traveling for work easier. She frequented the Four Season spa like it was her religion. She was all grown up in every sense of the word. 

 Everybody wanted a piece of Amina Tepes. Less than 6 months into her studies at Ironwood, she took off like a shooting star and never looked back. Her paintings had been featured in movies and television productions. Her art had been everywhere from Art Basel to MoMoA. Work trips were booked out months in advance. People invited her to boards to speak on her journey as an artist. Somehow, she’d mastered the art of storytelling so well that she got a book deal. With our shared passion for art, we co-owned a gallery in Los Angeles. 

Sure, I was acclaimed in the business world, and my philanthropy made my name known far and wide. However, Amina’s success was different. It was louder. More… public. At least one person stopped her when we were out together, and it always started with…

“ Are you…???.”

And then she’d go, “Yes. That’s me.”

And it would always end with, “ Oh my god! I love your work!” 

She didn’t slack on her spiritual pursuits. She’d always had this innate ability to heal, and that talent grew. Over the years, she helped countless women with a multitude of issues, from illness to infertility to familial hexes. If nothing else, this was a woman who had it all. Who’d proven to other women that they, too, could have it all. The relationship, the job, the lifestyle. Everything. 

It all started with a singular question, that night in Dakar. One that had been dancing along the outermost margins of her tongue for years. I had my suspicions about why she was so steadfast in her studying to become a High Witch. Having been the quickest to rise into her position, it was time for her to gently herd me where she wanted me. And herd—she did. 

She swirled the decorative umbrella around her drink, pulling it out to taste it. “ Have you had any second thoughts about not wanting any kids?” she asked through her calculated, glowing, brown pools. In fleeting moments, I forget which version of her was staring back at me. 

“ Well, when you look at me like that, I reconsider it”, I half-joke. 

She smiled softly. A giddiness hidden behind her gaze. Still, she reacted to me as she did when we first met. Though we’d since fallen into a rhythm of comfort, the passion was still there. Still burning strong like the embers of the hearth in our Poenari bedroom. There was always something there. I would never be able to get my fill of her. Not then. Not now. Not ever. “ I’m being serious”, she said.

“ Once or twice. I only think about our children, though. It’s more of a daydream, really. I let my mind wander at the thought...” I excused. Years prior, during our first date, I insisted that I’d closed that chapter of my life. I felt that it was the safe answer. I had my gargoyles. I had my job. I thought it could be enough. How could I have told her, " Of course, if you can miraculously give birth to our deceased children.” 

She leaned in, seemingly captivated. It wasn’t something we talked about often. The wound was still too fresh back then. But when she rested her chin in her palm and blinked up at me with those piercing eyes, I failed to resist. I continued. “ I used to have this silly thought…Maybe I wake up from some dream, open my eyes, and they’re standing at the foot of our bed, all a little older but still needy. Still, little kids. I used to think about what they’d say. How they’d sound”, I pondered.

She smiled warmly at me. The dimples in her cheek imprint the exact spots where I kiss her every single morning. “ It’s not silly. Keep going. What do you think they’d say?”, she hums. 

I let out a long sigh, shoulders loosening. “ Alexandru would tell me some facts he learned about the world. About an animal or a country. Something he just discovered—he loved reading. Petru would accuse him of hitting him earlier. He’d probably skip past me and crawl under you. And Hamda. I didn’t get to know her for long. I imagine she’d be a lot like you. Just…observing. In her own little world, she is special and curious. Maybe even a little mischievous…” I shake my head as if to clear the fantasy away. 

“ No, no. Stay there. Go further. You gotta’ take me to the end of it. I love it when you talk like that…”, she pressed. 

I smiled at the hopefulness in her face. I thought it was endearing how she always juxtaposed our dynamic as teacher and student. She always wanted to know about the world from my perspective, but I’d learned so much from her already. “ From time to time I think about what they’d have been like as adults….”, I hint. 

“ I think Alexandru would be a lot like you. Quiet maybe? What do you think?” she suggests. 

I chuckled defensively, shaking my head. “ I don’t want him to be like me.”

“ That’s because you don’t see what I see...”, she said. I feel her feet sink into my lap from under the table. “ But, go on ”, she urged. 

“ I like to think that Alexandru would be loud—at least when he has to be, especially with the stutter and all. I didn’t want him to be afraid to speak”, I pressed. My tone was more serious than I wanted it to be ….

She nodded quietly, giving me her full, undivided attention. I look away from her to gather my thoughts. “ Alexandru would have loved academia. And…Petru would be the wild card, I think. He was obsessed with swords and fighting. I think he would have been a skilled swordsman. A fighter. But he didn't just love fighting. He was passionate about what he loved—you.” I snorted. She laughed out loud. She saw those visions firsthand, and by then she could see everything. She shared those memories with me like home videos. 

“ And…Hamda”, she trailed off curiously. 

“ The boss”, I joked. 

Her face lit up at the thought. “ I like the sound of that. She would whip all of you into shape”, she laughed. 

We went quiet for a moment, then she muttered, “Your voice to the universe’s ears, right? Or whoever and whatever you subscribe to?” She shrugged. She didn’t push for more in that moment, but instead took another long swig of her drink, looking out to the water. Hook, line, and sinker. I was already in a thought spiral by then. I was so sure that I knew the possibilities of this world. I gave way to a community that defied all physics and logic. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. There are some things in this world that you can only experience once. But I was wrong. So, so wrong. 

Later in the night, we continued watching the waves from our balcony in Dakar. It was very late at night, and we burned through an entire bottle of wine. We hadn’t spoken to each other for hours. A habit we formed when we first met. We knew how to enjoy each other's company, even without speaking. This time, though, we were both thinking. I  knew she was working up the courage to ask me more. Suddenly, she let the words slip quietly to me. “ If I told you that I think that I can get them back, would you let me try?” 

For every excuse I made, she had a rebuttal. For every doubt I voiced, she had a counterargument. It really all came down to fear. This was the one thing I knew that I couldn’t give her. My mind couldn’t grasp how much legwork her magic could do. “ Don’t you think about how unfair it is that we’re here and they’re not?” she asked. That was the final straw. No more debates. We owed it to our children to at least try. 

She anticipated that a viable pregnancy would take a few years, so she decided to stop aging. She was at her ideal health. Minimal drinking, no smoking, healthy diet, working out, and minimal stress. Being a High Witch allowed her this perk, which she used to her advantage. She didn't want to risk waiting too long and falling into perimenopause, which could happen as early as the mid to late 30s in some cases. Key word—some. The added fear-mongering about “Advanced Maternal Age” from human experts didn't make things much easier. Did I think that would happen? No. I knew that it wouldn’t, but human doctors were so finicky about the correlation between age and reproductive health. It was her choice, of course. 

I underestimated the number of detours and pivots that would take place. Amina’s career had morphed into this multi-tiered otherworldly state. She often straddled the line between a miracle worker, an artist, a witch, a teacher, an alchemist, and a scientist. We’d become ships in the night, with her even busier than I was. Ironwood needed her expertise as the headmaster of the potion and herbology department. Naturally, we were being torn in different directions. What little time we had together was spent on working towards an objective. Making a baby. 

She believed she could temporarily heal me. I can’t count how many concoctions she made me drink. Some tasted fairly nice, and others were absolutely wretched. I’d turned into her guinea pig. I couldn’t, and still can’t, digest anything, yet her genius somehow made it so that it all went down smoothly. Nothing came back up. Once again, a master in her field. I had to give her credit for it. 

On the topic of souls, they were still a mystery to me at the time. Amina had to get approval from a witch council to bring our children back to us. As Deborah warned, ethics were always being brought into question. Why should a soul be brought back? In many cases, there was little reason to bring anyone back. We were sure the committee would forbid her, but as it turns out, they have a soft spot for children. 

It would be a two-step process. Get her pregnant and then allow the souls to enter her body. “Soul Regeneration,” Zanto called it. As an expert in mediumship, Zanto was of great value to us. I knew little of the Ins and Outs. What I did know, however, was that it started with a collection of items. Dolls, teething necklaces, toys, clothes, locks of hair, and baby teeth. Anything that could possibly create an energetic charge large enough to call the child back. This could happen nowhere but Poenari. Zanto would help guide the children back into Amina.  It wasn't a guarantee, and it didn't always work. Notably, Amina would have to make it past 4 weeks pregnant before any regeneration could take place. Why? Well, Zanto hadn’t seen it work before a certain point. There was a “sweet spot” for this sort of thing. Witch rules were always so one-off and specific yet also unspecific? I left it to the professionals.

Amina made a habit of roaming the halls of Poenari, collecting the marbles that the gargoyles brought to her over the years. I only knew them to be peace offerings. They’d taken a strong liking to her, eventually becoming more protective than they needed to be. She came around over the years, growing affectionate towards them. One evening, she ran to me with a pouch of the marbles she’d collected over the years. She ran in place, stomping her feet as she tried to find the words. I looked over my laptop, watching her jump and down. “ Do you know what these are ?!?!”, she squealed. 

“ Marbles..??”, I chuckled. 

“ Eyes”, she whispered, pulling one out of the bag. She held it up over her eyeball. They were, in fact, eyes. Brown eyes, yellow eyes. Pupils and all. “ I used this wolf eye on you in my spell. They brought it back, but they found others too. This one is Hamda’s eye”, she pulled another marble out of the bag. Then Petru. Then Alexandru. Each child had a varying shade of brown.

I looked back at the little stone bodies peeping around the corner at us. 

“ Brilliant... Even for them”, I chuckle. 

“ It’s almost like they knew this whole time”, she grinned, rolling them around her hand. “They’re going with the kids' stuff,” she called, taking off down the hall. Her little legion followed her closely. 

For a while, nothing happened. No baby. No heart beat. She had all her parts. A working and healthy uterus. A perfectly regular cycle. Two normal ovaries. It was I who was defective. Every concoction she conjured up was to somehow fix that for a very short window.  As one would imagine, it was no easy feat. Here she was, a woman who had relieved so many other people of their reproductive issues, struggling to have a child to call her own. I blamed myself. She blamed her magic. 

Every now and then, we’d get really close. I’d notice a change in how I felt. We would try again, what followed resulted in... almosts. The almosts hurt us both to the core. The lines were so faint on the pregnancy test that blood work had to confirm it. Too early to take that sigh of relief. Too early for any definitive symptoms, even. A slight change in her chemistry would have prompted me to tell her to see the doctor. One week there would be a positive and the next, nothing.  It wouldn’t take. We couldn’t make it past the 4th week. We’d later find that my DNA damage was causing the issue. In other words, once again, I was the problem. 

Dr. Bach was a willing collaborator in our journey. He was not only a physician but also the leading researcher in vampirism, which meant his expertise was most needed. Amina was attempting to do something no other witch or human had ever done. Creating a live viable embryo from a man who was practically dead. That had to be documented and studied. 

Together, they’d already transformed the research on vampire biology and physiology. 

“ Mr. Tepes, I mean no offense when I say this, but you are no spring chicken. The smoking and drinking stop today. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right. I don’t care if the libations and the tobacco have no direct damage to your heart or lungs. We need to approach this as if you were a mortal man. We need to reverse the DNA damage and improve the quality of the sperm”, Dr. Bach lectured. 

Amina shakes her head. “ I don’t understand. Is this a sperm health issue? Shouldn’t my magic be able to replace whatever is depleted?” she scoffed. 

“ If you’re making a pathway for his body to create live sperm, and you’re only doing it for a very short window, then what’s present at the time of conception needs to be healthy and intact. Creating pathways for pregnancy is one thing. Fixing the damage is the other half of the battle”, he preached.

I can’t even remember how many times I apologized to her. The last thing I wanted was to be the midwife to her suffering. Amina entered a tunnel-visioned state after Dr.Bach left. She left herself no time to grieve or process, insisting, “ Ya’ don’t know what ya’ don’t know.” Somehow, our last almost pushed our attempts into overdrive. There were too many people involved. Too many people waiting. The doctors' appointments were nonstop, and every small change was documented. 

It felt like the entire world knew we were trying, from Zanto to Dr. Bach to the twins, to the married couples we hosted from time to time. Vampires I haven’t spoken to in years sent us flowers and unisex baby clothes. Organic diapers and expensive nipple balms. The pressure was getting worse. Amina was no longer interested in the passion or the excitement of starting a family. She only wanted a result. The longer it took, the more personal she took it. Our breaking point was when Nya announced her first child with Alex. 

The couple broke the news at a family get-together. Alex and Nya had been married for three years and had no issues conceiving. I could hear her heart beating out of her chest when she turned to Amina for her reaction. Amina was happy for Nya. They talked extensively about their children being best friends for life. Amina even started arrangements for a top-of-the-line baby shower to celebrate her friend. But at night, I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. 

After I rummaged through the sound of the squirrel running by our pool, the maid doing her last load of laundry, the low rumble of TikTok playing on our chef's phone, the splat of a cricket landing in the pool, the rustling of a bird in its nest, I finally fine-tune my hearing to the 2nd floor to the far right. In a low, muffled tone, I hear the familiar sniffle of her cries. 

“ Please come back. Please. Come back to me”, she begged. 

I sent the staff home and tried to approach her gently. At first, she insisted that she didn’t want to talk, but I insisted. I owed it to her to be honest. “ Maybe it’s time we took another break?” I suggested carefully.

She was sitting on the closet floor holding Petru’s bonnet. Her eyes and nose were rubbed and raw from the number of times she wiped her face. She was on defense the moment I walked into the closet. 

“ No”, she said defensively. 

I squat down to meet her gaze. “ This is taking a lot out of you right now, Amina”, I soothe. 

“ Well, that’s easy for you to say”, she scoffed as she stood up. I could already see where this was headed. “ You’re not the one who starts fucking bleeding out every time it fails.” 

My brows shoot up from the sharpness of her words. In an instant, she went from wounded to defensive. My mouth tries to find the words before my mind could. I blinked a few times, trying to recalibrate. “ None of this has been easy. I’m just saying it’s really distressing to watch you go through this and not be able to fix it. You’re overworking yourself…”, I warn. 

She dismissively cuts her eyes at me.  “ You didn’t really want this. Not like I wanted it. I should have known when you made all those excuses back in Dakar. I couldn’t take no for an answer,” she muttered under her breath. 

“ Amina”, I warn. 

She continues. “ You have no idea what this feels like. To be so physically attached to this. To be so powerless over this. To know that I’m the one behind how fucked up everything is. I don’t want you to tell me how I didn’t fail. I want this to work”, she sneers.

“ We’ve been trying. I’ve tried, but this isn’t working for Amina. Things are changing between us. I barely see you, and when I do, you’re upset. …”, I sigh tiredly. 

She rolled her eyes. “ All you have to do is stick it in”, she spat. 

I turned towards the entrance, contemplating whether I should leave. I felt myself losing patience. For a millisecond, we just stood there, looking at each other. I was so stunned at the words that left her mouth that all  I could do was squint at her and shake my head in disbelief. “ If I didn’t want this, do you think I would have done all those things that you and our doctors asked me to do?”, I croaked. I run a tired hand over my forehead, trying to calm myself. “ It was my loss too, Amina. Do you think it makes me feel good to hear my wife lose her composure at the end of every month for the one thing I can’t fucking give her? Then all these people are in our fucking business, treating me like a goddamned science experiment. People I haven’t talked to in years are asking me personal questions. Questions they have absolutely NO business asking. Every time I go to an appointment, I'm getting grilled by the doctor for failing to rise to the occasion. You never stopped to think about how that might have made me feel?”, I sneered. The words were bitter in my mouth. Talking to her like that made me hate myself. Truly. 

I noticed her gaze soften, and she pulled back. She lets out a long sigh, wiping a hand over her face. “ Look, I’m sorry…that I didn’t ask you about how you felt in all of this. To answer your question, no, I didn’t think about it. At least not extensively”, she paused. Her eyes dart around the room in panicked desperation. Already so scared that I would shut the whole thing down. “ I just need a little bit more time.  I- It’s a part of the process. We’re getting closer. I can feel it!” she begged. 

“ This isn’t healthy anymore, Amina. You’re becoming a shell of yourself. We’ve been trying for years. I don’t want to disappoint you anymore”, I plead. 

She rolled her eyes dismissively. “ It’s not you. My spells aren't—.”

My temper flares. For the first time ever, I actually shout at her. 

“IT'S ME”!!, I say with my hands out. “ IM FUCKED. ITS ME! THIS IS NOT WORKING!”

She flinched, and I despised it. I heard her heart racing all the way from across the room. Her composure crumbled, and she broke down, sinking back onto the wooden floor. I backed away, as if the distance would give her some relief. It didnt. At the time, I believed that I fucked this whole thing up even more.  

“ I’m sorry…”, I stammer. I sway from one foot to the other. In disbelief that I lost control like that. Control was the onlything I had. It was the only thing that made our dynamic safe. It was the only thing that gave her autonomy. Her face rested in her hands as she curled up, away from me. I wanted to hide from her. I wanted to hide from this. But if I walked away, I knew the damage it would have done. 

I met her at her level, sitting beside her before I pulled her into my lap, bridal style. She didn't try to slink away from me. She just further collapsed into me as if the physical comfort was what she wanted all along. I sunk my face into the top of her soft hair. 

“ I’m sorry”, we said in unison. She sniffled, rubbing her wet cheek into my shirt before leaning back to look at me. “ I didn’t ask how all of this made you feel, did I? I didn’t ask permission to let so many people in. I just let it spread like wildfire”, she hiccuped.

I hated to see Amina upset. We'd never experienced those kinds of issues in our marriage before then. After we talked a bit more, we eventually reached an understanding. She calmed down before she straddled me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “ I just wanted to make this right”, she sighs. 

“ You already made it right. You didn’t fail, Draga", I reassured her quietly. 

I pull her back into me. From my shoulder she mutters in finality. “ Yeah, actually…a break would be good. I’m tired now”, she sniffles. “ I’m tired now…” 

We took a year-long break. During that time, Amina and I opened another dual-owned gallery in Baton Rouge. She sold her highest-selling painting yet and showcased her work overseas. Focusing on Nya’s pregnancy eventually became cathartic for her. She was of great help to her friend, taking her to her doctor's appointments when Alex was away on business. We were ecstatic when we were offered to be the godparents to her little girl. Alex was so enamored by his daughter that he lost his train of thought when he looked at her. I remember those days fondly. We offered to help, but we knew the couples had large families, which meant no shortage of extra hands. 

We circled back to the idea of parenthood and agreed to give it one last shot, working towards our goal discreetly. We fine-tuned the process. I continued abstaining from smoking and drinking, as did she. There wouldn’t be the continued testing, however.  We detested anything that would stress us both out. 

I turn to her. “Maybe our mistake was allowing all of this to feel closer to building a machine than to making a life”, I commented in bed. I flipped through a book about postpartum hormonal shifts.  Amina placed Hamda’s mittens under her pillow before fluffing it. 

She shrugged slowly. “Aren’t we all machines in a sense?”

I grimace, closing the book and setting it down on the nightstand. “ That’s debatable”. 

She turned to look at me on her side. “ Is it? Our hearts are electricity. Our brains are the computer. Our muscles, the engines…” She yawns. 

“ Eyeing this so closely, I feel, is taking away from the process of bringing a child into the world. The spontaneity of the way it comes to us.  Up close, of course, it will seem as if there is no progress. When’s the last time we really took our time?” I suggested. 

Her eyebrow raised curiously, smiling at what I’m sure were old memories. “ If I let you take your time, I’d be stuck in Poenari for days, and we have jobs ”, she countered. 

I shook my head. “ Is that so horrible?” 

She goes quiet, looking back at the tv. She was already becoming invested. I heard her heart quicken by a few beats. Excitement. “ You know, I think you need an attitude adjustment. You need some of your humility back”, I teased quietly, flipping through the book. 

Her head swung to me in surprise. “Excuse me ?!”, she chuckled. 

I smirked. “ Oh yes. That’s what’s been missing”, I nod to myself. 

Amina crossed her arms. “I’ve got plenty of humility.” 

I shrugged. “ Of course you do. I'm simply referring to the kind you get from my hand”, I hint. I hold my palm up, turning the back of it towards her. Her eyes grazed over my knuckles and then back at me.

She abdicated, needing the break much as I did. With so many residences, there would be times when I’m in one country and she’s in the other. So we left the next morning. We hadn’t even been fully inside the Poenari before I started peeling her clothes off. A mouthful of her couldn’t even satiate me, I was on her in a way that bordered on concerning the moment our feet touched marble. I relieve staff for most of the day. But I knew my wife with my hands tied and my eyes covered. I knew her limits. I’ve been in her head. It didn't scare me in the slightest. 

It was as if we were under some spell. Candlelight dinners were flipped in seconds. She'd end up crawling on the table while trays of food shattered to the floor. We left dinner picking gelatin from our hair. We couldn't leave each other's sight. Every single word we spoke was a confession. I'd grown addicted to the raw honesty I pulled from her in those heightened states. 

We flitted through the halls like newlyweds. Ancient memories blended with new ones until I had trouble remembering what century I was in. It was as if we were retracing old steps. Spilling old secrets. We frequented the places we used to spend time together. There was finally nowhere to go. No appointment to rush to. I took my wife in the old way. Before, time seemed to quicken. Before facial recognition and speeding cameras. Before, life seemed to run a mile per minute. A slow, measured, and all-consuming pace. 

Then spring came, the snow melted from the mountains, and the ice stuck to the edges of Poenari was washed away by the sun. Something had changed. What was supposed to be two weeks of retreat turned into another three. 

The two lines on her test read "pregnant." Then came the blood test. Yet again, Pregnant. At her official appointment, she was five weeks along. Even more of a shock, the fetuses looked larger than they should have been. I nearly passed out when I saw the three gestational sacs on the screen. 

All of those sessions with Zanto had worked. Everything finally worked. Triplets, as rare as they were, were no coincidence. Somehow. Amina was able to bring our children back.

Amina spent most of her pregnancy in Poenari. She couldn’t get quite as comfortable anywhere else. I ensured that Amina had the best care, providing her with a private obstetrician familiar with supernatural maternal care. This way she’d receive a personalized treatment plan with frequent communication throughout the week.  We were on the precipice of something extraordinary. Her pregnancy was in a league of its own. It was yet to be determined if the children would possess any of my vampiric abilities. 

At that time, I never knew a human being could sleep so much. Symptoms-wise, her pregnancy was fair. Morning sickness was rare, and heartburn was strictly associated with red sauces and oranges. Otherwise, she got on pretty well, all things considered. There was no getting around the fact that a triplet pregnancy was high risk. I hated to be the one to give lectures on the importance of slowing down, but it had to be said. I loved seeing her waddle to the bathroom in the mornings to fix her hair even though she wasn’t going anywhere. She was gorgeous all the way to the end. No matter how much she complained about her swollen ankles or fingers. No matter how much she missed her old T-shirts. She was stunning. 

Over time, it became clear that she would not make it to a “full-term” twin pregnancy. Her discomfort was constant in those last weeks. With their lungs and brains fully developed, our children wouldn’t need extensive medical intervention, her doctor felt. A decision was made to schedule an early cesarean at 28 weeks. 

I found the procedure fairly barbaric. Sure, I’ve had some fairly brutish moments over the past few hundred years, but this was different. The pushing of the organs, the separating of flesh, the digging. I used research to quell my anxiety, but in the end, it did little to settle me. And to think that in my time, these procedures were a last-ditch effort to save the child and not the mother. Long ago, I had night terrors of having to make that choice. Having to choose between my son and my wife. I couldn’t imagine a worse fate for our family.

A few weeks before her cesarean, Amina had been wanting to see her aunt for quite some time. Aunt Sheila was getting older and trips over 30 minutes were irritating for her arthritis. Both of us worked out a plan so that Amina could see her before her due date. 

Having to show up at an 80+-year-old woman’s house and compel her and her family to let me take her to Wallachia via shadow travel was a testy situation. Ever since that day Sheila threatened me, I’ve been steering clear of her. I wasn’t entirely sure if she even liked me, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure either—-according to her thoughts. She thought I’d take care of her niece, though, at the very least. 

“ My lord. What in the world? What is this place?”, Sheila gasped, looking around at the grand paintings. I step back from my protective embrace around her shoulders. 

I waited until her gaze met mine again and compelled her. “ Right now you don't care about this place. You have no curiosity about where you are. Your only objective is to see Amina. You think the gargoyles are puppies. When you leave this place, your memory will be that you visited Amina at her house in New Orleans.” 

A dazed look settled over her tired eyes, and she repeated the command back to me. “I don’t care about this place. I think the gargoyles are puppies. I’m visiting Amina in the 8th ward…” she slurs back. 

“ I drove you to visit Amina”, I add. 

She slowly nodded, still under my control. “ You drove me to visit Amina. 

She broke out of her daze and quietly followed me to the bedroom. Amina was lying in bed reading a book. When she heard her aunt round the corner, she was already beaming, attempting to get up. 

“Oh, Don’t you get up, Mimi. My goodness, have you got yourself in a situation?” Aunt Sheila cooed as she closed in on her niece. 

The two embrace. Amina mouthed a “thank you” over her shoulder as she nuzzled into her aunt. I smiled at the exchange.  Sheila pulled away, and Amina lifted her shirt over her belly and pressed her aunt's hand to it. 

“ Girl, you’re about to pop. Three?”, Sheila hissed dramatically. 

Amina just laughed. “ Yeah. I can’t even believe myself sometimes…” she said. 

“Sleep while you can”, Aunt Sheila joked. 

“ That’s what everybody has been telling me”, Amina sighed. 

One of the gargoyles runs in, circling the bed posts. I try to coax them out of the room. “ You two sure are animal lovers. Bless your hearts. One moe' thing to do", Aunt Sheila observed. Her tone slightly borders on judgy. 

“ Already starting with the shade”, Amina snorted. Sheila smirks, knowing her niece caught that. “ We’ll have plenty of help.” 

“ Good. Good. And how ya’ feeling?” said Sheila as he leaned in to press her hand to the side of Amina’s cheek. 

Amina shrugged, but I could see the tears forming in her eyes. Aunt Sheila grabbed her niece's hand. I quietly left the room so the two of them could talk. At the time, she was terrified about going under the knife. Multiple times per day, I had to diffuse her growing anxiety about her due date. Now that she was going to be a mother, her own mortality had come into question so many times. She herself was motherless now. She didn’t want that for our children. I knew that a visit from Aunt Sheila would settle her. They spent the afternoon in deep conversation, which I tuned out for the sake of their privacy.

A few weeks later, we found ourselves in the operating room. My fingers wrapped firmly around Amina's hand as she looked up at the OR lights. She was strapped to the operating table with one free arm. I briefly slipped the surgical mask down on my face to press a kiss to her forehead. She was shivering all over. Dr.Ngozi said it was a side effect of the epidural. The needle was so long that I had to actively look away. Everything about women’s health was so overly complicated and harsh. One would think they’d have found an easier way to achieve the same result. 

I remember the indescribable look on her face when she stared back at me. No tears. Just pure fear.  It was her first surgery in her life.  All she could manage was “I wish my mom were here.” I tried my best to soothe her, but I was just as terrified as she was. During the entire pregnancy, neither one of us could fully relax. I could feel her worry from the other end of the house daily. Then suddenly it had all come to a head. 

I heard the first cry. Dr. Ngozi held each twin over the sterile field so we could see their faces. Amina was as quiet as a church mouse. At the time, it didn’t register with her that she was a mother. All she could focus on was the fact that she’d been cut open, and I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t want to leave her here or allow her mind to part ways from her body.  I stayed seated beside her as the nurses ran tests. 

Hamda was placed in my arms. There was a pink fitted hat on her head, and I remember how perplexed I was at her size. She was so tiny that I was afraid I’d break her if I held her too tight. I stared at her little face, cranky and fussy. I bounced her softly, lulling her to the sound of my voice. She opened her big, dark eyes, squinting in the OR light. They roll around the room, introspective, as she calms down. 

Amina holds our sons in each of her arms. Her eyes swam from one face to another. She can't believe they're real. She was quietly trying to verify who was who between the two of them.  We shared the same look. Disbelief. I looked down at Hamda, who was now sucking her fingers quietly as she fell back to sleep. It had been so long since I felt my heart again. Their presence had wounded something in me. Opened something in me that had long closed. It’s pain and love coexisting. I shouldn’t have been given a chance to do it over… but I was. 

 https://pandora.app.link/rMrHOulHn4b

In the quiet of the recovery room, sometime around midnight, all three of them were wide awake. Their tiny eyes blinked around the room, mixed up on their nights and days. Amina sat in her hospital bed staring at Hamda and Petru inspecting their tiny fingernails. Their feet weren’t much wider than the pads of my thumbs. It almost felt wrong for something so sweet and so defenseless to be born into a world like this one. 

The tears finally hit her then, in the dark. The realization fell over her like a heavy blanket. That they were, in fact, her children. Children she grew and made from scratch. That our lives would be changed forever. In a sense, who we were before was gone now. Something of the past. The future belonged to them. Priorities shift when our eyes meet. “ Thankyou”, I cry. “Thank you. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Nothing can prepare anyone for how much space such a tiny human can take up in your life. Let alone three. With each passing month, the decision to leave my forward-facing position at my company grew stronger. The triplets were simply a handful. Even with hired help, they were a handful. Even the gargoyles have trouble keeping up with them. They weren't regular children. They were advanced. They hit milestones well before they were supposed to. There were little things that tipped us off to how different they were. They were talking early, walking early, taller than other children their age. Their hand-eye coordination was well beyond what would be considered appropriate. Dr.Bach would stop by to run a few tests every few months. His hypothesis was that they were already displaying vampiric traits in secret. He found a collection of toys stuck to the ceiling in one of the watch towers. It was easy to think that gargoyles were doing it at first. I’ll admit I had my dismissive moments. 

What truly confirmed their true nature was when they got into my stash. The three of them had worked together on a secret plan at just 18 months old. They came running into the study with their hands and mouths covered in red. Amina screamed, checking them for injuries. 

They led us to the absolute mess they made. Bloody handprints stained the walls and carpet, and their footprints were outlined on the marble floor. Hamda walked to the edge, licking it before a trail of blood could slink to the floor. They never asked for it again. We let Dr. Bach know, and he warned us that there may come a time when they would request blood. Neither Amina nor I was ready for that day. 

They eventually had a growth spurt, a tricky facet of childhood I had long forgotten. There were groans of “I'm hungry” every hour. We offered a multitude of foods, including yogurt pouches, crackers, fruits, and cheese. It was as if they couldn't get full enough. I vividly remember filling each of their sippy cups with blood from the canisters I kept in a separate room. Amina seemed terrified, unsure if it would work, but at her wit's end. They took to it immediately, and the whining stopped. We had finally figured out what had been missing from their diet. The growth spurt that ensued afterward had our heads on a swivel.

At age two, they would have periods where they would sleep half the day and then barely sleep at all. Their habits would change monthly. Amina and I tried everything to get them down. Then the next month they'd sleep from 7pm to noon. We lined up numerous doctors' appointments, and to no avail, they were perfectly healthy on all fronts. Dr. Bach suggested that as they grew older, their sleeping patterns would change. They wouldn't have to sleep as much as a normal human, but would certainly need more than a vampire. 

I eventually decided to step away from my work, relinquishing my title as CEO while still profiting as the Founder and Chairman Emeritus. This would cut my work down to five hours per week, only stepping in to make major decisions for Meridian Property Group. New ventures or acquisitions would only require my approval signature. My main goal is to focus on long-term investments, succession planning, and major acquisitions. Anything too large for the CEO to handle, I would take ownership of. This meant fewer meetings, only needing about 1 every month. Any in-person visits to the office would be reduced to a few times per year. Long story short, the money would make itself. As an international company, it had all the tools it needed to sustain itself. This was my second chance with my children, and I wouldn't miss a moment. Not like before.

Amina was hesitant at first when I posed the idea. I had made it clear to her that I wanted to be the primary parent while she focused on her expanding career. Besides, I wouldn’t be doing it alone. There were so many people ready and willing to lighten the load, from Nya to her aunt Sheila and, of course, Zanto, whom Amina had grown very close to. And of course staff. We had a few nannies on standby.  It took a while for her to fully let go. Eventually, she started taking on more opportunities almost 2 years postpartum. Returning to Manhattan 2 days out of the week to network. 

We found our rhythm as parents. Managing children with growing abilities while still finding time for our own hobbies. During our downtime, we filed through art portfolios, selecting art to feature in one of the galleries. Amina loved to help me pick the artists to feature over dinner. Date nights were still and always would be designated for Fridays. 

Now 4 years old, the triplets are in their last full year with me. I felt proud to say that I taught them most of what they knew. I taught them how to read, how to count, and how to brush their teeth. I taught them their colors and numbers. Of all the things I've accomplished, nothing in this world made me prouder than my own children. 

They’d be starting school next fall, which meant less time with us. I was torn about it. I liked the idea of having a little more time to myself, but when I was away from them, I thought about them constantly. Amina and I had been looking into schools for children like ours. The supernatural world had but so few. 

I designated myself to make breakfast in the mornings. My staff could have done it but I wanted it to be special for the kids. Besides, I'm always the first one up. My morning starts the same as it always does. Hygiene, read over company reports, smoke, then prepare breakfast. The kids were creatures of habit like me, so they had the same thing every morning. Fruit, eggs, meat of choice. Though they had an affinity for bacon more than anything. 

Hamda loves Strawberries, Petru loves Bananas, and Alexandru loves Kiwi. After I get them ready for the day, they sit patiently in the dining room, playing with Legos. I have to re-cook the bacon because I burned it while defusing an argument between Petru and Hamda. Ethiopian Jazz keeps them relatively calm in the morning, lessening the likelihood of any meltdowns. The Melodies sweep through the house from the overhead speakers as I plate up the last of the bacon. 

I round the corner, seeing Hamda press her finger against her sharp little fangs, retracting them into her mouth when she sees the food. They put their toys away as I set the table. A little arm wraps around my leg, which pulls me out of my focus. It’s Alexandru, now the youngest and the neediest. This time around, I'm the favorite, and he's my little shadow in more ways than one. 

“ Sit down.. I'm almost done”, I instruct gently. Alexandru doesn't move an inch until I guide him back to his seat. He fidgets around as expected for a kid his age.  I don’t yell at him when he slides from his seat again and wraps his arms back around my leg. What had I forgotten this morning? Then I realized that I hadn't said good morning to him, nor had I given him a hug. Hugs were big in this house, especially between multiples. The inevitable fights always ended in a truce. A hug was a peace offering. A reset. But they were also how I started the morning. My mind must have been somewhere else. I swept through the morning, going straight into their routine by taking them to the bathroom to fix their hair and guiding them as they brushed their teeth. 

I find that the most trivial and quizzical things matter to a child. The things we forget in adulthood. Of all my children, Alexandru, the one who looked the most like me, had the most gentle heart. I suppose I had one once upon a time, too. Though it's too far away to remember. To be the first face he sees in the morning was surely impactful for someone who had lived only 4 years. I pick him up because that's all he really wanted anyway. I wrap him in a bear hug, swinging him side to side playfully. I feel the vibration of his giggles against my chest and kiss him on the top of his head. “ Good morning, Alexandru,” I muttered into his temple.

Every time I do this, I feel that I am undoing something terrible that happened to me. When I look into his eyes, it makes me wonder how it was so easy for my father to harm me. He knows nothing about the world, yet everything about it. I’m in awe of his curiosity. His gentleness. His receptiveness to the moods of others and his watchfulness.  He is four feet tall of walking truth, a mirror to all that he encounters. He broke me open completely. All of my children have in different ways, I suppose. Maybe this is why people become enraged with children—because their humanity and innocence are a reminder of what they’ve lost or given up. Most of all, they have exposed where I have been most wounded and where I have stopped growing. 

I set him down, and all is well as he climbs back into his seat. Once I've filled their plates, I sit at the table and talk with the kids, cradling a cup of coffee. A ritual older than they realize. As soon as the triplets could sit up by themselves, I’d wake them up, make their bottles, fix myself a cup of coffee and sit in the green room. I’d always believed black coffee to be a dad drink. I want them to be able to say “my dad drinks coffee” with children their age. Or even, “My dad drinks coffee in the morning with me” 

One normal thing. One normal thing to tell their friends along the way. To know they had a father who was as simple as he was complicated. To know that their father wasn’t all that different from most dads who tried. That...I loved them despite how different our family was. Despite how different they would surely become. If there was nothing else in this world they could relate to, they had this. They could turn on the TV and see the dad in the sitcom drinking coffee in the morning and say, “ My dad does that too.” 

“ What did you dream about, Dad?” Hamda asks me. A smile just like her mother's when she beams at me. The question is a testament to how often we talked to them. 

“ Hmm”, I tap the table, looking around. “ I dreamt about your mom coming home.” I smile. 

“ I miss mommy”, Petru says with a mouth full of bacon. 

“ Me too”, Alexandru chimes in. 

“ Me three”, I said. “ Who’s ready to ride the horses today?”

A choir of “Me!” echoed off the walls of the dining room. Some of the smaller gargoyles hung around the table waiting for the triplets' inevitable burst of energy. They seemed to be the only creatures in this house that could tire them out. It created a nice distraction so that I could answer some weekly emails. 

“ What should we do after the horses?” I ask patiently. 

Hamda perks up at the questions. I already knew what she’d say. “ We should play Mancala!” The boys agreed with her, just like her mom. She loved games. 

“ Okay. Mancala. Then what will we have for lunch?”, I chuckle. 

“ Pizza!” the three of them said in unison. I’d been outnumbered. BUT it was Thursday. They’d always wanted pizza on Thursdays. 

“ Petru. You get to pick the movie today”, I remind him. 

“ What movie do you want to watch, Petru?” Alexandru asks. 

He thinks for a moment, mouth smeared with the ketchup he requested for his eggs. “ Hmm…Ratatouille”, he says astutely, as if we hadn’t watched that very same movie last month. Alexandru and Hamda groaned because he’d always choose from the same 4 movies. Ratatouille, Spy Kids, Brother Bear, or Rugrats in Paris. But fair is fair, and the kids loved the sentient street rat subplot more than anything. 

After breakfast, I put away the dishes and got the kids ready for their horse lessons, which last all but three hours. As Hamda requested, we all played Mancala before lunch. Demitri ran and got pizza for the kids. They jumped up and down in excitement as he passed the box to one of the nannies. Pizza and then a movie before nap time. 

After nap time they had their snack before going to their foreign language lessons and any of their other extracurricular’s before dinner. They were nearly fluent in Romanian and Arabic, but still chipping away at Spanish. Amina said that I could be intense when I set a goal for the kids. I took every parenting book that I read very seriously. Before they were born, one of the books expressed the importance of teaching a child a new language before age 7. I started with teaching them the basics from the moment they could form a sentence.

Amina had also dedicated time to learning Romanian and had since moved on to Arabic. It was beautiful to hear her speak in what was technically her mother tongue. Learning foreign languages had opened up a whole new world to her. She was reading from manuscripts brought to Poenari by her past life with proficiency. 

As our day wound down, the chefs worked on dinner while I helped the kids get clean for bed. I braided Hamda’s hair into two pigtails to make it easier to style in the morning. She always fussed about it and tonight was no different. After dinner, we waited up for Amina. 

Amina’s keys jiggle in the doorway, and the kids stampede her. “HII!!”, she squeals as they jump on her and tackle her to the floor. She picked each of them up into bear hugs, kissing their smiling faces. 

“ Alright, Alright. Let her breathe”, I chuckled as she fought to get off the floor. The staff takes her luggage, but I go for her coat and hang it in the coat closet. Before she could get settled, she was hit with a wall of questions. 

“ Did you sell a lot of paintings?” 

“ Do you see any tigers in Thailand?!”

“ Did you bring me back any dessert?” 

“ Yes, no, and yes”, she chuckled. She opened up her tote and pulled out three packs of Thai candy. The kids started to jump around as they held up their bags of sweets. 

“ Anybody who wants candy tonight is going to be brushing their teeth a second time”, I warn. They didn’t care, they raced to the living room to open their snacks. 

“ Honey. I’m hooomee....”, Amina sang in a teasing manner, arms outstretched and waiting for me. I didn’t watch much TV in the ’50s, but I did know about I Love Lucy. She joked that I was a ’50s housewife. I never really minded it. In fact, I found it pretty funny because a couple of hundred years ago, it was starkly different. I don’t think I would have minded it back then if I could have done so without judgment. 

I pull her in by the waist, slotting my lips over her own. All these years later, she’s still not immune to my touch. I felt the same way about her. The tension in her body melts, and her mouth opens ever so slightly, giving me permission to deepen the kiss. She’s sweet against me. I don’t know whether it was the candy she ate before she got here or just her. The closer she presses into me, the more I believe it’s just her. Her essence alone. If it were a trap, I’d lose every time. 

Her hand sinks into the back of my head. It unravels whatever civility is left in me as I lean forward, leaning her back as I dive into her mouth. A giggle comes up but fizzles out when my hands press into the globe of her backside. 

We rush at the speed of two people, governed by three very nosy children. Rushes and hushed and hard. Her hand reaches under my shirt. Pulling me closer and closer until the inevitable chorus of “mama” and “Papa” subdued us both. She pulls away first, muttering something about bedtime. I peck her between every other word, over and over until we hear tiny footsteps running in our direction. 

“ Papa”, Petru called. “ Can we watch another movie?” he asks hopefully. I’m so eager for my wife that I let the kids have it. I knew it wouldn’t be long before they crashed. I hear them run back to the couch, crumpling more candy wrappers. She steals a kiss before clicking down the hallway in her stilettos. I’m not ashamed to say that I watched her leave before I was pulled back into the living room by Hamda. 

Amina reemerged about 5 minutes later, hair pinned up and hands washed. She joined the kids and me on the couch. Every single one of them scooted onto her, leaning against her. Petru finally chose something different, a movie called “The Parent Trap” from our endless collection of physical media. Movies were the only screen time we allowed the kids, and they cherished movie nights more than anything.

Stolen glances across the couch say what we can’t. Thank god the kids don’t last long- maybe 15 minutes before they drift off to sleep. They’re all splayed across Amina like a litter of puppies, squirming every time she moves. Eventually, we carried them off to their bedrooms. I balance two kids on my shoulders, and Amina handles Hamda. We put them in their respective rooms, closing their doors quietly.

Amina and I tiptoed down the hall and the stairs until we got back to the living room. We pick up the stuffed animals, puzzle pieces, and board games from the floor. The maids close out their shifts, leaving the quietness of Poenari to ourselves. I pour her a tall glass of wine, and one for myself. 

Any kiss after we were alone was just indulgent. The perfect word to describe this marriage. I don’t believe in too much of a good thing. But then again, I never really have. I don’t question just how much we enjoy each other's company. I don’t care why we do. Be it from chemistry, astrology, or instinct. We just do.

We end up sitting on our bedroom floor, door closed and terrace doors wide open. With our backs against the bed, we flip through her father's old CD collection. The soft notes of Al Green flit between the empty spaces of the master bedroom. Nights usually ended like this. A drink or a smoke or both. We made a vow to always set aside time every day. To this day, it hasn't changed. 

“ So. How much did it go for?” I prompt. 

She lands on the Marvin Gaye section of the collection. 

“ Mm… 1,635,000 Thai Baht”, she hummed casually. Clearly a mild day for her. I do the calculation in my head. 50 thousand American dollars. I would expect nothing less from Thai nobility. 

“ Did he like it?” I ask.

She nodded enthusiastically. “ He cried. Which I was really surprised by, because portraits aren’t really my strong suit, but they insisted he wanted me. He said I really captured her spirit”, she smiled fondly. “ He obviously doesn’t know that she visited me and told me what to put on the canvas”, she snorts. Amina had found a way to merge her artistic gifts and her spiritual gifts. As it turns out, spirits could be pretty particular about how they're depicted in art. 

“ Well, did she like it?” I ask in a hopeful tone.

“ She said it was fine and left.” She shrugged, taking a last swig of her wine. 

“ I consider that a job well done”, I quipped, pulling her into my lap. She pulled the cigarette from behind my ear and offered the end to me. I light it with the tip of my finger. She takes a few drags before placing it in the corner of my lips. I look at the doorway, noting the blankets stuffed under the door. We only smoke here. We don’t let them see, per my request. 

“Where’d you pick up that nasty habit ?” I joke, turning my head to exhale the smoke. 

She snorts playfully. “There’s this guy…” 

It starts raining, and I hear her yawn. I knew then that we wouldn’t be up for much longer. I couldn’t blame her, though. I’m sure the jet lag was getting to her.

She starts. “ One of the K-12 schools called me back. They seemed really eager to have the kids. The dean kept going on and on about the diversity of the students. You know, at first, I thought she was talking about race, but then she started listing all these different creatures. Werewolves, elves, orcs, Minotaurs. I don’t know when any of this will finally feel normal”, she sighs.

The things that go bump in the night have children of their own. It’s not often that it happens, but it did happen. Until a few short years ago, it never happened for vampires. Our children were one of a kind. It brought us both great pride and great worry. Parenting them was a learning curve. I shake my head, feeling the worry seep in before any of the excitement could. “ Where is this school?” I ask curiously. 

She perked up. “ It’s hidden like ironwood. They’ll need portals to get to and from”, she says.

I frown. “ We could always homeschool”, I suggest. 

Amina’s expression flattened as she shook her head at me. “ They need to be around kids their own age if they’re going to have any sense of normalcy. Playdates at Nya’s and with their cousins aren’t enough. They need to be socialized, Vlad”, she warned gently. 

“ Is there anything normal about our lives?? They certainly won’t have a normal one..”, I counter. 

She playfully rolls her eyes. “ You’re scared to let go. Admit it”, she teased. “ With the triplets enrolling in school…Haven't you thought about putting the suit back on? I think some time to do your own thing will be good for you. You do an awful lot for all of us.” 

I scoff. “ If you saw how big a 4-year-old Minotaur was, you wouldn’t want that little shit around your kids either.” 

Amina’s jaw drops. “ OH my god???” she blubbers. “ Oh my god, you’re….terrible”, she cackled. 

“ What?!” I ask. 

She slaps my chest. “ I would say racist, but that wouldn’t be the right word. The word, I think, would be species—st,”  she huffs, trying not to hold back a laugh. 

I roll my eyes playfully, taking another long hit of my cig. “ I don’t want the kids hurt…is all”, I explain. 

She turns around, straddling me to get a good look in my eye. “ Getting hurt is a part of life, Vlad. I think you need to be more concerned about our kids hurting somebody else’s kids. They are very smart and cerebral, like you. If their abilities continue to develop, they’ll have a lot of unchecked power that they’ll have to learn how to handle in social settings. Being around other kids will teach them the importance of self-control and patience. Especially patience with people who are different from them”, she pleads sweetly. “ Besides, I thought you liked having something to do. Ya’ know? Having something else to think about other than doctors' visits, and horse riding lessons and who’s leaving crumbs in the bed.” 

I pause for a beat, thinking. “You… may be right”, I sigh tiredly. I knew I’d already lost this battle. School taught children how to be functional adults. There was no way around it. I pass the cig back to her, turning my head to exhale my smoke. I caught a glimpse of a handmade Father’s Day card sitting on the TV mantle behind us. “I have plenty to do between the kids and the galleries. If nothing else, I’ve had a lot of time to grapple with what I was put on this earth to do, and honestly, I think I’m just meant to be a dad. That’s my job”, I confess. 

Her gaze softens as she presses the flat of her hand against my cheek. I already see the tears forming in her eyes. She’d been so tender-hearted since she became a mom. She could cry at the drop of a hat—as the Americans say. I was the same way now, too. It left us both so surprised by how children could deepen our capacity to love one another. 

She leans over to kiss me on the cheek. “You really are the best daddy.” She begins to trail a line of kisses from my cheek all the way to my mouth. 

“ And you take really, really, really good care of your wife”, she mutters against my skin. 

I expect her to turn away, but she deepens the kiss, settling the seam of her dress pants at my crotch. Soft nips at my bottom lip put my body on alert. As she pulls away slowly, she uses her left hand to pop the buttons on my shirt. Starting at the bottom, she unfastens each button while watching for my reaction. She takes a long drag of her cigarette with her slender manicured nails, making no move to deter the smoke from my face as she reaches the last button at the top. 

“ I should take good care of you too, huh?” she asks innocently. Her tone isn’t doing much to hide the intentions of her face. I can feel arousal begin to course through my body.  There were a lot of things I loved about my wife. Her resilience, her empathy, her motherhood, her power, her weaknesses. But at the top of the list was her unwillingness to pull her punches. It’s no surprise I like it when she makes it hurt. 

I’m staring too long and too hard. She tilts her head patiently. She was clearly waiting on an answer. “ Yes”, I mutter quietly. I’m perfectly still. I don’t want any sudden movement to ruin the momentum of this moment. 

So when you straddle him, it’s like he melts under you and into the couch. Letting you feel how strong and hot he is under his shirt as you run your hands up his body, over his shoulders, and behind his head with fingers in his short curls that you use to steer his pretty face back to yours because you caught his eyes dipping to how pretty you look sitting on him. Yet Jack isn’t reaching to touch, almost like he’s waiting for permission, so you settle your hands over his on the cushions to help him familiarize himself with the curve of your thighs, hips, and waist as you kiss his mouth and suck in his raspy, little grunt when you adjust yourself on his lap. There goes his dick twitching again, right at the center of your leggings where you feel damp because it turns you on knowing how easy Jack is for you...

“You wanna fuck me, baby?” The words slip out of you so simple and saccharine and it’s funny watching how it makes Jack’s brain short circuit. His eyelids fall low and his lips part but another desperate and quiet noise escapes them before he bites his lip when you grind on him now. His hands tremble for a second when they linger at the small of your back, his thumb brushing a bit of skin beneath your shirt. His hips tilt up involuntarily at the mere feel of you, at the sound of your voice. “Look at you. You want me to ride you, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jack gives, all yearning and maybe a little orgasmic, too, like he’d come in his damn boxers if you kept moving against him like this. That was a fun idea but…it’s more fun to watch his pupils dilate and let in all the light from the halo he sees over your head as you bounce yourself a little on his dick. Mesmerized by his dream woman fucking him into the sweetest stupor as he hangs on by a thread, fingertips pulling gently at the bare flesh of your thighs before it’s your hips and then your bottom because he’s whining for you to slow down or else—“I’m gonna come. Baby…wait.”

You’ve already come yourself and you’re working on your second and the sheer thought of Jack spilling his warm, goopy cum in you as you make him fuck it deeper when you grind on him makes you come again. Hard. Hands on his face and your forehead to his as you close your eyes and let it take hold of you, feeling his warm breath kiss your lips as he pants and abruptly gives in, too. The spasms of your pussy milking him and sharp, little moans sending him over the edge, no doubt. His dick presses in so good that you feel it at the bottom of your tummy as he purrs an aching, “Oh, fffuck,” to your cheek and you’re certain you’ll both make a detour to CVS for a Plan B before you grab coffee and breakfast in the morning. But for now, you listen to Jack breathe your name and grip your body all over because he’s looking for the best place to get a firm grip on you and rip you off of him because he’s whimpering.

But he’s still hard in you so…

“Mmhmm. Come in this pussy,” you coach him sweetly, your knees sinking into the cushions as you angle yourself atop him to rock against him slower. Hips moving on instinct, chasing what feels too good, soaking every inch of him as you find a rhythm that leaves you both almost breathless. No space between you and what little is left is just enough to let the mess you’ve created together start to drip to the couch and seep a squelching sound into the room that your moans swallow soon after. His and your pleasure wrapping around each other and Jack all but emptying himself when he comes again in minutes. Body locking up under you and muscles trapping you against him with heavy arms, a cocoon of warmth and slight sweat and quick pulses that you feel in more than one place…your lips trace one of them as you kiss his neck and whisper, “That’s my baby...mnhh, that’s it.”

God, you could listen to his airy, little groans for you all night, especially when they break even further just from you moaning softly, “Who does this dick belong to?” next to his ear. Jack couldn’t groan something along the lines of “yours, i-it’s yours” fast enough. But they turn into snores soon after as you both crawl into bed and let him blanket you when you fall into a deep, dark sleep that crashes into the glaring sun too soon. Minimal hangover, sore muscles, but Jack’s arm over your waist and mouth between your shoulder blades with lazy kisses is a lovely alarm clock. No more Merlot for a while…maybe.

You were just passing through. The longer stretch of the trip was still six hours ahead of you, traveling upstate in your used sedan that you finally paid off a month ago. 

This short stop was for gas, dinner, and maybe a beer because your car doubled as your hotel room the last few nights since you saw no point in wasting a hundred bucks on a bed when your backseat and blanket did the trick just fine. But it was a bit much on your back…a beer or two would help.

The bar you found was a few miles from the run-down gas station where you filled up and grabbed handfuls of bags of chips, Little Debbie snacks, Gatorade, a gallon of water, and a couple hot dogs. Dinner tonight and breakfast when the sun rose the next day. Killing two birds with one stone and saving money and time? A win-win-win.

But the beer at the tiny dive was nearly seven bucks…seven bucks. The bartender seemed to turn his hairy nostrils up at you asking him to verify the price. You couldn’t name this place on a map and, no, you didn’t have one but this small, dusty town seemed to be all on one road so what the hell? You fished through your wallet and found a few singles that you could use and the rest would go on your card but you hated to use it when every dollar counted at this point. 

Those remaining three bills could go towards gas, another hot dog, or a new pair of sunglasses from the dollar store since the ones you hit the road with fell off your face and into the river you were peering at your reflection in when you pulled over to ask a pedestrian in a different town how to get back on the interstate from there. That’s what you get for wanting to rest your weary eyes with a picturesque view of burbling waters and lush greenery instead of cracked asphalt and neon signs.

“I’ll pay for it. Put it on my tab, Steve,” a voice wafted over your left shoulder and you almost flinched. It was close, or rather he was close, the voice a kind of deep, coarse, melody that snatched your attention from your wallet as you whipped around to see the man who had generously paid for your Corona.

He was towering over you as you sat on your barstool with his hands in his dark jeans pockets, his arms concealed in a black, leather jacket that didn’t really do much to hide his biceps, or his chest that nearly strained against his navy t-shirt. Two thin, silver-plated dog tags on his silver chain necklace graced his thick neck, his Adam’s apple present as he cleared his throat when your eyes caught his, his grayish, stubbled jaw clenching before his pink lips grew into a soft smile that touched his brown eyes. You noticed the crinkle around them like he was much older than you or just tired like you, but either way, you smiled back and said, “Thank you.”

There was a hesitancy to your voice that didn’t outweigh the politeness in it because you didn’t believe in meeting kindness with rudeness, but you weren’t a dummy, either. You were a young woman on the road and on her own and that meant virtually anything could go wrong. For that reason, you kept a Smith & Wesson 640 under your seat when you drove or tucked it into the pocket of your denim jacket that you wore now. You could feel the weight of it on your left side as you slipped your wallet into the other pocket on your right and watched this man slip onto the barstool next to you.

He had a casual look about him, his strong-looking thighs spread wide—the muscles apparent even in the heavy denim—as he placed his right hand on the right one and his left elbow on the bar before he grabbed one of the two Corona bottles Steve had sat on black napkins in front of you both. The man tipped it to you before he took a swig, his lips glistening a bit afterward with the liquid before he licked them and smiled again, a soft, reserved one because maybe he noticed your smile wasn’t as big as his. But you still grinned as you took your beer now, too, and enjoyed a few icy cold swallows that made your chest feel nice and warm before you raised the bottle in the air a little as a silent cheers back.

“You’re not from around here,” the handsome stranger stated. And yes, he was handsome. A little too easy on the eyes because he made it difficult to pull your eyes away from him as he kept his gaze on you like you were some heavenly body that descended from space and landed right in this bar before him. Made you glance around the dive bar then, at the rustic wood floors and tables. The cream-colored (or maybe it used to be white) jukebox crooning a scratchy rendition of “Don’t Be Cruel” by Billy Swan. The one small, plasma screen TV mounted in the corner of two walls blaring the local news. And the glowing beer signs littered on the rest of the wall space highlighted some interesting characters. Mostly men, mostly in leather like him, and mostly older. Like him. But he had a look about him like he didn’t belong here, either. A bit too clean and polished, his auburn, salt, and pepper hair cut too neat, his skin too moisturized instead of weathered, and even his voice too soft where the chatter around you was rough, grumbling, and in some corners, boisterous.

But he didn’t seem soft…actually, he seemed very aware of the way your fingers flexed on your lap when you weren’t taking sips of your beer. You weren’t reaching for anything in particular but, of course, you would if you had to. And he looked like the kind of man who knew how to protect himself, too. Made you wonder what he was hiding in that snug, leather jacket of his.

“I’m not…just here for tonight,” you replied and he nodded his head. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you from around here?”

He smirked at that and brought his hand up from his lap to rub at the scruff on his chin. Didn’t take his eyes off you and for some stupid reason, that made you twitch. Not your fingers this time, though. You looked away and at your beer that was a swallow from being empty and you saw from the corner of your eye this man wave over Steve to give you another one. He brought two and the man tilted his head back a bit to finish off the beer he was working on to catch up to you. His neck had muscles that lead to his collarbones just peeking above the rim of his shirt, those muscles moving with his sips and you felt yourself lick your lips. Um, yikes. You yanked your eyes away again to enjoy your second beer on the house as his pleasant, raspy voice cooed from your left, “This is my hometown but I live in Pittsburgh. Just visiting my folks for the holidays.”

That made you take a glimpse at him again with slightly widened eyes as you rested your elbows on the bartop. “Shit,” you whistled. “I forgot Thanksgiving is this week.”

It was Tuesday and the holiday was this Thursday but that hardly registered to you because you weren’t here to see family nor on your way to do that, either. You weren’t sure where you were headed, actually…somewhere in Rhode Island, Chicago, or maybe Maine…anywhere that wasn’t Alabama, to be honest, and very far from it. 

“Not close with your folks?” The handsome stranger asked as he held his beer to his lips. Almost like he paused himself to hear you speak, his eyes on you again, and, really, they had never left. He seemed fascinated with you and a part of you was thawing to the fact that maybe it was because you were a breath of fresh air in this sausage fest of a bar and maybe his family, too. You used to hate forcing a smile on your face at family functions with your ex during the holidays when you’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

But the other part of you still shrugged off his question as you sipped your beer and looked ahead of you at the wall of polaroid pictures behind the bar. A lot of them yellowed with purple sharpie writings in the white space that used to be black ink, you were sure. Groups of guys and some women smiling, holding up pitchers of beer, shooting pool, but you didn’t see a pool table in here now. You just saw this man who was making you a bit warm with his gaze…or maybe it was the second Corona heating up your blood. You spoke slowly because you didn’t want to accidentally reveal some shit that wasn’t his business just because you may or may not be getting a buzz.

“Not really. I like to move around a lot. On my way to my next spot come mornin’.”

“Where to?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Are you on the run?”

“You always ask people you just met this many questions?”

He chuckled at that. A hardy one that made him hang his head with a little shake before he lifted his eyes to look up at you with a smirk. He wagged his finger at you. “No. No, I don’t, actually. I’m just curious…you can probably tell from the look of this place that people like you don’t walk through the door often.”

“People like me?”

“Beautiful women, yes.” 

There it was. You were waiting for it. All this sweet talk, if you could even call it that, was to butter you up for the impending onslaught of compliments to hopefully coax you out of your panties. That is, if the beers he was intending to feed you didn’t soften you up enough. It made you set your bottle down onto the bar with a clank as you clapped and wringed your hands together in an almost pleading gesture, but you were not about to beg this man for shit.

Instead, you hissed resolutely, “If you think a couple of free beers and pleasantries is all it takes to get me out of here with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

The man’s eyes widened a bit before they settled into a disappointed grimace. But to your surprise, the disappointment didn’t look like rejection but rather…empathy? The fuck?

He held up his hands in defense as he said softly, “I apologize if I came on too strong. I just…I couldn’t imagine walking into a place like this and feeling…comfortable. Just wanted to show some decency.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” you spat but then jumped out of your skin when a roarious cacophony of gruff laughter and fists pounding on tables from someone apparently making a hilarious joke exploded from somewhere behind you. That you could deal with. Kind of snooty bartender you could deal with. Handsome stranger gazing at you with warm eyes that matched the warmth creeping up your nape and spreading into a blush your brown skin wouldn’t reveal? Um…

He breathed out a laugh through his nose before he wiped a big hand over his mouth and stubbly beard. Looked like he was thinking of what to say next to keep you from running away from him but you beat him to the punch. “Thank you for the drinks but I gotta head out. Long drive ahead of me tomorrow.” You went back into your pocket for your wallet to leave those three dollars on the bar as a tip and stood, not bothering to finish your beer as you started to turn and walk away. 

“Wait, hold on,” you heard him utter at your back. You didn’t stop walking, though, pushing the heavy or stuck door open to step into the humid night as you swiveled your head to locate your car. It was a rather small parking lot but it looked a lot different when the sun was out and now the moon was just a slither among scattered, dull stars and one, lone streetlight that flickered like a strobe light. You heard the bar door open and shut again behind you and you rolled your eyes. It could’ve been other patrons stumbling out but you knew when you looked over your shoulder, it would be the handsome stranger man. That should have struck panic through your spine but…it didn’t. He stood there and he didn’t follow you any further and just held out his hand. You saw your pistol resting on it.

You sucked in a gasp as you patted at your jacket pockets and, sure enough, neither of them held your gun, but he did. It must have leapt from your pocket when those noisy patrons jumpscared you before. He wasn’t pointing it but, instead, held it in his palm like an offering to you. You started to begrudgingly walk back to the bar and towards him, staring at his other hand at his side to make sure it didn’t reach anywhere it wasn’t supposed to…taking in his posture that was kind of militant with a slightly wide stance, squared shoulders, and chin tilted up a bit as he stared at you, too.

Made you wonder if he’d served, if the dog tags weren't already an indicator, and if this stance was to disarm you because he kept still and compliant even when you stood right in front of him and plucked your weapon from his palm. Even though you appreciated him handing you your gun, it was a bit jarring to see him go from easygoing inside the bar to stoic outside in minutes. You tucked your piece into your pocket and took a step back from him, watching him watch you with those eyes that had an almost playful gleam in them before that now shined with concern.

“I know you’re not at liberty to say, but…if wherever you’re headed requires protection like that,” he tipped his chin towards your jacket pocket, his voice low with hidden worry, “...are you equipped with enough power for the trip?”

Your jaw tried to drop but you clenched it and inhaled a sharp breath to steady yourself and keep from blurting, “I do not need your help.”

Because any more favors from this man might make him think you owe him one, giant one. But the truth of the matter was…you only had as many bullets as the chamber could fit. You weren’t some gun freak who toted a variety with ample ammo and touted how you’d use it if pressured. You just wanted to keep yourself safe. And you didn’t think you’d ever need more than five bullets. God, you hoped you’d never need even one.

The longer you took to respond, a few seconds lingering between you in the hushed night, the more worry filled his eyes and he spoke right as you parted your lips to speak, too.

“I can get you squared away with some, if it helps.”

“I don’t need anything, thanks.”

You talked over each other and it didn’t help that ruckus laughter and music from inside and barreled against the door you two stood by.

You said, “What?”

He said, “Huh?”

And then you repeated, “I said I’m good on ammo, thanks.”

“Come with me to my truck. I got somethin’ that can help,” he suggested at the same time.

You caught the first part this time as he was saying, “Sorry,” for interrupting you and it made you shake your head furiously at him. Handsome or not, didn’t seem like the best idea to follow him anywhere.

“I’m good. Really,” you assured him but then he walked off. Rude. But he didn’t head back inside and, instead, through the parking lot and into the shadows where he disappeared for a minute before emerging back through the black with his hand out again. This time you saw his palm filled with a smallish, greenish paper box with red labeling. You didn’t have to look too closely to see it was bullets. At least fifty rounds. “I’m not on the run,” you answered his question from earlier with a quieter tone, folding your arms over your chest as a sultry breeze crossed by. It kicked up some dust from the dirt you both stood on and also his cologne that you didn’t notice before. Something heady like tobacco and vanilla and it made you look up at him and hold his gaze that was already steadfast on you.

“I believe you,” he replied just as quietly. Jiggled the box in his hand once like it was a treat but his face was smooth. His tone became insistent but still soft. “Even if you were, I don’t think you’d get caught ’cause you’re smart.”

You went still as you assessed his words. There wasn’t a lick of sarcasm in them, but rather a well of sincerity you were starting to see wasn’t running dry because he didn’t move. He waited for you to move and his gaze flickered down to your hand that swiped the box of bullets from his palm.

You shoved them into your jacket pocket along with your wallet, peering down at it when it wouldn’t fit all the way in, but your eyes shot up to glare at him when he declared, “Atta girl.”

“Nah, I’m a grown woman,” you reminded him.

“Apologies. Noted,” he replied and watched you huff when the damn box still wouldn’t slip into your pocket without threatening to fall and spill bullets all over the dirt…and maybe you also huffed because his gaze was still warm and trying to simmer beneath your skin like he could see the depths of you.

It made you twitch again, somewhere in your gut like you had butterflies and maybe a bit lower and you wanted to curse at him for making you feel that. You didn’t know this man and what he was capable of…but he did just do you a kindness. Even though you never wanted to be in the South again, that Southern hospitality was rooted in you something deep. “Thanks,” you muttered, instead.

“Welcome,” was all he said before he extended his hand again to you. This time for a handshake. You looked down at it and then back up at him as he added, “I’m Jack. Can I know your name or are you not at liberty to share?”

That made you almost smile before you rolled your eyes and declared, “Ugh, give it a rest already,” and told him your name. Jack didn’t hide his smile from you, especially when you put your hand in his and shook it. You couldn’t help but notice how his hand tried to swallow yours and how warm and mostly soft his palm and fingers were. A bit calloused in the grooves and thick as they held onto you and you felt those butterflies again when he slipped his hand from yours gingerly, like you were made of glass and he didn’t dare let your hand carelessly drop to your side. His thumb brushed along your thumb knuckle and your hand jerked itself away, a reaction out of your control because, well, you weren’t used to anyone touching you lately and certainly not kind, handsome strangers.

“Sorry,” he gave under his breath and even took a step back from you to give you your space. You shook your head, not to refute his apology, but to clear your thoughts that were coming in hot and fogging up your mind with stupid ache because, Jesus, had it been that long since you’d been touched that a handshake made you feel tingly all over?

You knew the answer to that question was an unfortunate and resounding yes.

“S’okay,” you gave back and then crossed your arms over your chest to glance around the lot awkwardly as you rocked on your heels. Trying to avoid his warm gaze that was fixed on you. Curious about you. And maybe you were a bit curious about him. But the words, “I should get out of here,” still left your lips. 

Yet when your feet didn’t move, Jack asked, “Not tryin’ to get in your business, I swear, but…did your piece come loaded or did you load it?”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes and you could still see the concern in them for you. This man had maybe fifteen years on you and likely had those “traditional values”—yuck—of protecting women he found helpless, but you weren’t helpless. You had a loaded weapon on you right now. And what’s more, you wanted to find it weird that a stranger would want to care this much about another stranger in this day and age.

But then again…maybe he knew better than you did of the dangers that lurked in this seemingly small town that you planned to sleep through in your car. He was from here after all…

“It came loaded,” you answered honestly, hands tucked in your pits as you thumbed the seams of your denim jacket. You shrugged and added a bit flippantly, “And no, I’ve never loaded it before. But I was gonna teach myself.”

“How?”

“YouTube.”

Jack sucked his teeth at that and placed his hands on his hips as he assessed you again with new eyes. You could feel the weight of his concern needling into scrutiny and you pouted at him. “What?!”

“Have you even shot it?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Do you wanna learn?”

“Why are you assuming I don’t know how to shoot?!”

“Because you don’t know how to load the damn thing, either. Bet you were gonna ‘YouTube’ that, too.” He threw up air quotes with his fingers at the word like self-guided videos were the bane of his existence. And you took special offense to that because you taught yourself how to change your car’s oil with one of those videos, damn it.

“Excuse me?” Your mouth fell open with shock to hear him curse at you and you pouted again as you unfurled one of your hands from your chest to point a finger at him with an accusation, too. “You know what they say when you make assumptions…”

“Yeah, well. I’d rather make an ass out of myself than know you have a piece you can’t use when you need it. And because you’re smart, you’ll let me show you before you get back on the road.”

Your hands at your sides now turned into fists before you took a tiny breath in and out through your nose to relax your shoulders and slowly unclench your hands, just as slowly folding them back over your chest as you said through your teeth, “Fine.”

Jack let out a gruff snicker at that and said back, “There’s a clearing less than a half mile from here. You probably passed it if you got here off the east exit. We can practice your shot there.”

“You drivin’?” you assumed and felt your cheeks burn to do the thing you accused him of just moments ago. His face remained even and calm, thankfully.

“Whatever makes you comfortable, ma’am.”

Your better judgment would normally scream at you to ignore the handsome stranger’s charm, hop in your car, and peel out of the parking lot with the free ammo. But…he was also offering a free lesson you could actually benefit from…and there it was again when you looked at him. The warmth in his gaze that softly glimmered in the faint moonlight and showed no malice or mischief. Just a man who wanted to see to it that a woman like yourself could hold her own. Hmm…

“I’ll follow you there,” you decided and Jack nodded in agreement. The clearing was indeed only four minutes or so away from the bar, the black of the night nearly swallowing the brown grass, dirt, and tall trees that were mostly bark and limbs as the fall had stolen their leaves or turned them the same color as the grass. You parked your beat-up car next to Jack’s sleek, champagne-colored pickup but that wasn’t the source of shame, oh, no. It was how bad your shot was when you imagined a simple point and shoot would be a piece of cake. At least loading the gun after he showed you was fairly easy.

But Jack was patient…taking his time to walk over with a slight limp you just noticed, crouch down, and reset the row of empty water jugs he’d had bagged in his truck bed that were due for the recycling center now getting dinged by your shot, no holes. He kept his headlights on to illuminate the clearing and they were goddamn bright so it wasn’t like you couldn’t see. Maybe the targets were too small? Or maybe you were still a bit fuzzy from the beers?

You huffed as you saw another plume of dust rise from the dirt when you missed your shot again, the water jug in the center of the five untouched. Felt like you were wasting bullets at this point but Jack stood nearby behind you to watch your form and provide a little feedback.

“Your point is steady but you jolt when you shoot…gotta keep still.” His voice floated over your shoulder, benign like he wanted to ease your growing frustration. You still whipped your head around to glare at him with slits for eyes.

“It’s too much kickback…I can’t keep still.” You lowered your arms, both your hands still on your piece as you started to turn to face Jack who was shaking his head and coming closer.

“Yes, you can. Here…may I?” he encouraged as he hovered his hands around your arms. And again, you wanted your better judgment to try and step in, warn you that you shouldn’t let him touch you…but once again, it was silent and replaced with the reality of his big hands settling on your shoulders with a warmth you felt seep through your jacket to your skin after you nodded once at him.

He gently turned you back around to look at your targets, standing close enough that the heat of him was against your back but he didn’t brush up on you. He just guided your arms into place to aim again, keeping one on your upper arm as the other ghosted along your wrist so his fingers could find yours to guide them, too. His touch was tender again, his hand overtaking yours but his thumb merely rested on yours as his pointer carefully cushioned itself between the trigger guard and your pointer finger. 

You felt like his puppet for a moment as he held your hand steady in the air, the weight of the piece and your hand in his much larger one as he pointed for you. You also felt his other hand slip to your elbow to bend it a little, a gentle motion, gentle like his warm breath on the side of your face. He must have popped a mint into his mouth on the short drive because it smelled sweet and fresh, but you didn’t hear the suckle of it in his mouth. You did hear the slight crinkle of his leather jacket shifting as he posed you, you could smell it, too. It was real leather, clean yet earthy, and mingling with the succulent scent of his cologne you got a whiff of before. 

And when his voice grazed your cheek with a hushed question, “Does this feel good?” you felt tingly all over again. God, you tried to stay still and prayed he didn’t feel it, too.

“Mmhm,” was all you replied with through your sealed lips.

“‘Good’ like…does this stance feel natural to you?” Jack replied back with more heft in his tone. Maybe to wrangle in your focus since you didn’t offer him much in response, but you were paying attention. Your eyes were on the middle target, even if your mind was on the soft coarseness of his voice next to your ear as he added, “If I let you go…can you hold it comfortably?”

“Yes...it feels good.” The words left you automatically but it felt like the truth, especially with his fingers still gently pressed to yours. You felt his breath on your nape when he breathed out a small chuckle at you and while it made you tingle again, you felt yourself grin, too. A half-shy, half-charmed grin…ugh.

“Alright…go for it. You got this…” Jack took a little longer than you thought he ought to to step back from you and let you hold your aim on your own…but you didn’t mind it. You took a breath through your nostrils to steady yourself and closed one eye to zero in on your target, that pesky jug, before you pulled the trigger.

And you saw a hole appear almost through the center of it before it toppled over on the dirt.

“Oh, shit!” you squeaked.

“Well, look at that!” Jack yelped behind you.

You lowered your arms and switched around to stare at him with an “o” for a mouth and a light in your eyes that wasn’t from his headlights still shining on you. You saw him staring back with a smile and his eyes twinkling, too, crinkling at the sides, he was smiling so big. A half-impressed, half-satisfied smile.

He clapped his hands four times, a mini applause just for you, before he started walking towards you and you felt your heart skip a beat. Was he coming in for a congratulatory hug? Why did the thought of him getting close to you again and holding you to him sound delicious?

But Jack breezed past you and towards the jugs to reset them again as he asked, “Wanna keep going?”

You thought about it…nailing that shot felt great but you’d popped enough shots tonight that you worried local authorities might show up to see what was all the noise about. Jack didn’t seem worried but where you were from, it was a real and very unwelcome possibility. “Nah. I think I got it.”

He nodded at that and started collecting the jugs, holding them between his fingers instead of you like he did moments ago as he turned to you and stated, “You can keep these if you want…free target practice whenever you want. I can put ’em in your car for you.”

“Um. Sure,” you piped up after a moment because you didn’t trust your voice not to betray you with a quiver from the thought still rolling around in your head about how good this handsome man smelled and looked. And he looked at you now with a nod before he breezed by you again to pop open the door to your backseat and load it with the jugs.

When he finished, he was turning around to see you’d migrated closer to him to stow your piece under the driver's seat. You felt his eyes on you and that warmth that was becoming more familiar and welcomed by the minute. It slipped up the backs of your legs and over the curve of your bottom that his gaze followed along your lower back, a bit of exposed skin where your shirt and jacket lifted as you bent to nestle your pistol and the bullets he gave you where they’d be safe. And, sure, it could all be in your head that he was staring at how your hands flitted to your chest to smoothen out your jacket as you stood up right, but you caught his eyes flitting away when you looked up at him. 

Your heart raced again and you began to wonder if now was a good time to get on the road because god forbid you fall behind schedule thanks to a handsome stranger who made your thoughts race, too. Okay, you didn’t really have a schedule…you just weren’t that type of woman…you didn’t give in to men just because they talked a good game and did you a favor…right? Right?

“So…you drivin’ straight through the night or you have some place to lay your head?” he asked slowly. The words left his lips one by one like he knew each one would be blocked by your sarcastic, little “not at liberty to say” comment from earlier that amused him, but it seemed like he couldn’t help but ask. A layer of empathy blanketing his tone that amused you because it was likely second-nature to the man. You’d only known him a few hours but for all the men you knew from Alabama for years were only this caring for their ATVs or motorcycles.

Jack shoved his fists into his jacket’s pockets as he watched you and waited for your answer which you decided to give him earnestly, albeit you tooted your plump lips to quietly blow a raspberry and awkwardly tuck your hands into your jacket pockets, too. “Gonna sleep in my car. Beats payin’ for a fancy hotel.”  

His hooded eyes widened slightly at that before he shook his head in disbelief. “If it’s a hotel here, it’s a motel and the furthest thing from fancy. They should be payin’ you to sleep there.”

That got a little giggle out of you and he grinned when he heard it before you both parted your lips to speak over each other again. 

“I’ll be alright,” you said.

“Put anything on your stomach today besides those beers?” he asked.

He tilted his head at you and you rolled your shoulders at his question, trying to appear taller and firmer in your stature even though Jack had a good five inches on you. But you kept your voice even as you responded honestly again. “Yeah. Picked up somethin’ at a gas station earlier…but listen. I get it’s almost Thanksgiving but…I’m not a charity case, Jack. I can take care of myself.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to straighten his posture as if to brace for the impact of your words, his chin tipping down before he ultimately sighed and pursed his lips. He had that disappointed glint in his gaze again and you felt it in your chest. Made you feel kind of…silly…to keep shirking off his kindness to prove to yourself that you could survive without it. Because, yeah, you could but…

“I know you can,” he said in a soft, matter-of-fact tone. Squared his shoulders as if to mirror you, maybe try to put you at ease once more? It was kind of working, especially with the warmth of his eyes on you as he added even softer, “But would you like real food and a real bed for a night? Would it help you get rested for your drive in the morning?”

“Who’s bed?” The intrusive thought escaped your mouth and you wanted to slap your hands to your face because what the hell was that question? Jack just sucked his teeth with another shake of his head, meeting your eyes that you swore shone a whisper of the same intrusive thoughts…hmm.

“It’ll be your bed tonight. My place isn’t too far from here…got a guest room with its own bed, bathroom, and such,” Jack explained as you crossed your arms over your chest. It wasn’t cool out, quite the opposite, but you felt a slight shiver dance along your spine at the thought of going to this man’s house…this man you just met…this very handsome, generous man…

This is where your better judgment was supposed to kick in for real this time because it was already a choice to follow him to a second location for this impromptu shooting lesson…and now there was a third location? You’d been traveling alone for three days with no real run-ins with trouble because you always kept it moving. It was gas, food, drive, sleep, repeat. 

You were just a passing breeze on this unseasonably humid, autumn evening. Here tonight, gone tomorrow. You were out of cash but had just enough cash left in the bank to get somewhere nice upstate and then come up with a more permanent plan. And staying the night at Jack’s was nowhere in that plan. That sounded like trouble.

But…

“You said you have real food…are you gonna cook or…?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Well, then…

“How, um, how long is the drive to your place?”

“Fifteen minutes headed northwest.” He removed a hand from his pocket to throw a thumb over his right shoulder in that direction. “If you’re headed further north, I’m about twenty minutes from that exit. You probably noticed this tiny ass town has one way in and one way out.”

You giggled again and tried to stifle it by clearing your throat. “Does this town even have a name?”

Jack giggled a bit, too, and pronounced his next word slowly as if he knew you’d find the name funny-sounding. “Ellsinore.”

You nodded dutifully, keeping your arms crossed and shifting your weight to your right boot as you looked around the clearing and then up at the crescent moon like it would tell you the next thing to say or do. But you knew you didn’t need the extra push to take him up on his offer that was too good to resist…a good meal, clean, soft sheets, and a long, hot shower? God, yes.

And when your eyes fell on his to find he was studying you like you’d studied the moon, looking at you like you were the moon…that curiosity about you lingering in his tender gaze, tender on you as heat kissed your cheeks…

Well, there wasn’t anything left to say but, “Let’s go…I’ll follow you again.”

The little red numbers on your sedan’s dashboard clock glowed 11:32 P.M. before your eyes flit back to the dark road. It grew darker and narrower when the rear of Jack’s pickup lit up with brake lights as he made a right turn. This road wasn’t paved like the main stretch of asphalt that ran through the town…Jack’s home was the dead end of a lonely dirt road surrounded by a dense forest of trees you could only see through when both sets of your headlights cut through the pitch black of the night.

You parked next to him on the grass, a makeshift driveway from the repeat tire tracks indenting the brown blades down to more dirt and dead leaves that crunched under your boots when you hopped out. Jack climbed out of his truck, too, and approached you to grab your duffle bag from your trunk after you popped it for him. He insisted he carry it and anything else you wanted to bring inside as you trailed behind him to his porch that lit up when you both neared it. The small, lantern light mounted to the right of his front door highlighted the silver of his hair and turned the rest of it hazel, the same hazel you saw touch his eyes from the glow when he glanced over his shoulder at you with a cute, inviting grin.

“Come right on in,” he chirped as he stepped inside and flipped on more lights to chase away the dark. First the lamp on the console table against the wall by the door and then the ceiling fan light that revealed the open space of the living room, den, and kitchen as his home. Reminded you of the double wide mobiles you left behind this week to prayerfully never see again. But Jack’s place was cozy…“Your bedroom is here, second door on your right. This other door is the linen closet if you wanna grab extra towels or sheets.” Jack’s voice filled the place as he walked ahead of you towards a couple of doors on the opposite end of where you meandered by the loveseat, just a few steps from the front door as you nodded and took in his domain. 

It wasn’t what you pictured in your head on the drive here…a refined, possibly military man like him lived in a quaint cottage? It was roomy but that room was teeming with walnut wood furniture and rustic knick knacks—like the row of porcelain duck figurines on the mantle above the fireplace—that belonged to another time, well-preserved, though.

The quilted throw over the back of the loveseat felt soft beneath your fingertips that you skimmed along it as you followed him into your bedroom. It held a large chest of drawers and a storage ottoman bench at the end of a queen bed made with a cream-colored, down comforter and several floral-printed and tan pillows stacked against the barnwood headboard. It even smelled nice here, pleasant and homey like patchouli and a hint of vanilla…but maybe that was Jack’s cologne filling the room.

You watched him slip your duffle bag strap from his shoulder to set your things on the edge of the bed before he turned to face you and clasp his hands together near his chest. “This is all you. Bathroom is through that door there. Soap, shampoo, and such under the sink…please make yourself at home. If you need anything in the meantime, I’ll be in the kitchen,” he made known with a nod and you nodded back. With that, he went to leave but not before you muttered his name to make him pause in the doorway, a hand on the doorknob as he looked back at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” you gave softly and for the first time tonight, you really meant it. Jack didn’t say anything but he gave you a half-smile that put those butterflies in your tummy again before he closed the door behind him and left you alone. Alone with your thoughts that didn’t usually race this much because you weren’t an anxious woman…just a cautious woman. 

Caution led you out of the seedy neighborhood you grew up in. Caution carried you away from the people who meant to do you harm. Caution kept you whole, kept you breathing. And here, standing by yourself in this quiet room, your breath hitched when you thought about how you were throwing caution to the wind because the handsome stranger successfully sweet talked you and coaxed you out of the bar.

But not out of your panties as you originally assumed was his intention. 

You were starting to see now Jack had nothing but good intentions…but when you closed your eyes in the shower and let your mind race with images of what his muscles looked like under his clothes…what his hands felt like when they weren’t on your shoulders but between your thighs…you weren’t so sure the same could be said about you. 

The water was deliciously hot with the perfect pressure that pulsed on your tired muscles you’d been ignoring from days in your car, sitting behind the wheel and riding the day or curling up in your backseat during the night. You didn’t realize how much tension was in your neck, shoulders, and back until you were able to melt in the shower for more than an hour.

You almost felt bad to run up Jack’s water bill like that but he did say to make yourself at home…so you took your time washing your braided hair and lathering and rubbing every inch of your skin with the fresh bar of soap you found under the bathroom sink cabinet. The mirror above that sink was foggy when you finally stepped out and wiped your palm over it to see your reflection, dripping wet afro coils and dewy, brown skin that felt as warm and supple as it looked from that wonderful shower. You’d wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel that was nearly as big as the blanket you slept under each night—and it was much softer. Reminded you that you should probably throw that poor blanket and your clothes in the wash before bed, if Jack didn’t mind adding just a few more dollars to his water bill, that is. You had a feeling he wouldn’t mind at all.

You decided to keep taking your time since you weren’t going anywhere else tonight…Jack’s home was your residence for the next ten hours or so. You rooted around your duffle bag until you got your hands on your body butter and coconut oil to moisturize your body and your hair, perched criss-crossed on the soft bed as you rebraided your hair that framed your face and fell down your back. You couldn’t find the hair tie you knew you’d packed in your bag and you already knew Jack didn’t have one with that near buzzcut he sported, so you shrugged and got dressed in the last clean bit of clean clothes you had: gym shorts and a t-shirt. It was a baggy fit and swallowed you up, which you liked because it was comfy and would deter the male gaze from trying to undress you with their eyes.

Yet it hit you again that Jack was the only man here and maybe…maybe you wanted him to see you. The thought of seeing him without clothes still flitted through your mind as you tiptoed around your temporary bedroom, spotting a small picture frame along with the other little trinkets atop the chest of drawers. When you leaned in to look closer, because the picture couldn’t be any bigger than four by six inches, you saw it was a faded photo of Jack next to two other men. The three were in uniform, you assumed from the camouflage it was the Army, and each wore thin smiles as they stood in a line in a field of some sort. Jack was missing his gray hair and the crinkles around his eyes, but you noticed even on active duty, those eyes were still warm as they looked back at you from the photo. You couldn’t help but think he was a handsome, young man and an even more handsome, older man…or maybe you thought that because the older man had fully charmed you this evening. Oof.

That fact remained indeed a fact when you wandered out the room to follow the alluring aroma of butter and herbs…and your nose didn’t steer you wrong because you stepped into the kitchen, you found Jack standing at his stove manning a cast iron skillet and spooning sizzling butter with a sprig of something green over a strip steak. You tucked your arms under your pits as you leaned against the wall and remained silent, watching him cook, hesitant to startle him because it appeared he might burn himself from the looks of the dish towel he’d wrapped around his hand to hold the skillet handle and tame the steam rising from it.

Which worked out for you because you were enjoying the view…he’d been wearing a leather jacket all evening but now it was gone and you could see the muscles of his large, freckled biceps as they flexed with his movements. Those muscles moved in his neck and shoulder blades, too, and leading lower to a firm butt in his fitted jeans. Made you wonder how often he worked out, how much he could lift with all those muscles, how strong would he feel if he laid his weight on top of y—

He startled you when he glanced at you and caught you staring. You even jumped a little, goddamn. It made him breathe out a chuckle before he returned his attention to the task at hand and remarked, “I meant to ask what you had a taste for before I left you earlier, but I didn’t wanna double back and disturb your shower sooo…hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“M’not,” you replied quietly, your heart still thudding a bit as you tried to compose yourself. “Smells yummy.” You padded across the wooden floors and sat down after you pulled back a chair from the small dining table, also made of wood like everything else in this old-fashioned but intriguing house. You used your fingertip to trace the lace patterns on the placemat in front of you before you added, “You have interesting taste in decor, you know.”

That made him laugh aloud as he plucked your steak from the skillet with a pair of tongs to rest on a ceramic plate on the tile countertop. “I can’t take the credit. This is my mom and dad’s place. They definitely had…‘interesting taste.’”

“Oh…I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, you’re good. I take it the photorealistic mallard bathmat didn’t freak you out, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you met his gaze and blurted, “I didn’t even notice. I think I was…zenned out from my shower.”

Jack laughed again as he opened the oven to retrieve a baking sheet of roasted potatoes and asparagus from it with his dish cloth still in hand. “I’m glad it treated you right…” he offered softly as he fixed your plate. Then he walked over with your food prettily presented with the herb sprig as a garnish atop your steak, setting it on your placemat with a timid tone that you found sweet. “...I’m no chef and I was in a hurry at the store to get back here and start dinner…my, uh, sincerest apologies if the steak is charred.”

It was your turn to laugh because from the sight and smell of the meal alone, it was going to be good. And when you picked up your fork and knife from your placemat to dig in, you were right. Juicy, savory, buttery, a bit spicy, and you loved your meals with a little heat…it beat gas station hot dogs and snack cakes by a thousand miles. 

“I have no complaints. None. Wow,” you mumbled midchew and realized that might look unbecoming so you hovered a hand over your mouth. Jack didn’t seem to mind and admired you with a proud smirk as you chowed down before he fetched two tall glasses from his cabinet, a plastic pitcher of iced water from his refrigerator, and took a seat across from you after pouring you both a drink.

He sipped it a couple of times as he leaned his elbows on the table and kept his eyes on you, making you look up from your plate when you felt him staring. “You’re not gonna eat?” you muttered with your mouthful, pointing your fork at him.

Jack shook his head with a playful frown and replied, “No, I’ll have more food than I can fit in my truck on the way home come Thursday. My family overdoes it every year. This is all for you…you’re spared from my Aunt Betty’s hot chicken salad since you’ll be long gone by then.”

You snorted with a giggle as you swallowed your bite and wiped your mouth with the paper towel you tugged from the wooden holder in the middle of the table. “If that’s a kind of casserole…I can do you one better. You ever had a ‘dump and bake’ Doritos casserole?” You giggled again when Jack stared at you like none of the words you said existed in the human language. “I swear it’s delicious. Cheese, sour cream, salsa, nacho Doritos, ground beef, and more cheese.”

“You don’t have to confirm this, but you gotta be from the South, too, if you’re eatin’ shit like that,” Jack quipped as he folded his arms and teasingly inspected you with narrowed eyes. You grinned at first before it wilted a little because, unfortunately, yes, you were from the South…and you didn’t expect to think about that right now and definitely didn’t quite want to share why with him. Or anyone for that matter. 

It dawned on you that his hospitality could only soothe you so much before reality tapped at your spine, making your shoulders stiffen and your appetite wane as you placed your fork on your half-eaten plate to drink a bit of water, instead. Wash down the bitter reminder that no matter where you were headed, where you came from was likely written all over your face, your speech, your damn taste in food, even.

And it wasn’t his fault…you didn’t want the man catching strays from old battles that had nothing to do with him. But it seemed like he felt the shift in you, anyway, because he quickly uttered, “You, ah, ready for dessert? I picked up some ice cream, too…butter pecan,” to switch the topic. You appreciated that, but you need to let him know at least a little something about you to clear the air…

“No, thanks. I’m full but this was amazing.” You sat up straighter in your seat and gave him a tired smile. “You’ve been amazing, actually…men where I’m from…I’m, uh, I’m just not used to this. I don’t wanna get into it. Hope you understand.”

“I do,” he agreed with a nod. His eyes fell to his hands that he’d clasped together on the table, running a thumb along his pointer as you saw the wheels turning in his head to say something else in that hushed tone to make you believe that he truly understood. When his soft gaze touched you, you already believed him before he said quietly, “You don’t owe me anything. If it’s a privilege to know you…I’d like the chance to earn it.”

“Yeah?” you heard yourself say in a voice that sounded nothing like you. Too breathy, too drawn out, too charmed by his words floating in the air between you. 

Even though you were certain he had his central air conditioning running, the air became warmer…or maybe that was his body heat when he’d slipped from his chair to come closer to you, leaning into you slightly as he grabbed your plate for you and replied, “Yeah,” in a raspy voice that you felt breeze through your scalp. Made a warm tingle crawl down your spine and that feeling was nothing new at this point. Made you want to feel it again…and again.

You stared after him as Jack went to his sink and used your fork to scrape your scraps into the drain. Must have been a garbage disposal, you figured, and he must have felt that warm tingle, too, because he didn’t dare look at you as he mumbled, “I bought some other stuff to make you breakfast in the morning, too…eggs, bacon, bread. Take it with you, if you want. I have an extra cooler…I’ll box it up for you.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” you mumbled back but you wanted him to look at you…you wanted to see if his eyes still held that warmth and if it was simmering into a heat you felt, too. Because if it was…well…maybe you wanted to feel it. More of that heat…more of him. His warm breath that was on you just a moment ago…maybe you wanted to feel it on your face when you kissed him…

You were on your feet before your brain finished the thought, swiping your water glass to add to the sink as you approached him. Your bare soles moved on the cool wood beneath them that creaked a little with your steps. Jack didn’t move with the sound alerting him that you were behind him as he turned on the faucet to rinse off your plate, but you did notice him glance at you through the corner of his eye when your hand appeared next to his as you dumped out your water. You were going to grab the dish soap he was reaching for, too, to wash your glass but his elbow poked yours in the process and hit your funny bone, forcing it to fly out of your hand. Smooth.

The poke didn’t hurt but the glass that shattered at the bottom of the sink when you uttered, “Oops, sorry,” slit your left middle finger when you tried to clean it up really hurt. “Ow!” You hissed sharply as you noticed the running water try to wash away your blood that colored the white resin. 

“Shit, you alright?!” Jack asked but took your wrist into his hand to inspect your cut even when you nodded to his question. The cut didn’t feel too deep but you were still bleeding, and the only thing that seemed to slow it was the running faucet when he guided your finger under its flow. “Keep it here for a minute, okay? I’m gonna grab my first aid kit.”

“Okay,” you whispered and watched him rush out of the kitchen and to the other side of his house where his bedroom must be. He rushed back in less than a minute, holding a small, white box with a red plus symbol on it and placing it on the counter to pluck the tools he needed from it like he did this task every day. He assembled them in a neat, little row next to the kit: an antiseptic wipe packet, a tiny tube of antibiotic ointment, and a bandage. “You’re handy. I meant to bring one of those with me on the road but I guess it slipped my mind,” you gave in a small voice, hearing it hitch when Jack reached to remove your hand from the running water to hold in his again.

You shut off the water with your free hand as you studied him at work with a half-grin on his lips from your comment, eyes on your finger that he patted dry with a paper towel he swiped from the roll near the sink before he cleaned your thankfully minor cut with the antiseptic. That stung pretty good and you hissed again through your nose as he murmured, “Sorry. I keep one in my car, too. And another at my place in Pittsburgh. Guess I’m wastin’ money when I could just steal the supplies from work.”

“Work?” you parroted and his eyes flit up to yours for a second as he nodded. 

Jack reached for the ointment next that he dabbed with the blunt tip of his finger, applying pressure that matched the softness of his skin. The sting was gone now as the ointment and his touch soothed you for a few seconds. Made you fight to concentrate on anything but that sensation as it threatened to shoot a thrill through you he’d likely feel. You were grateful when he spoke again so you could focus on that. 

“Yeah. I’m an attending physician. Emergency medicine. Happy accidents like this are my speciality,” he replied as he wrapped the bandage around your finger snugly, even though the bleeding had thankfully stopped. You hummed understandingly at his profession. That explained…a lot, actually. His kindness. His generosity. His tenderness. “Feels better?” he nearly whispered and pulled you from your thoughts before you nodded again. You didn’t feel the cut at all now. Just his touch. He observed his handiwork for a second longer like he wanted to make sure he’d done a good job for you before giving you your hand back.

Except you didn’t let go of his gentle grip on you. 

That stupid ache that’d been gnawing at you since the moment you laid eyes on him didn’t feel so stupid anymore. You weren’t one to come on to men because maybe a large part of you didn’t trust men anymore. But this man…those intrusive thoughts that you’d been pushing out of your mind were louder than ever in the hush of the kitchen. You could only hear his breathing and your heart starting to pound in your chest when you felt the urge to act on another thought before it finished playing in your head.

You saw Jack’s eyes slowly lower to your lips when you brought his hand to them to lay a kiss on his middle knuckle. Lingering your kiss there before your lips trailed to another knuckle. Then to the back of his thumb. You didn’t pull your eyes away this time as you watched him watch you kiss the tip of his thumb, firm enough to just barely suckle it between your lips with one more kiss. That made his lips part like he wanted to sigh but no sound slipped out.

Instead, he carefully slipped his hand from yours to cradle the side of your face in his palm. His thumb skimmed the corner of your mouth and you were tempted to kiss it again, but he moved first, closing the space between you when he took a step that brushed his body against yours. His lips brushed against you, too, making your eyes fall shut as you felt his warmth surround you. His touch, his breath, his lips, letting you feel how soft they truly were when you tilted up your chin to put your mouth on his. Made that thrill finally shimmy through your body that you knew he felt when he slid his other arm around your waist.

Jack kissed you back like your lips were too precious to ruin, tentative pecks as his nose nudged yours and his thumb caressed your cheek. His palm even rested just so on the small of your back and it made the ache in you swell. You hadn’t let a man touch you like this in a long time…so long that the need to jerk away as you did earlier completely drained from your body to be replaced with greed to be held. Greedy for him to pull you closer. Greedy for him to kiss you harder. Greedy for him.

You moved faster than your thoughts again…your lips pressing in and your hands smoothing up his torso to feel the hard muscles behind his shirt until you could spread your fingers across his wide chest. Your bandage tried to catch on the cotton as you felt his pecs flinch under your touch like he couldn’t stop his reaction…and felt his own fingers start to rub circles along your spine he pressed his mouth to yours, following your lead. Tasting your greed.

You tasted his, too, when he let out that sigh, husky and sweet, you caught it with your tongue. Your lips wove together to taste more of each other, the greed dripping off the tip of his tongue as it grazed yours like he wanted even more. You sighed, then, too, more than eager to give it to him because his mouth fit yours in a way you didn’t expect. Lips not nearly as full as yours but still meshing just right with yours at the seams before he suckled your top lip to let you suckle his bottom one. His big hand on your lower back turned into both settling there to pull you against him, fingers softly digging into the fabric of your shirt and making you sigh again as you cupped his face in your hands.

“Is this okay?” Jack breathed, lips still on yours with just enough room in between to let you answer. Thumbs pressing into your back with a bit of urgency as he waited. 

“Yes,” you breathed back, fingers crawling into his hair to tug him back into your kiss that he dared to break for even a second. He let out a quiet groan when you licked into his mouth a little, squeezing you a little less than gently in his hands as you, and you didn’t hide the groan it pulled from you because, god, his grip on you was good…strong hands that you knew were strong from the look of them. Veins and thick fingers, feeling those fingers rub on your lower, gripping your bottom to pull you flush against him so he could feel you, so you could feel him, so he could guide you a couple of steps to the counter.

The backs of your thighs pressed to it when he boxed you in with his hands gripping the edge of it now instead of you. Trapping you between him and the hard place, feeling his mouth mold to yours like he was hungry for a deeper taste of you. He didn’t feed you the tip of his tongue this time but nearly the whole thing as he lapped at your tongue because you greedily opened your mouth to let him in. 

You didn’t try to whimper when his lips closed around the tip of your tongue to swallow the saliva from it, it just happened, and he chased your involuntary sound with one of his own, a tiny huff as you tugged at his hair again, your fingers so entwined with every strand you could reach that you felt the warmth of his scalp under your touch. A warmth that competed with his body pushed up on you and you swore you could feel how excited you had him…his heart thrumming against your chest…his bulge growing prominent in his jeans.

The whimper that pulled out of you was closer to a moan because you didn’t expect to feel it, let alone his hands that crawled all over you as he tucked them under your bottom again to lift you off your feet, sitting you on the counter so he could stand between your legs. Your head tilted back as Jack’s mouth followed the angle of your jaw to your neck, leaving soft kisses that lingered at your pulse before he tasted you there with a small lick, almost like he was testing how much you’d let him explore you…how much of you he was allowed to have.

You didn’t have any real parameters for that test because your mind was one track at the moment, focusing on the way his nose skimmed your collarbone over your shirt; the way his breath seeped through the fabric when he kissed there; and the way his palms soothed up your back, through your braids, down your sides and along your thighs, shifting your loose clothes around on accident, surely, because you didn’t think he meant for his thumb to hook under the right leg of your gym shorts and graze your inner thigh.

Any higher and he would have discovered you weren’t wearing any panties, just like he’d learned you weren’t wearing a bra when his other palm ghosted over your chest before you released a hand from his hair to make him hold your breast, breathing heavily as his thumb swept over your nipple until it was firm and pronounced through your shirt. You thought he’d peel your shirt off and suckle it like he had your tongue, fuck, that’s what you wanted, your body already arching into him as he held you there and squeezed at your thigh with a hand that was half-hidden under your shorts.

But no, Jack seemed to have a one track mind, too, as he was still caught on your lips like your kiss was the only thing providing him air. Every heavy breath he inhaled and exhaled with a pant and you wanted to hear it turn into a moan like yours when his hand snuck further up, his thumb tracing the seam where your thigh and hip met, letting him hear how pathetic you sounded when he accidentally stroked your bare mound. 

Or maybe it wasn’t an accident this time because Jack did it again when you moaned like that from the surprise of his touch…carefully thumbing through the thin coils of your bush to find where you were becoming slick before he pushed a little to part you. Swiped his thumb there, just over the hood of your clit, his lips still against yours but his kiss paused as he listened to the sound you might give him then. Your arms draped over the bulk of his shoulders and you were tempted to reach down and help him touch you again, make him rub your clit firmly because it tingled from the mere glimmer of his touch circling there without pressure like he just wanted to feel the silk of you under his thumb, making you mewl to him in a heated breath he took in like it was his.

You thought about tilting your hips up to meet more of his touch but Jack started to pull away altogether, the abrupt action ripping your eyes open as you watched him take a step back from you like you were on fire. You were on fire, though, your whole body hot and throbbing from just a few minutes of his touch and his lips still burning on your skin where he’d kissed you. Teased you. So maybe it came out a bit rougher than you meant it when you uttered, “What…what’s wrong?”

Jack’s chest heaved with a deep breath you shared because he seemed to still be as worked up as you, and yet he stood nearly two feet from you now, wringing his hands together in front of himself like he was guilty of something he didn’t want to speak on. That was concerning to you, and a little scary, because you’d been trying to remind yourself that you made a sound decision to come here tonight, that you weren’t in any danger here with this man. This man you barely knew. This man you barely knew in his home in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. Oh, god.

“What?” you pressed and now you sounded a little worried but you tried your best to not let him hear it in your voice that maybe this was all one big, huge, stupid mistake and that you should leap down from his counter and yank open the nearest drawer to find a knife in case you needed it. Because of course your fucking gun was still under your driver’s seat in your car outside.

“I think…I think we should get some sleep,” Jack said under his breath, holding his fists to his chest before swinging his arms at his sides awkwardly. Your jaw went slack at the switch in his demeanor. Huh? Before you could say anything, he settled his hands on his hips and looked down at his feet in black combat boots to add, “Yeahhh…it’s late. I’m, uh, used to bein’ up this late but I don’t know. Maybe we both need to go to bed before we do something dumb.”

“‘Dumb?’” The word jumped out of you as you repeated it like you didn’t understand it. Because you kind of didn’t, actually. You remained on the counter but your fingers curled around the edge to literally and figuratively get your bearings as you looked at him with your eyebrows knitted together. “Did I…misread things? Did I come on too strong?”

You thought back to earlier in the evening when he’d said those words to you in that shitty, little dive bar. The dive bar where you were starting to think you should have never stepped foot in or bothered to turn your head when he saddled up next to you to chat. You took a sharp breath and let it out slowly. You didn’t want to be as frustrated with him as you were getting right now because, deep down, you knew it wasn’t his fault. You just…you didn’t like this feeling. At all. It was too close, too humiliating. You didn’t have all the pieces to the puzzle to solve what exactly was happening here but you’d solved plenty of similar puzzles…each one revealed a picture of a man who would say and do anything to fuck you and leave you like you were the dumbass for believing the sweet things they said when they wanted something from you. 

“No, no. You didn’t. Swear to god,” Jack quickly replied as you were taking in another deep breath through your nose. You could tell he realized he may have upset you and you felt bad for the way he thought to hold up his hands and soften his voice to say, “I just…I don’t want you gettin’ the wrong idea about me. I offered you my guest room so you’d have some place comfortable to sleep for the night. Don’t want you thinking this is how I expect you to show your gratitude. Because it’s not.”

He gestured at the tiny space between the two of you and a cool whisk from the air conditioning vent somewhere nearby fit in that space, reminding you of how hot he had you just a moment ago. Your face and neck still felt warm with a blush that wasn’t from arousal but a prickle of shame because that’s not what you believed just happened. “I don’t think that. I thought we were two adults who just wanted some…relief,” you stated in a low tone, your fingers flexing around the countertop edge as you glanced around his kitchen before your eyes sought his again...his eyes a kind of wince like your words twisted the knife you didn’t realize you already found and stuck in him, after all. 

You noticed it was 1:57 A.M. when your gaze had drifted to the digital clock on his stove. It was indeed late but you could see from just observing Jack’s scrunched face, his rigid posture, that he had been hoping for that relief. Just like you. That he was maybe touch-starved like you. That he wasn’t denying himself to earn any points with you. It seemed like he just genuinely wanted you to find respite in his care…even if it was for just one night.

He didn’t protest your words that tried to steer his comforting words to you into something that benefited you both because you could tell by now Jack wasn’t interested in kindness for it to be reciprocated...you felt it when he decided to close the gap between you one last time to leave a whisper of a kiss on your cheek and murmur, “I'm sorry. Good night…see you in the morning,” and walked away. You watched him head off into the shadows reaching from the hallway right of his kitchen, and after several seconds, you heard two light switches flip and a door softly click shut.

You were frozen in place for a minute or so, not sure what to do with yourself because you’d never been rejected before…not like this. Not by a man who clearly wanted you back but thought against it for your sake. Practically unheard of where you’re from, from the men you’ve “dated,” from the man you almost married before you skipped town.

Jesus, that wasn’t something you wanted to fall into your ex-shaped rabbit hole thinking about tonight. Or ever again. Instead, you eased off the countertop and onto your bare feet that embraced the cold wooden floors that warmed under your soles as you stood there for a moment too long, debating if you wanted to go to bed or go knock on Jack’s bedroom door and tell him he was wrong. Tell him you wanted to have your cake and eat it, too, because you never truly got the chance to savor it and that maybe this was his chance, as well. Because he couldn’t fake the hunger in his kiss…his touch…and you had never been touched like that before. With tenderness.

You were touching the bandage around your finger now, mindlessly, damn near picking and peeling it off as you started to walk and turned in the direction he went, instead of the opposite that led to your room. Every room except for the kitchen was dark, including the living room to your right as you passed by it, just a spot of moonlight entering from sliding glass doors that appeared to house his back patio and outdoor laundry room as you noticed a washer, dryer, and empty clothes hamper huddled in a corner. You thought to go poke around in there to figure out how the controls on the machines worked because you’d like to wash your things…and maybe you wanted to be a little nosy? See more of the man who had you tiptoeing closer to his door like there was an invisible string attached to him on the other side of it, tethered to you, too, and luring you forward when you realized you should probably leave Jack alone at this point.

He said what he said and you refused to be the sex pest whom he assumed you thought he would be. And as you approached his door, eyeing the soft, gold light that escaped from the crack above the floor, you weren’t going to knock and ask him to reconsider now. Even if that was your first, instinctive thought that yielded to the ache still in you, the one that he’d soothed for a few, sweet moments. Because no, your second thought was what was that sound you heard wafting from behind his door? 

When you got right next to it, leaning in to hold your ear near it but not your body weight as you folded your arms across your chest, you heard water pitter-pattering in the quiet, near distance. The telltale drip of excessive water falling from a wash cloth he may have wringed or simply rolling off his body to the tile let you know Jack was in the shower. You tried not to let your mind wander away from you picturing that…besides, there was another sound that caught your ear. Soft music. Soft like the melody was doldrums with bluesy guitar and dreamy vocals…but also soft like he was purposefully keeping the volume down. Maybe because he didn’t want to disturb you in your bedroom where you should’ve been.

You just found it difficult to pull away before you could place the artist of the song…after a few more seconds, you deemed you didn’t know it but you were certain a man like Jack shouldn’t, either. It sounded indie and interesting for a middle aged doctor. You didn’t mean to pass judgment, you’d done enough of that tonight, and you truly weren’t, you just…you were curious about him all over again. Curious how in the hell you found yourself so enticed by him when you’d been fighting all night not to be. Running from yourself all night. Running for years. Trying to trick yourself into thinking you didn’t need anyone, not a friend, and definitely not a man because you’d gotten yourself this far on your own and you’d be indebted to nobody. 

But as you retreated to your bedroom and crawled under the sheets, your mind wouldn’t let go of the theory that perhaps independence wasn’t compromised with support. You had a support system once…very small, but steady. When you were younger, just shy of your early teens. However, the older you get, you realize some things you have to handle yourself. Sometimes you have to save yourself. But maybe Jack wasn’t trying to save you. He opened his home to you to support you on your way, not trap you here or manipulate you to do his bidding.

Maybe it was you who felt trapped in your head too often because while you weren’t anxious, or at least you didn’t think you were, there was something always holding you back from just accepting that good things could find you. That those good things could hold you gently and mean the sweet things it whispers in your ear. You couldn’t help but think of Jack’s voice, letting it play in your head as you rolled over onto your tummy to try and get more comfortable. The bed was plenty cozy, actually, not too firm with soft sheets, pillows, and a downy comforter that swallowed you beneath it…it was your mind that was keeping you from falling into the sleep you needed.

Your eyes were closed, though…picturing Jack’s face when it was just inches from yours an hour ago. When he was breathing you in, holding you to him. His raspy whimper on your lips just from kissing you…you let that sound play on repeat until you felt yourself throb between your thighs. And throb again when you remembered his warm palm on you…his wide thumb rubbing at your clit…

You were wet then and even wetter now, you felt it sticking to your skin and the center of your shorts that were more snug as they bunched up the more you tossed and tussled. You huffed into one of the pillows your cheek lay on as you decided to take the shorts off altogether to free yourself of the restriction, reaching down and tugging them down your legs until they were bunched up at the foot of the bed under the comforter instead. The sudden thought of Jack under the comforter, too, behind you and on his knees as his palms smoothed up the backs of your thighs made your bare pussy twitch and you huffed again. Your fingers didn’t feel like his but it still felt good…especially when you squeezed your thighs around your right wrist just a little to keep it in place as you rolled your hips against your palm.

Thinking of how he would hold you like this, too, if he cupped his hand to your pussy and let you grind on his fingers…if he circled harder on your clit like this when he felt you twitch like that…if he held your ass cheek and spread you just to hold you open as he pushed in a middle finger like this to find your g-spot and make you buck against his palm…if his voice floated over your shoulder in that handsome, coarse tone as he coached you…

“That feels good? Keep goin’...chase that feeling.”

“You’re so close…so wet…goddamn…I need you to come so I can taste it.”

“That’s it…yeah…come on my fingers. No, don’t stop grinding. Give it to me. All of it.”

You wanted to pull your fingers away when you felt yourself grow too sensitive, but at the same time, you couldn’t stop because it felt too…fucking…“Ohh…mmhhh...oh, f-fuck.” The pillow absorbed your little moans that you couldn’t hold in, and thank god because you didn’t want to feed the chance of him hearing you if he was still awake, even if he was across the house. You hid your face to whimper when you curled your finger and rocked yourself against your hand again, ignoring the dull ache in your wrist because the way your palm was soft and sticky and slick with your wet that coated it made it so delicious each time your clit met it.

You didn’t stop until you came again, feeling yourself getting wetter as this time visions of Jack with his tongue shoved in your pussy to lap up the mess you made took over your thoughts. Your finger still cushioned inside you acted as his tongue and you fluttered around it from the mental image of him gripping your hips to lick and wring every throb of your orgasm that dripped into his mouth. Your tired hips bucked once more before you finally relaxed back onto the mattress, your tummy indenting it with each pant as you slowly retrieved your soaked fingers that you wiped on your shirt before you peeled it off and threw it to the floor.

The sheets settled around your satisfied, trembling, naked body like a hug and your eyes fell shut again with a calm exhaustion you hadn’t felt in a long while. You didn’t remember the last time you masturbated and you knew it’d been even longer since you came like that. For a long while now, pleasure just wasn’t your priority. Survival was. 

But here…you felt safe. It was a feeling that embraced you before you embraced it as you quickly fell asleep without dreams because your mind was at peace. If it wasn’t for the morning sun flooding the bedroom through the curtains that were already open because you didn’t think to draw them shut last night, you’d still be knocked out and enjoying the best night of rest you ever had. 

You weren’t sure what time it was because you were too cozy to reach for your phone on the nightstand to check, but you debated going back to sleep, anyway. Where you were headed would still be there when you got back on the road. You just didn’t want to disturb the nest you’d made for yourself in this warm bed…even if the smell of fresh coffee found its way into your room in hopes to tempt you out of it.

You knew it was fresh because you’d been “refreshing” yourself with burnt, gas station coffee for the last few days. And when you remembered that Jack said he’d also bought breakfast ingredients…it made you wonder if it’d be a mistake to leave behind this little slice of heaven before the sun went down again.

Before you agreed to spend the night, the answer seemed obvious. And even as you started to sit up in bed, you knew that it still was. Even if you’d like to maybe stay a little longer…you had somewhere to be. And it wasn’t in Jack’s arms.

You didn’t expect to see him in the kitchen when you emerged from your bedroom to grab a cup of coffee. You had taken his sudden attitude shift to mean he wouldn’t show his face around you until perhaps he had to…like when he’d see you off as you shoved your things back into your car in another hour or so—you imagined that’s how long it’d take to wash and dry your clothes and blanket—and waved goodbye forever to each other.

But there he was. Standing at the counter close to where he had your thighs around his waist last night, tending to the old school glass pot and coffee maker as he filled it with a water bottle. The pot was less than half full but you didn’t see his mug on the counter. You thought to make yourself quiet as you went to find a mug for yourself, not sure if you should even say good morning or bother him…but you weren’t sure which cabinet held his glassware.

“Hey, mornin’.” 

His voice was coarser than before, deeper, stretched a little thin with sleep he just woke from up or didn’t get enough of the night before. You hoped it wasn’t the latter, hoped it wasn’t your fault, and really hoped he didn’t catch you freeze from the surprise of his greeting as you turned to look at him, your hand midair to open a cabinet as he glanced back at you over his shoulder. 

“Hi,” you mumbled, feeling caught for some reason? Maybe it was the residual awkwardness of how you both ended things just a handful of hours ago after getting each other riled up…or maybe it was because you were struggling not to moan his name to yourself as you came to the thought of him right after. You thought you’d washed away the guilt when you took another shower and brushed your teeth this morning, but when Jack turned away from brewing more coffee to lean against the counter and fix his gaze on you, you felt hot all over.

“You’ll have to wait a few minutes, if that’s alright. I almost drank the first pot by myself so…figured I’d make you a fresh one,” he explained quietly, the loudish burble and drip of the coffee maker brewing almost drowning him out. “Mugs are in that one.” He squinted an eye and pointed to the cabinet on your right before you rummaged through yet another one that contained spices instead of cups.

You gave him a nod and a small, “Thanks,” but cut your eyes away to grab the first mug you touched, which happened to be a chipped, brown ceramic one that sported a flock of ducks painted on it. It made you crack a tiny grin because his parents really seemed to have loved their ducks and you hadn’t actually seen even one in Ellsinore so far. Or any animals for that matter. Maybe that was something you could ask him about if you didn’t think it was potentially inappropriate.

You didn’t want to share your past with him so you couldn’t expect him to share what happened to his parents with you. Yet he was blocking the coffee pot where he stood with his hands in his navy plaid pajama pants pockets, his freckled and brawny arms exposed in a white t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. You may have felt awkward but he was still handsome and you couldn’t help the quick once over you gave him, including when your eyes flitted to his feet in gray loafer slippers, his right foot black with a dull glisten like it was metal from what you could see under his pants leg. You weren’t going to ask him about that, either, because you felt it was also inappropriate. But it made you wonder if he’d lost it when he served?

“Excuse me,” is all you said, instead, once the coffee maker finished with its noise, watching him scoot a couple inches to his right to make room for you to reach the pot. The lingering silence was filled by the slosh of coffee you poured into your mug, standing still for a moment to blow away the steam and take a slow, delectable sip. You peeked at the bag of coffee still on the counter and made a mental note to find that exact brand again in a store…wherever you ended up.

When you shifted to go and take a seat at the dining table with your mug to your chest, its warmth comforting, Jack’s voice followed you as he asked, “Slept okay?” You didn’t turn around to look and respond until you were in a chair with your elbows on the placemat and your mug to your lips as you nodded and took another sip.

“Did you?” you more or less mouthed, the piping hot coffee scalding your throat a little. And maybe your throat was thick with emotion you wanted to be embarrassed to feel? You weren’t going to cry or anything but the tension in the air was just as thick and you thought you might choke on it. And that felt so, so silly when you reminded yourself that none of this would matter at the end of the day. You’d be gone and Jack would become a memory. A half-formed one of tentative moments in the sun made even more tender by your own resistance to that warmth because maybe it was too bright, too sudden…then a sudden courage to bask in it…only to be met with the sun hiding away from you because maybe you were the moon after all.

You couldn’t blame the sun. You’d done a damn fine job resigning yourself from warmth like it for a long time now because what if it burned? Yet what did it matter that when you actually wanted it in, god, who knows how long that you couldn’t have it? Jack was a grown man who made a decision and you were a grown woman who respected it. These things happen. You weren’t a brat. You were just…feeling the fatigue of endless nights with no sun in sight. Until now.

Because there was a light at the end of the tunnel. It was somewhere north and somewhere waiting for you to begin a new life. You had nowhere left to go but up and it could be anywhere…but not here.

You peered into the deep brown, almost black, liquid of your mug that still swirled from your last sip as you heard Jack scrape a chair back to sit across from you, just like last night, as he replied to your question in a meager tone, “You want the truth or do you want me to say, ‘Yeah, I slept great?’”

You looked up at him then and tried to keep your face even, but the way he was sitting back in his chair and looking back at you with that glint of warmth in his eyes that felt all too familiar now made you furrow your brows with concern. Did he…hear you last night? Oh, Christ. “The truth.” You could handle it.

“I grew up in this house but I never liked how quiet it gets at night here. I live in the city now and without those car horns, people yellin’ at each other down the street, and all that racket, I can’t get to sleep. The quiet is too loud,” Jack said with a chuckle, the charming sound of it tugging at one corner of your mouth. 

“I’m used to it. Well…I’m used to at least a few crickets chirpin’, too. It’s dead quiet ’round here,” you gave as you palmed your mug and watched a brief smirk appear on his face.

He mimicked your pose, elbows on the placemat and his hands together but no cup in the middle. Reminded you of how he sat in that same spot last night and observed you like you were his muse, like you were a poem he hadn’t quite figured out how to interpret. But when he expressed, “Yeah, it is. Doesn’t help, either, when I’m up all night thinkin’ about you,” he spoke your language.

“What about me?” you heard yourself ask as curiosity got the best of you yet again. No point in hiding it now. Not with his soft eyes on you that kept stoking the flames of it. 

Especially when he said, “Everything about you. Where you’re from. How you ended up here. With me. What a woman as beautiful as you would ever want with an old guy like me.” Jack blinked with an incredulous smile and a shake of his head. Perhaps to clear his thoughts as he added wistfully, “I think when I saw you at Steve’s last night…I had some liquid courage to approach you? I was over in a booth by myself and had a couple beers before I watched you walk in and decided to sit next to you…but I was sober when you kissed me. I started thinkin’...‘you need to cool it, Jack, because you don’t know this woman and—’”

“You didn’t want to do something ‘dumb,’” you murmured to yourself but he stopped talking like you interrupted him. Your words made him shake his head again.

“No. I mean, yeah, but…I didn’t want to open my old wounds and make them your problem. I figured I’m used to sleeping alone so one more night wouldn’t kill me…but you in your room, me in mine…it kind of did. That’s weird or crazy, I know, but—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted him on purpose this time. You didn’t know what his wounds were but something told you they were similar to yours. Something that had carved fear into you both to never touch a rose lest its thorns cut you first. And all that ever did, you realized, was train you to nip a beautiful thing in the bud before it had the unlikely chance to blossom into something ugly. Maybe Jack was the same? You sighed and tapped your fingers on the side of your mug, debating if you wanted to be as honest with him as he was with you. Here goes…“I couldn’t fall asleep until I got you out of my head.”

Jack’s face was smooth but his voice dipped an octave and struck a chord in you as you felt that tingle trace your spine when he asked, “How’d you accomplish that?”

“I think you know.”

“I do. I finally got some sleep after I thought about how you might’ve sounded if I’d gotten down on my knees while I had you on the counter.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It felt like déjà vu to you, the rasp of his handsome voice coaxing you. Damn near coaxed you right out of your chair and around the table to cup his face in your hands, straddle him, and kiss him. Hard. But if this truly was déjà vu, you learned your lesson last night that making the first move may not work out so well. Your coffee was cool in your mug when you went to take another sip and you almost didn’t care because you were feeling hot again all on your own. However, you still chose to slowly rise from your chair and pick up your mug to heat it up in the microwave you spotted over the stovetop range. You slept wonderfully but if this was the direction the conversation was going…you needed more caffeine to give you the energy to wrap your head around it.

But Jack’s fingers slipped around your wrist at your side when you tried to walk past him. You went to look down at him where he sat but your eyes trailed up to meet his gaze as he stood and slid his other hand over yours holding your mug. “Can I take this?” he asked in a near whisper that grazed your lips because he was right up on you, taking your mug from you when you nodded and setting it on the table so his hand was free to cradle the back of your head. He didn’t pull you to him because there was only an inch between your mouths and you captured his lips to get rid of it. Replace it with the slow twist of your kiss as you craned your head to shape your mouth to his as he held your nape and hip to shape you to him.

He was solid muscle yet warm and soft, keeping you close in his arms that surrounded you when he circled them at your waist, his hands searching for the perfect spots to rub you before they settled on your bottom with a squeeze that accidentally parted you a little in your shorts and swept his fingers where it made you breathe out a whine. His grip felt even better than it did last night, holding you firm but not rough, just enough to pin you to him so you could feel how easily you excited him, just like the night before…

But unlike last night, you wouldn’t settle for what you imagined Jack would feel like if you got him in your bed. You pulled your lips from his just long enough to make it clear you wanted him to follow you as your palms on his shoulders fell to his hands so you could hold them and pull him towards your guest bedroom as you started to walk backwards.

Jack stood still and gently tugged you back to him, though, as he kept one of your hands in his and tipped his head over his shoulder in the opposite direction of your room with a cute grin at you as he stated, “My bed’s bigger.”

The room you found yourself drawn to last night opened up to you when Jack led you through the door by the hand. It smelled faintly like the candle you spotted on one of the nightstands, vanilla and lavender, and it was certainly the master bedroom as it spanned nearly as wide as the living room, making the space for a large window across from where you both stood in the middle of the room, the curtains slightly drawn to reveal a forest of brownish, orange shrubs and tall oaks and let in the late morning sunshine. 

That sunlight touched the rolled-up baby blue Yoga mat leaned against a wooden rocking chair in the right corner of the room, the tall, farmhouse dresser with a mirror, and the vast brown, faux fur rug that was soft under your feet. A few more steps and you’d fall onto Jack’s bed that was indeed bigger than the queen in your guest room, the king mattress dressed in golden tan comforter and chocolate brown sheets that matched the four pillows, two of them decorative with pinecone and green pine needles fabric. Not ducks, you were stunned. He’d taken the time to make his bed after he’d gotten out of it, you saw, and you almost felt bad that you’d be messing it up once you got him between the sheets.

But Jack didn’t seem to be in a hurry to fall into his bed. His thumb skimmed along the ridges of your knuckles with your fingers still laced with his at your sides as his other hand reached to caress your cheek with the backs of his fingers. The way he was staring at you made you feel as if he could see what you’d been trying to hide from him, from yourself...but the softness in his eyes didn’t seem like he wanted to peel the petals of your past apart to uncover the truth of you. No, his thumb on your bottom lip traced gently like he wanted, needed, your permission to even hold a rose as beautiful as you.

“What do you want from me?” he asked in a hushed breath as he still held your chin and planted a kiss on your cheek. Then another on your jaw. And another on your neck. You wanted every and anything you could get from him in that moment, his lips stirring the tingling warmth in you that started under his lips and spread through your entire body.

You used your free hand to curl your fingers at the hem of his pants, your heart starting to race at the thought of getting him naked, getting him on top of you. “I want these off. All of this off.” You breathed and realized you sounded perhaps a bit impatient and that’s because you were…you’d never been this aroused by a man who made you slick between your thighs with just his lips on your throat. 

But Jack let go of your hand to grab the one on his pants and hold it instead, compelling you to look at him when your eyes were closed from enjoying his mouth on your throat. You worried for a split second that maybe your greed was unbecoming in the light of day in comparison to how it nearly swallowed you both whole last night. But Jack didn’t appear disgruntled but rather captivated by you…his lips slowly forming a handsome grin that soothed your nerves that tried to prickle.

“How ’bout I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Deal?” he gave and sealed it with a light kiss on your lips when you nodded, making you smile against his mouth.

“Deal,” you said before you slipped your hands under your oversized shirt to hook your thumbs into the waist of your gym shorts and pulled down your legs. You couldn’t take your eyes off Jack because he couldn’t take his eyes off you, holding your gaze and not staring at how your shorts pooled at your feet and exposed the tops of your bare thighs that your shirt just barely covered. “Your turn,” you quipped and he grinned, following suit as he lifted shirt up his torso and over his head. 

You tried to keep your eyes on his as he did with you but you couldn’t resist letting them feast on the body you knew looked as strong as it felt. A bit of salt and pepper hair at the sternum of his broad chest and soft abs that led to a softer v-cut right above his pants. His pants that couldn’t hide the slope of his bulge that nearly grazed you as you stood so close.

You didn’t back away because you wanted to be even closer but you had to take a slight step back to remove your shirt without bumping him since it was your turn again. Once you discarded it to the floor, you were nude, nothing left to hide from him…and Jack’s gaze washed over you like a warm caress as he saw you naked. You expected him to lift a hand to touch you where his eyes lingered but instead, he found your eyes again with another handsome half-grin and began to tug down his pants. You grinned back and willed yourself to keep your hands at your sides instead of wrapping them around him when he stepped out of the fabric that he tossed to the side. No boxers underneath.

“You’re a commando kind of man,” you noted in an airy tone to settle yourself and calm the heat whirling through you at the sight of him. You wanted to be patient like he was as he studied you right back but it was difficult to ignore how he hung between his athletic, freckled thighs.

Jack laughed at your observation as he slid off the loafer on his left foot with his right one. “No, uh, not usually. I like to practice Yoga at sunrise to stretch, clear my mind…guess I forgot to put a pair on when I got dressed to make us coffee.”

“Ohh,” you mouthed and you were listening, yes. He did Yoga…nude? The more you learned about him, the more you liked him…and that made you feel a bit rude to stare at the tuft of hair trimmed just above what appeared to be seven or so inches, thick with a slightly pointed tip, a little veiny, very pretty…

You felt his fingers gather under your chin and shift your focus back to his face. In the morning light, you noticed his brown eyes had specks of green in them as he witnessed the appetite in yours that he whetted with his mouth pressed to yours. Letting him show you that his appetite matched yours when he deepened the kiss, your noses brushing together as his warm, wide palms followed the swells of your bottom and hips and lower back to secure you to him. All of him was warm and wide, actually, fitting you like a puzzle as the curves of your body and the grooves of his melted together.

He didn’t let any space sneak between you even when he carefully hooked his arms under your thighs to lift you as you wrapped your arms and thighs around him, kissing on his lips and cheeks and hearing his quiet grunt as he crawled onto his bed with you in tow. His right arm was cushioned around you and he used his left to reach down and remove his prosthetic that he placed on the rug next to the bed, then extending that arm to the bed as he settled you on the plush comforter under him, your long braids fanning out along one of the pillows. 

You could tell he was trying to keep his weight on you but not crush you, but you wanted to feel the fullness of his warmth seeping into you. Every muscle, every inch of skin, especially as his mouth traced your throat to kiss there and make your hips move on their own, a slight tilt that helped the hard length of him prod at where you were slippery for him.

Your thighs locked around him, using them to pull him closer and Jack obliged, tucking his hips into you and making you groan softly when he rubbed up on your clit and nuzzled his nose beneath your jaw. Jack’s voice was almost a moan when you started to gently rock your hips against him, breathing onto your skin, “Tell me…what you want.”

You wanted his clothes off and he’d given it to you…and now all the other things you wanted from him filled your mind like a sensual blur of scenes you craved to create with him. His mouth on your breasts, his head buried between your thighs, his hands on your hips as he thrust into you…you wanted everything. 

Jack’s lips parted to smudge kisses along your shoulder and collarbone and bring you out of your imagination and back to reality…back to him guiding your hips with his fingers that left soft dents in your skin as he pulled you to him, rolling his hips until you whimpered and kissing the valley of your breasts as he whispered your name. “Talk to me,” he urged you sweetly and your hands found his face to steer his eyes to you so you could see him. See him just like he saw you…something beautiful.

“I just want you,” you whispered back to him. 

“I want you, too,” Jack purred to you, the coarseness of his voice tested with a heavy breath from how he must have felt you throb against him when you pressed your hips to him. You matched his sound as you stroked your thumbs at his cheeks and watched him bite his lip before he panted, “I…I want to make you feel good…what makes you feel good?”

You weren’t used to that question or any of this, really, but one particular desire came to the forefront of your mind…and you could see in Jack’s eyes that he was willing to indulge you. “Your mouth would make me feel good.”

“Yeah? Where? Here…?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he kissed the top of your breast, opening his mouth a little to kiss the bud of your nipple. Your hands slipped around his head as you huffed, wanting to close your eyes to enjoy the feel of his soft lips closing around you as he licked and sucked lazily on you. “Or did you mean here?” He switched to your other breast that he cupped in his hand, lapping at your left nipple until it became a stiff peak on his tongue as you whined and combed your fingers through the silken blades of his hair.

Your hands moved with his head as he moved lower, taking his time to run his tongue along your skin and marking it with a wet kiss over your ribcage, down your tummy, and on your right hip…across your mound…your left hip…then back to your mound where his warm breath spread through your bush that he kissed. “Right here, yeah?”

“Yes,” you uttered, a bit pitched, your hands falling to the comforter that you palmed in anticipation. Butterflies circling in your belly that pulled in with your exhale from the cool air of the room that quickly dried his kisses but couldn’t do a thing about the wetness sticking to your inner thighs when Jack held them apart in his hands as he laid on his elbows and stomach.

He went to rest a palm on your mound but his fingers fanned through your bush, his pointer and middle gently spreading you open more than you already were so he could see how you glistened in the delicate sunlight filling his bedroom. You felt…vulnerable but not exposed. You liked how Jack looked at you…his gaze was just as soft as his two fingers that ghosted down your slit, over your clit and just barely through your folds and back again…and again as he gathered your wetness of the softish pads of his fingertips to slowly slot one of them into you. 

He met no resistance because you were soaked, feeling him glide his thick finger into you until his knuckle met your skin and you contracted around it. He watched how your pussy did that again as he pushed a little, starting to move in and out as he curved his finger to the shape of you, his eyes only leaving how his finger disappeared in you over and over to look up at you moaning and holding your breasts as you thumbed one of your nipples.

You didn’t know what else to do with your hands because you didn’t want to push his face to you, even though the thought entered your mind. Instead, you wanted to silence your greed to savor the moment, savor him…and you knew that he wanted to savor you, too, because he still wasn’t in a rush. Jack wanted to prolong your pleasure, you could feel it in how he slowly slipped his finger out but paused each time you throbbed and whimpered…only to hold two fingers together to slip back in, feeling yourself stretch around them as he angled them up against the spot that he’d found on the first couple of drags, making a deep groan escape you.

“Does that feel good?” he asked under his breath as he lay his hand on your inner thigh to keep you spread when your hips bucked a tiny bit on accident. It didn’t disturb his rhythm as he drew his fingers from you an inch just to sink them in again and up until your face fell apart. Your hands were on the bed again and digging into the comforter as a hot wave lapped at you right where his fingers curled. Goddamn, you were about to come and it made your head spin because you didn’t realize you were already on the edge until he spoke. It was like his voice lapped at you, too, your back arching a little when that wave caressed you again as he cooed, “You’re close…aren’t you?”

“Yes…mmhh…” Your mouth stayed open because you couldn’t hold in the moan that fell from it, a louder one rushing from you when Jack pressed his fingers in firmly to rub your spot and dipped his head to cover your clit with his mouth. The way he laid his tongue flat in a lick that swirled into a languid circle on your clit with the tip of it on each pass made you come from just the third pass as he held his fingers in you, feeling yourself flutter around them and under his tongue as white-hot waves washed over you from head to toe. His name spilled out of you just like your orgasm you felt coating the scruff of his beard on you as he closed his lips around your clit to suckle you softly. “Fffuck!”

You couldn’t lay still if you tried, your body sitting up on its own as your hands flew to his head to tug his hair, push him away, pull him deeper. You wanted everything at once but you didn’t know how to communicate it when your head was fuzzy as Jack let you close your thighs around his head and held your waist in his free hand. “Jack, mmmff! Oh, my god…” His name was a sharp cry that must have alerted him you were losing your damn mind because he suddenly unfastened his lips from you to kiss at your bush, instead.

“You okay?” he huffed in concern, your eyes finding each other when you finally opened them as he withdrew his fingers again. You nodded as you fell onto your back again but Jack didn’t stop touching you, though, almost like he wasn’t sure how as he flexed his fingers on your waist and aligned his two, sticky fingers at the seam of you again, not pressing but carefully spreading your puffy folds again like he wanted to see his handiwork, admire how your pussy was soft and leaking with a lone drip onto his comforter in a tiny puddle under your bottom. It reminded you of last night when he tended to your cut finger that was all better today, the bandage discarded earlier this morning. Your only worry now was if you’d be able to handle another orgasm if this is how he’d use his skills to mend the ache in you…

The ache was beginning to ease the longer you allowed yourself to settle into yourself, your body still humming with tingles but from the afterglow that Jack paid special attention to…kissing up your body until his lips were on yours and your hands were on his back. He tasted like you and you tasted his sigh as it left him, deep and throaty when your nails lightly scratched down the muscle of his shoulder blades to the small of his back. It made him tilt his hips towards you like he was inside you, but instead, the curve of his thickness nestled to your clit again and you whimpered from the sensitivity.

“I want you…” His words were a low smolder that simmered on your lips as he breathed them out but you felt that simmer all over, especially where he pushed his hips again to get you to whimper for him again. His palms were on the bed on both sides of you now and your thighs trembled around him, feeling your pussy weep from the feel of him, wetting him as he moaned from the feel of you, asking faintly, maybe even a little desperately, “Can I have you?”

As tender as you felt, god, you wanted him, too. You wanted him to have you...but it had to be at your own pace because if this is what overstimulation felt like...oof. It was too much of a very good thing. And you knew Jack wanted to satisfy you, that he’d listen when you murmured to his lips, “Only if I’m on top.”

You touched his face with your palm on his cheek when he looked down at you, your thumb grazing the crinkles at the corner of his left eye as he gave you a small grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

He eased off of you to give you room to sit up at his side, watching him lay down with his head on the pillow next to the one you’d indented. You let your eyes sweep along his bare body as he got comfortable and placed his hands on his stomach, watching you take particular interest in the swell of his muscles in his thighs, his taut balls between them, and his dick that rested on the left one before it moved by itself with slight twitch. 

It was too tempting not to touch before you climbed on him, and Jack’s eyes fell to your fingertip that soothed a path from the base to his tip and back, fascinating yourself with how easily you made him twitch again and listening to him let out an airy sigh. That sigh deepened into a gruff moan when you wrapped your fingers around it to hold it upright and feel him pulse in your palm when stroked up and down and up to catch the bead of arousal you’d coaxed with your thumb. He felt bigger in your hand than he looked and made a lush thrill shiver through you at the thought of fitting him in you as snug as he did in your fist…it’d been a while and you still felt pretty supple from just his fingers…

“Do you have a condom?” you asked and bit your lip when you heard Jack give you a handsome whimper. He nodded and pointed behind you at the nightstand to your right.

“There, in my wallet. Let me get it.” Jack started to sit up but you laid a gentle hand on his chest. 

“I got it…I didn’t know people still stashed condoms in their wallets,” you remarked as you pulled your hand away and rolled onto your knees to crawl across the bed and pull open the drawer. You were half-kidding, half-serious because you’d only seen that trick from a scene in the movie House Party. 

“Been doin’ it that way since high school. Some habits never die, I guess.” You heard Jack reply with a chuckle over your shoulder as you retrieved his black leather wallet, flipping it open to see his pretty mug on his driver’s license behind the clear panel, a couple of credit or debit cards, and three fifty dollar bills tucked into the center flap with his dog tags necklace and the gold tinfoil wrapped condom cushioned behind his money. And not to your surprise, the wrapper looked a bit worn like it’d been in there for a while once you fished it out, just like in that movie you watched.

“Uh…I hope this doesn’t pop,” you thought aloud as you put his wallet back where you found it and returned to his side. “Have you had this condom since high school?”

Jack laughed again and you did, too, especially when his freckled cheeks turned a cute shade of pink at your teasing. He still sucked his teeth and muttered, “No…I think I bought that one sometime last year?” before wiping his hand over his face like it would get rid of his blush.

“I believe you,” you voiced with a sweetness woven into it because you didn’t mean to make him bashful, no matter how adorable it was. He recovered quickly, anyway, as he took your wrist and brought your hand that held the condom to his lips, kissing your wrist before he used his other hand to take the condom from you. You’d thought to put it on for him but he unwrapped himself, so you did the next best thing you could think of and made a fist around him again to hold him as he rolled it down his length.

You moved your hand for him to sheath himself to the base but circled your fingers around him again to feel how he filled out the smooth latex, keeping him steady in your grasp as you raised your left thigh to straddle his thighs and stroke him in front of you. Jack moaned to you and it encouraged you to twist your wrist as you worked him, feeling him grow somehow harder and placing a hand on his chest again to balance yourself as you sat up and leaned into him, your braids falling around his head like a curtain. He helped you with his hands on your waist and breathed out another moan as you breathed in a tiny gasp when his head prodded softly at your entrance before you lowered yourself on him.

“Mm, slow down…m’not goin’ anywhere,” Jack reminded you in a husky moan as his thumbs brushed at your sides, yet his grip on you was firm like he wanted you to give each thick inch a minute or two to form to you…adjust in you…mold you two together. And for a fleeting thought, you wondered if that was because he just wanted to keep you here longer…if he just wanted more time with you.

You weren’t in a hurry, anymore…you just wanted to feel more of him because the first few inches or so already felt so fucking good. Pushing up on spots you didn’t remember you had and nestling to your g-spot…making you feel warm and full when he sat in you to the hilt. He was the perfect fit…

Both your hands were on his chest now, the muscles of his pecs barely giving to how you squeezed a little as you sat on him, moaning to him as you felt that warm wave tingling between your thighs, making you clench around him until he moaned back to you. God, you felt like you could come already…but you wanted to grind on him…wanted to watch the faces he made when you bounced on him. You took a little breath to steady yourself and started to rock on him, slow swirls of your hips that made his dick knock into your spot that crumpled your face as much as his before he mouthed, “Fuck…” and bit his lip.

His face, his sounds, his hands pinning you down on him when you whined from the way his groin rubbed to your clit each time you rolled your hips, all of it was urging you to return to the edge…luring you closer to it with deep throbs of your pussy that made you feel weak to fight it, that he made you want to surrender to when he reached a hand to tuck a braid behind your ear and hold your face. 

Gazing into your eyes, lips parted, and letting the rasp of his voice lap at you as his thumb swept your cheek. “You’re holdin’ back from me…just let it happen…use me,” Jack whispered on your lips before he kissed you and you whimpered into his mouth. Your forehead rested against his because you were losing the strength to sit up, only reserving enough for your body to act on instinct and chase the heat you felt coiling deeper, hotter, before it broke you down piece by piece with jagged moan after moan.

Jack waited to drink your moans until they thinned into whines as he held you together with his arm wrapping about your waist and his hand palming the back of your head. Your head felt fuzzy again and you swore you saw spots when your eyes flitted open to focus on his face, his eyelids low, brows knitted, and mouth an “o” as you kept rocking, hearing the soft slosh of your wet sticking to him as you kept letting the tender throbs of your pussy guide you to use him because your orgasm hadn’t let go of you yet so you couldn’t let go of him…

“W-wait…I’m close,” Jack abruptly stammered to you and you groaned at the same time as him when his hands shot to your hips to pull you up. There was something delicious about the gentle urgency in his airy tone, something about it that made you want to milk it, watch it lead him to pant and run his tongue over his bottom lip that he bit when you mustered a bit of strength to sit up and sink back down onto him. You placed your hands over his and redirected them to glide up your tummy and palm your breasts that held on his own when you released them and reached behind you to grip the bulk of his thighs.

Maybe it was the way your body glowed with a pleasure you never felt so liberated in…maybe it was the way you had this grown man whining and trembling under you…but as you locked eyes with his, that sweet urgency staring back at you, you wanted to see him it break him down as it did you. Feel him fall piece to piece so that you could hold him together now and know that for one of the first times in your life…you were in control. Not the kind of control that steals, no…the kind that Jack gifted to you willingly because he wanted you to have it. 

“Do you want to come?” you purred to him as you perched on your knees that sank into his comforter and arched your back, your body a beautiful slope that slowly slid up and down the length of him with a wind of your hips.

Jack looked so damn handsome, so wrecked, as he whimpered, “Yes…please,” to you, still holding your breasts like he was stuck in pleasure you commanded with every thrust you made him give you as he rode him.

“I want you to, too…let me have you.”

He gave you a gorgeous grunt, one after the other, as he tipped his hips up and slid his hands down to cup your bottom, his eyes following to watch how your pussy swallowed him before they squeezed shut as his orgasm devoured him whole. His moans made you churn your hips faster on him, the sound of it stroking you in the right spot as you moaned back until it left you in heavy breaths that matched his when he uttered your name. 

When he groaned it again, your eyes fell to him as his hands on your thighs grasped underneath and tugged you up so he could pull himself out, seeing his biceps flex with the motion as he settled you back down on him. You felt him exert a bit of effort to reach around and remove the condom as his chest rose and fell with another little grunt when you lay on him, feeling his heart thudding like yours when you rested your cheek there. When you closed your eyes, you swore your hearts were beating in sync.

“Are you alright?” you couldn’t help but ask softly, shifting to rest your chin to his chest, instead, so you could see him. Jack gave you a tired yet satisfied smile as he traced a few fingertips through your braids and along your spine.

“Yeah…more than alright. Just not used to this,” he admitted slowly, mirroring your words from the night before whether he meant to or not. It made you smile back at him, especially when he added, “I…I don’t have another condom, unfortunately. I’d have to run to the store if you wanted…to go again.”

The pink returned to his face and it prompted you to inch yourself up with your palms on his chest so you could kiss him and assure him in a whisper, “No, no…I just want to lie here with you and…talk.” It was the truth. You didn’t want to disturb the warmth he’d made for you, held you in…not yet.

You could hear the relief in his voice to not have to leave you as you felt his fingers caress your side before he curled around you there and whispered back, “I’d like that. A lot.”

The morning sun slipped into the afternoon, and the only way you could tell was from how the shadows shifted in Jack’s bedroom, cloaking his comforter that hid the lower halves of your bodies where your legs were entwined while you faced each other…the sunlight slipping past your shoulder to illuminate the green in his eyes again as they focused on you speak. 

You were telling him you were indeed from the South, Alabama to be exact, and that you decided to hit the road to leave a bad situation behind before it got worse. You didn’t want to alarm him with the gritty details because you didn’t want to rehash them yourself…all he needed to know was that you needed that gun he helped you learn how to shoot just in case your ex-fiancé made you decide whose life was more precious, his or yours…

“I didn’t want to kill him…so I left before I did,” you shared in a small but resolute tone, the harshness of your words in such contrast to the softness of Jack’s pillow beneath your cheek. His fingers were soft, too, that were holding yours under the sheets.

He tried to make you smile after that by offering to cook you breakfast if you were feeling hungry or pack it up for you or even give you money if you told him the number, anything in his power to assist you on your way. But you made him smile when you said, “You’ve done enough for me…I don’t need you to be my white knight riding in with a shiny stethoscope.”

However, there was one thing you thought that he could do for you…“What song were you playin’ late last night? I, um, overheard it…I thought it was maybe Mac Demarco.”

“Never heard of him,” Jack confessed and you giggled. “Ah, one of my med students. She was with us for maybeee three weeks last spring. Couldn’t keep her AirPlugs or whatever out of her ears. Said she had anxiety and music helped. I get that. Caught her on her phone in the break room once and I must have spooked her because she jumped and one of her plugs fell out of her ear. I picked it up for her but before I handed it over, I heard the song she was listening to and I actually liked it. Not the one you heard last night but the same artist. Blood Nose.”

“‘Blood Nose?’ Yeah, sounds like something up your alley,” you teased him and he rolled his eyes before teasing you back with a little poke to your belly with his finger because he’d learned you’re ticklish there. A laugh slipped from you as you swatted at his hand and reminded him he’s the one who said his shift team calls themselves “The Night Crawlers” because they preferred “weird and wild” cases. You were almost afraid to ask what one of those cases looked like.

When the sunlight began to wane outside and blanket you both in soft shadows, you knew it was time. You finally got your clothes in the wash and took a shower in Jack’s bathroom this time, hearing him walk in to announce that he had fresh towels for you and ask you quietly if you thought it was a good idea to get back on the road so late. The concern in his voice sounded genuine…and it wasn’t like you hadn’t pondered it as you bathed…but you decided if you didn’t leave tonight that you’d have trouble leaving the next night and the next. Besides, how would he explain to his family on Thanksgiving Day that a young woman he met a day ago was suddenly staying with him? You did not want to be in the middle of that...

Jack was still standing there when you cut the water and pulled back the shower curtain, your towels folded beside his hand that gripped the edge of his sink countertop as he leaned against it. You both talked while you were still rinsing your hair, the conversation straying to lighter subjects…like him asking you if you were excited to see more of the country or settle down somewhere soon.

He handed you the towels and watched you dry yourself and wring the water from the tips of your braids, wrapping one towel around you and the other on your head like a scarf. The silence was charged with a twinge of forlornness even though Jack said he was happy for you when you admitted, “I don’t know where I’m headed…but I know I want to get there by the end of the week. And I know wherever I wind up will be the right place.”

“I believe you,” Jack said with a soft grin. He watched you approach him and drape your arms over his shoulders, compelling him to grin bigger when you kissed his cheek. That’s when he encircled you in his arms, too, his thumbs skimming your hips over your towel. “Forgive me. I’m bein’ selfish…I shouldn’t want you all to myself, huh?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth this time and Jack turned his head to kiss your lips, tempting you to fall back into his warmth as he held you close. Yet as you pulled apart, his nose bumping yours, you murmured to him, “In another lifetime, maybe.”

EPILOGUE

“I have good news and bad news, Ms. Gutiérrez. Which do you want first?” Jack asked as he put his hands on his hips, standing next to his patient’s bed as she slowly turned her head on her pillow to look up at him with a weak smile.

“Bad news. Let’s get it over with,” she replied in a tired voice but with enough flippancy to make Jack smile back. Especially since it wasn’t even an hour ago that her son hurried her inside in the wheelchair the nursing staff promptly provided as she wailed at the top of her lungs in pain. Tramadol for the win. But Ms. Gutiérrez still pursed her thin lips at him with a tsk tsk sound. “And what did I tell you, hm? You can call me Lucia.”

Manuel had his arms folded over his chest, his glare locked and loaded to tell his 74-year-old mother for a third and final time to stop being fresh with the doctor. But instead, he asserted, “Ma, let him speak. Please.”

“It’s alright,” Jack assured him as he held up a polite hand, shifting his weight to one foot before he folded his arms, too. Wasn’t the first time a patient hit on him—and, unfortunately, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. He leaned in a bit to catch his mother’s eye again as he added softly, “Okay, Lucia. Bad news first. You have a right femoral neck fracture. But the good news is we can prep you for the OR and give you a partial hip replacement so you can walk out of here in the mornin’ feeling brand new. How’s that sound?” 

“Like a pain in my ass and hip.” The gleam in her brown eyes dimmed a little under the overbed light before she rolled them like the news annoyed her. Jack knew for a fact it did. He’d only just met Lucia but he could tell she wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to rely on anyone’s help, pre or post-operation. After all, she broke her hip trying to remove her dwarf fiddle leaf figs from the mantel above her fireplace to repot them…she used a step stool but as Manuel filled him in, she fell because she just had to do it herself and couldn’t wait for him to get back from picking up dinner ingredients at the grocery store to do it for her.

“Ma, stop that. He’s trying to help,” he said now with quiet exasperation and Jack just shook his head with a half-grin at them both. He could understand that getting older and losing some independence was never fun, especially when your kids decide to move back in to take care of you when you didn’t ask for their assistance. Jack didn’t have any kids but on days he was drained from last night’s shift and didn’t want to be bothered with cooking for himself or spending cash on expensive ass deliveries, he’d appreciate a Manuel. The man now gave him a pleading look with his downturned eyes as he added, “She’ll be going into surgery tonight?”

“If she elects to have it, yeah. Or we can schedule it. Whatever’s convenient for you, Lucia. The procedure will take two hours, tops. Dr. Yolanda Garcia is our best trauma surgery fellow physician and your best bet to get Manuel off your back…no hard feelings, Manuel,” Jack murmured the last part with a teasing shrug to him and wink to his mom, making a raspy chuckle escape her. He noticed Manuel thaw a little, too, his shoulders falling even though he kept his arms crossed. 

The son looked almost the same age as him, give or take a few years, so Jack couldn’t imagine the man was thrilled to put his life on hold to care for his mother. But the fact that he did so voluntarily was beyond noble to him…and Jack made sure to give him an encouraging word and pat on the shoulder as they spoke just outside of Lucia’s room while waiting for Dr. Garcia to arrive.

So far, it had been easy cases like this all night, likely due to the thunderstorm pouring down outside and keeping folks away, but Jack almost didn’t want to jinx it by taking a trip to the break room to sit for a minute and grab a beverage. He could hear the soft pitter patter of rain beyond the hospital’s walls and it made him realize that he hadn’t drank water in maybe three hours—and god forbid he neglected hydration before the seats filled with an influx of patients who needed critical care. He rounded the corner to slip into the lounge that was surprisingly empty because he was sure everyone would take advantage of the slow shift. But it just reminded him that his staff liked to keep busy helping people, which meant he’d done his job right. He, too, would hop on the next case as soon as he quenched his thirst.

Jack swiped a bottle from the fridge and eased onto a chair at the table, fishing his phone out of his scrubs’ pants pocket to check his notifications as he tilted the water to his lips for a few cool, refreshing gulps. It was only 10:12 P.M. on a Tuesday and the rain paired with unusual quiet made his mind drift and his eyes glaze over his work emails and personal texts when he realized he wasn’t in the mood to respond to any of them. Instead, his thoughts wandered to you. Again.

Where you might be. How you were holding up. If you were safe. If you were happy.

Something in his gut told him you were. There was something about you that was not only resilient but…ardent. You weren’t going to stop until you ended up exactly where you desired to be.

Jack understood you wished to leave no trace of yourself behind once you left his place that day, but man, he wished he had your phone number to check in on you from time to time. Make sure everything was okay with you. If that was okay with you. He just wanted to hear your voice. Thankfully, his memory of it was clear and palpable...your cute laugh…your pretty whimpers. Some nights and most days, they played on a loop in his head along with flashes of your beautiful face because even four months into the new year, he hadn’t met another woman like you. 

You weren’t easy to forget and he didn’t want that, anyway…he wanted to hold on to you in the only way he knew he could. Even if that was simply to think about you almost every day.

“Hey, hey. You got mail.”

Lena’s singsongy voice interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up at her holding a wad of envelopes as she stood in the doorway. He quirked an eyebrow at her as he put his phone facedown on the table. “Oh, yeah? If it’s another medical supplies catalog or AARP newsletter, you can trash it,” he said as he tapped his fingers on the side of his water bottle and made his charge nurse giggle.

“You know you can call their customer service and opt out of them…if you’ve got three hours to spare,” she reminded him as she walked over to him and plucked a single postcard from her stack to place on the table. “But you got lucky this time.”

She slid it across the surface to him like she was passing him a secret note before she spun on her heels and left. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he read the words GREETINGS FROM THE WINDY CITY on the front of the card in glossy, red, orange, and blue retro-style letters. He’d never received mail solicitation like this. These medical suppliers were getting creative.

He picked it up from the table and flipped to the back where he spotted his name and the hospital’s address in almost-cursive yet elegant handwriting. Odd. But when he noticed the little message next to it in the same penmanship with a phone number at the end…he chuckled to himself and his lips curled into a smile he couldn’t make any smaller if he tried. You just had that effect on him. Permanently, it seemed.

“Luella’s hot honey chicken is going to change your life. I’m sure it’s no Aunt Betty’s hot chicken salad, but you can come and tell me if it’s close.”

If you made it this far, wow, THANK YOU so much for reading. This is my first big fic, like, ever...I started writing it in March and meant for it to be a lil 2k one shot and then this spilled out, lol. Hope you enjoyed. 🥹

Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated if you liked this! Thank you again for reading! 💚

Tagging @sippingchai @joannasteez @333creolelady @eve-the-temptress @loreofsarai