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He enters the shed, and I reach out, pushing the door shut behind us. I'm twisting to look, my stomach pressing into his shoulder. Jordan looks around the room and marvels. In one corner,my large brick kiln squats on the concrete floor like a frog with its mouth open to the sky, exposing the recently finished pieces I'd made. One is for Cadence.

A box on a table glistens with multiple shades of sea glass. I've been collecting them for a long time. They've been waiting for me to come back to them for over a year.

The wall furthest from the kiln, holds a sturdy black shelf. Every row contains shining pieces of ceramic. Tiles, cups, esoteric designs I made on a whim. Those aren't old, I made every single one in the last five days.

“You've been busy,” Jordan whispers in wonderment.

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

He sets me on my feet in front of him. Drawing my face upwards, he grinds my nose with his as he talks. “How does it feel to make art again?”

“Amazing, it's like I never stopped. I didn't feel rusty.” Flexing my fingers, I curl them into fists, then release them again. “Funny what our muscles remember.”

“It's deeper than that,” he says, staring in my eyes. “When I set a sheet of paper on my drafting table to sketch again, it was more than just my tendons and bones knowing what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was like opening a faucet. Everything came pouring out, as if mybloodwas angry at being stopped up. It actually hurt.” He pauses, checks me over, searching for something.

“Me too,” I say. “I felt the same thing. I stayed up all night until the sun rose, unable to quit shaping the clay.” I show him the red spots around my nailbeds that reveal soreness and cracked skin.

He puts my fingers to his lips and shuts his eyes. “You're something special, Lorikeet.”

I breathe through my nose, waiting for him to look at me again. When he does, I press against his mouth. Not hard, but insistent, until his eyes flash, his muscles stiffening. Jordan gets the hint and pulls my finger inside. His warm tongue circles it, lips sucking, until my clit throbs. His wet suckling is a promise that makes my knees shake.

Holding my wrist, he turns my arm to kiss the sensitive skin where my veins run like streams. “Are you imagining me licking your sweet pussy right now?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His smirk draws another shudder from my core. “Good girl. I love how vivid your mind is. If I dothis,”he laps at my thumb, nipping gently, “do you feel it on your tits?”

My nipples harden obediently under the dress. “Fuck, yes.”

“Your brain is as greedy as your cunt,” he chuckles. “I wonder if I can make you come with enough filthy words. Make you drip and beg and shake without even running my fingers between your legs?”

“Oh my god,” I hush.

“Take off your panties.”

I reach down, balancing on him until I yank them free. Jordan holds out his hand; I give them to him, and he smiles wide. “You know what I want without me saying it. You read my mind as well as I read yours, Lorikeet.” He stretches the silky underwear in his fingers, staring at the damp spot on the crotch. “Dear lord, youarewet.”

I'm blushing down to my chest, heat blossoming everywhere. A wave of tense pleasure bunches in my pussy, making my walls flutter. “It's your fault.”

“You don't think I know that?” he asks, eyes darkening. He puts my panties to his nose, inhales as deeply as humanly possible. A guttural nose leaves him between clenched teeth. “I'm the only reason your delicious cunt gets wet anymore, sweet bird. Me and me alone. I'll take all the credit until my last day on Earth.” He tosses my underwear aside. “Spread your legs. Wide as you can while still standing.”

Breathing quicker, I push my feet apart. I'm not wearing shoes and the concrete is cool under my heels. I stop at shoulder-width, but my calves are noodles from excitement; losing my balance, I put my hands on his shoulders.

“No,” he snaps, “hands behind your back.”

Confused, I straighten up, folding my arms over each other as he says. My pose reminds me of how a soldier would stand in front of their drill sergeant.

Reaching down, Jordan scoops my dress up until it's curled around my hips. The hem barely covers my ass, the front draping over my pussy lips. It's more erotic than full nudity. Licking my lips, I watch him expectantly. “What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I'm going to make you drip until there's a puddle between your feet.”

All the air catches in my throat.

He waits for me to say something, and when I don't, he narrows his eyes. The curve of his smile is unadulterated gluttony. “I've wanted to spank your gorgeous ass for weeks.” When I think about how excited he was when he gave me a smack while carrying me over his shoulder, I don't doubt him.