Page 70 of Gunslinger Girl

“Oh, no you don’t,” Luster said. “You need to take it easy, stay off that leg. Relax—do you understand me?” With a meaningful wink, she left, closing the door behind her.

Pity turned back to Garland. His eyes—darker than usual, all black pupils—gazed at her. She felt a rush of embarrassment at being alone with him, like this. But it was gone the next instant, flushed out by a more carnal sensation.

“Should we… Do you want to go with her?” Her heart thudded. Get up, an apprehensive voice in her head said. It’s time to go. But a stronger desire kept her right where she was.

“Not particularly,” said Garland. “Do you?”

No. “No.”

“Then let’s stay here.” He touched her cheek.

Pity reached up, intending—probably—to move his hand away, but when her fingers touched his wrist, they locked there. When she turned her head, his fingertips ran over her lips. She felt the ridiculous urge to kiss them, but he pulled away too quickly. A moment later, his shirt slipped off.

Pity’s whole body pulsed, as if there was too much blood in her veins. She reached out, then stopped.

“It’s okay,” he said, taking her hand and putting it to his chest.

The skin there was warm, wonderful. She traced the line of his collarbone, losing herself in the exquisite sensation.

What about Max? said the apprehensive voice. Pity’s fingers pulled back, as did the rest of her. Something in her gut softened. But a flash of anger followed.

What about Max? The soft spot hardened again. He’s not here. And he made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t want to be if he was. She shoved the thoughts back, drowning them beneath the sensuous, gossamer layer of desire that coated her mind—a desire that reflected only Garland.

Garland, who leaned over and kissed her, instead of pushing her away.

His lips found her mouth, then her neck, and finally the base of her throat. Each caress sent a ripple of pleasure through her. When he began undoing the buttons of her shirt, she helped him. Moments later, her pants were gone, too. Left in only her underclothes, Pity shook with the sudden chill.

Garland kissed both of her knees and then the skin above her bullet wound. “Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head no, too out of breath for words. As he crawled back up the bed, she felt the heat of his breath on her belly. A glorious ache spread through her.

Wait, her last shred of sense cried. “Garland, I can’t… we… shouldn’t…”

“Why not?”

“Because… I… Well, I’m fertile to start, and I can’t… I mean, I don’t want to accidentally…”

“Oh, stop.” Garland gently nipped the skin of her stomach with his teeth. “You commune ladies aren’t half as innocent as you act. I’m sure you can think of a few things that will definitely not put you in any unwanted situations.” He moved away a few inches. “But if you want to go back to ice cream and movies, say the word.”

Pity threaded her fingers through his dark hair and pulled him toward her. “I didn’t say anything about going back to ice cream and movies.” She laughed at the surprise that flashed across his face. But all resistance was gone, burned away by the heat between them. She wanted the touch of his lips again and the delicious feeling they carried—a heady anchor in the typhoon of emotions that tossed her.

The room floated for a while, formless, before slowly turning solid again. Desire burned off, Pity felt other sensations return: cold as well as warmth, pain as well as pleasure. But everything was still too sharp, limned with artificiality. When she sat up and tried to climb out of the bed, she listed sideways into the nightstand, rattling the glasses abandoned there.

Garland roused from where he had been dozing beside her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Pity felt around the floor, looking for her clothes. “I’m going back to my room.” The movement made her stomach turn. She regretted the food and drink from earlier—it sloshed around inside her like a lukewarm stew.

“Why?” He yawned. “You can stay here.”

“It’s late,” she lied, having no idea what the time might be. She found her shirt and pulled it on, then reached for her pants and boots. She sat on the edge of the bed. “And… I’m not feeling well.”

Garland put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed. “Pity, are you okay? Is this because of what we—”

“No.” And it wasn’t. Even now, the feeling of his hands was enough to set her skin tingling. It was a bit of fun. That’s all.

So why don’t you feel any better than before?

“I want to sleep in my own bed. That’s all.”