Page 11

The whole next week isn’t great. Not terrible, but definitely not good.

Deck and I had three tense days when he kept pushing to know what’s wrong with me and I resolutely refused to tell him. Eventually he gave up and has been acting with matter-of-fact resignation with me since.

I don’t like it, but the withdrawal was my decision, and I still believe it was the best one for my long-term security. So I have to live with it.

Today I’ve barely seen Deck at all. He had an early guard shift and left our bedroom before I woke. I worked in the kitchen and then gathered up a load of laundry between mine, Deck’s, and Logan’s clothes because my low-level anxiety makes me too restless to lounge around doing nothing.

I don’t wash Trisha’s laundry this week.

When I finish hanging the clothes to dry, it’s still early afternoon.

After wandering aimlessly for a few minutes, I decide to wash my hair, mostly to fill up more time.

Burgundy is on duty and I’m not comfortable asking anyone else to keep watch while I’m naked, so I don’t go to the creek.

Instead, I use water from a rain barrel behind one of the outbuildings.

I take off my shirt, leaving on my jeans and sports bra, and then dunk my head to get my hair wet enough to work up a good lather with the shampoo.

After rinsing it off, I put on some conditioner and let it set for a few minutes.

I went so long without regularly washing my hair that, now that I can, it’s gotten drier than it’s ever been in my life.

I’d still rather have it clean than dirty though.

It’s after I’ve rinsed off the conditioner and am brushing out my wet hair—it’s so long now it almost reaches my waist—that I become aware of someone watching me.

With a gasp, I whirl around and then immediately blow out a relieved breath when I see it’s Deck who’s come up behind me.

He was clearly on his way to the creek to wash up. He’s not wearing a shirt, and he’s holding soap and a towel. There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin, on his beard and hairline. My eyes are drawn immediately to his naked chest.

It’s a good one with defined muscles and a scattering of hair. My appreciation of his body is more than aesthetic. Something about the sight of him partly undressed awakens a newer, deeper feeling.

Need .

Need.

Like I’ll be living a half existence if I don’t get my hands on him.

I wrench my eyes back up to his face because leering in this context is inappropriate. My breath hitches when I notice his gaze is crawling up and down over my body with such hunger I can’t help but look down at myself.

My bra is thin and damp. There are drips of water streaming down my skin into the low waistline of my jeans. My body is nothing special, but it’s exposed more than it’s ever been with Deck before.

With a weird jerk of his head, he looks away from me. Makes a quick, awkward sign. Sorry .

“It’s fine. You didn’t know I was here.” I pull back on my shirt even though my wet hair is going to soak the back of it. My entire body buzzes with an almost-forgotten sensation.

Arousal .

It’s been a really long time since sex has even crossed my mind.

My cheeks flush hot as I duck my head and gather up my shampoo and conditioner. “Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

“Okay,” I mumble again. “I’ve got to…” I wave in a random direction, indicating anywhere other than right here .

Then I get out of there before I humiliate myself even more.

It should have been over after that, but it’s not.

Not for me, anyway.

I keep reliving the moment in my mind for the rest of the afternoon, and every time I do my body gets interested again.

Hal and I had plenty of sex in college, but less and less in the months after Impact.

We were too scared. Too vulnerable. Had decreasing energy as our food sources became scarcer.

Plus, while we took care of ourselves as much as possible, issues caused by our lack of hygiene made sex less appealing than it would have been otherwise.

Not to mention that, even if we took precautions, the possibility of my becoming pregnant in our tenuous situation was the stuff of nightmares.

So we didn’t have sex much, and neither of us were particularly troubled by that fact. If Hal got hard, I’d help him jerk off. I never got aroused at all.

I’ve never considered myself an intensely sexual person anyway. The only times I got turned on before Hal were from reading sexy stories. I wasn’t even physically interested in Hal’s body until I fell in love with him.

So this feels strange to me. The fact that I can’t stop picturing Deck in my head. That I can’t stop imagining how it would feel to touch him, for him to touch me .

I go to bed hoping that this obsession will have dissipated when I wake up in the morning, but lying in bed in the dark makes it worse.

Deck hasn’t come to the room yet, so I’m all alone. In bed. Under the covers. Wearing nothing but panties and a loose T-shirt.

Thinking and thinking and thinking about Deck.

My self-control must not be what I’ve always believed it to be because I finally slide my hand between my legs and rub my clit through the fabric of my panties. I’m aroused enough from imagining having sex with Deck that my body leaps toward climax at the first pressure of my fingers.

My breath sounds loud in the silent room as I rub myself fast and hard. Even the fear that Deck might burst into the room at any moment doesn’t quench the sensations.

In fact, it somehow intensifies them.

A lingering remnant of self-preservation makes me turn over onto my other side so I’m facing the wall instead of the door. I pull my covers up higher.

My momentum toward orgasm breaks from the repositioning, so I have to start again. But it doesn’t take long until I’m close again, my body tensing up and my skin blazing with heat.

It’s then—of course it’s then—that the door to the bedroom swings open and Deck’s presence fills the room.

I was so close. Almost there. I almost whimper with the frustration .

The sound of his motion stops abruptly. I know he’s peering at me in the dark.

I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Hold my hand perfectly still despite the way my whole body is throbbing.

After a minute, he stops checking me out. I hear the sounds as he undresses and then climbs up to the bunk above me.

My arousal was halted so abruptly my pussy actually aches. I never make a conscious decision, but I very carefully start rubbing my clit again.

If I make no sound or motion, Deck will never know.

And I’ve got to relieve some of this tension if I’m ever going to sleep.

The interruption only slowed me down slightly. Soon I’m on the cusp of release again, fighting against the urge to rock my hips and release little moans because it feels so good and I need it so much.

Deck is still moving occasionally above me the way he always does to get comfortable on the small bed. He’s paying no attention to me.

And I’m almost there.

I fall over the edge on that thought. I keep pushing hard against my clit as the spasms of orgasm radiate out from my center. I manage not to move, but there’s no way I can suppress a soft gasp of pleasure.

It’s fine.

Deck has grown still now. He always falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He didn’t hear. And if he did, he won’t know what that gasp was from .

My body feels so much better. It’s relaxing, washed with waves of satisfaction.

That’s all I needed. I’m fine now.

Everything is fine.

I’ll go to sleep and forget about this whole thing by morning.

I’m still convincing myself of that fact a few minutes later when Deck suddenly climbs off his upper bunk, stuffs his feet into his shoes, and strides out the bedroom door.

I turn over and gape at the door in the dark, startled and upset by his abrupt departure.

But even that is not necessarily a big deal. He’s even done it before—a few days ago when he ate something that disagreed with him and had bathroom issues during the night.

There’s absolutely no way he could have known what I was doing earlier. No one could.

I’m relieved when he returns about five minutes later.

“Are you okay?” I ask him as he toes back off his shoes.

He turns on the lantern so I can see his signed response. Yes. Bathroom .

I let out a long breath, deeply relieved. “That’s what I figured. You’re not sick, are you?”

No. Okay . He flicks off the lantern and climbs back up to his bunk.

“That’s good. Good night.”

He drops a hand and taps the bedframe, which I understand as his response and acknowledgement of my words.

So it’s all okay. Not great, but okay.

And at least I didn’t give myself away.