Page 21

We hug on the floor of the storage unit for a long time, but eventually something changes about Deck’s body.

The nature of the transformation isn’t entirely clear—maybe he tenses, tightens, hardens, heats up—but I know what it means.

He’s getting turned on.

And the fact of his arousal on the heels of our emotional upheaval gets me going too.

I straighten, pull back, and smile at his damp, rumpled, slightly dirty face.

He gazes up at me with an intensity that takes me aback. It’s hot but also more than that. Deep and awed and adoring.

Before right now, no one ever—not once in my life—has looked at me like that. I’m not even sure my mind is capable of processing the significance. But it washes over me like a wave and evokes an internal shuddering that doesn’t go away even when I lean forward to kiss him.

I’m still on his lap, straddling his hips. It’s become my favorite position because the size difference isn’t as much of an inconvenience. Our bodies are as close as they can get, but our faces are almost aligned. I can kiss him and feel his body at the same time.

He’s already getting hard in his jeans. The bulge pushes up against my groin insistently. I grab handfuls of his thick, messy hair and open to the intrusion of his tongue.

It’s a good kiss. The best kind. Eager and passionate and just a little sloppy. But a small flash of spirit provokes me to tease when I finally draw back. “You really need a haircut.”

He huffs and frowns at me disapprovingly.

With a giggle, I sway in for a quick peck. “Not that you’re not already as hot as a man can be, but you could still use a haircut.”

He shakes his head and moves his hands from my ass so he can sign his response. Hair later. Sex now.

I dissolve into more giggles, trying to kiss him simultaneously.

This time the kiss is even deeper and more urgent, and when we break apart, we start undressing in a rush.

I yank off my top and worn sports bra as he fumbles at the button and zipper of his jeans, lifting his hips so he can push them down with his underwear enough to free his cock.

If he’d rather his bare ass not come into contact with the old cement floor of the storage unit, he makes no show of it. He helps me get my pants off—a rather awkward, rushed endeavor—and then pulls me back down to straddle his lap again.

We’re both smiling as he holds his cock in place so I can wriggle into position on top of it and slowly take it inside my pussy.

It’s only been a few days without sex, but it feels longer than that. I moan in pleasure as he penetrates me snugly. Since our only foreplay has been kissing, I’m not as wet as I usually am. It’s not painful or even genuinely uncomfortable, but the extra friction makes the stimulation more intense.

He gasps raggedly and arches his neck, his big hands clenched in the flesh of my bottom.

“Oh fuck.” I roll my pelvis in a small circle, reveling in the sensations. “It feels so good. I’ve missed this.”

He grunts and rocks upward several times, the little thrusts more instinctive than purposeful. He’s missed this as much as I have. That much is obvious.

When I start to ride him, he keeps one hand on my hip and moves the other to fondle my bare breasts.

They’re still not big—they never will be—but I’ve filled out a bit from better nutrition, so there’s a little more there to play with.

He stares hungrily at his large hand tweaking and twirling one nipple and then the other. The sensations combine with the tightness of my pussy to build toward an orgasm.

It feels so good and I want it so much that I let go of his shoulder and lean backward so I can rub myself off, but he beats me to it. He slides his hand from my breasts and down my belly until he finds my clit and starts to massage it.

He’s distracted. His cock is buried inside me, and he’s making eager, upward thrusts. His fingers on my clit aren’t at their most skillful, but it really doesn’t matter.

The pressure jolts my body into pleasure. Again and then again as I ride him faster and harder, chasing the orgasm that’s almost in reach.

We work our bodies together like that for a while, him gasping wetly and me making high-pitched, choppy sounds in time with our rhythm. Until he suddenly arches up, his mouth opening in a soundless cry as he presses harder into my clit.

It’s enough. I come with a silly sobbing noise. Deck yanks out his cock just in time before he follows with hoarse, breathy gasps of release.

We shake and jerk together until he’s spurted out a lot of ejaculate between our bodies. Then he draws me into a tight hug, and we continue to shake through little afterquakes of pleasure until it fades into delicious satiation.

It’s several minutes before I finally pull away and straighten up. I’m sore and messy, and my stomach and breasts and even part of my chin are wet from his semen.

He’s smiling as he casually reaches over to grab a spare shirt from his open bag and uses that to clean me up.

I giggle again at the pleased pride on his face.

“You’re looking smug.”

He shakes his head. Signs, Happy .

That makes me giggle again because the truth is just this. I’m happy too.

Not long later, we’ve gotten ready for bed, and Deck has pulled me back onto his lap, this time cradling me with my legs extended to one side.

He’s never held me like this before, and I love it. Love it. Never have I felt so protected, so cared for, so loved.

I’m glad he hasn’t yet turned off the lantern because we can’t talk in the dark. I have to see his face and hands.

We hold each other in silence until I slide a hand up to stroke his tangled beard. “I’m going to give you a haircut tomorrow. Is that all right?”

He blinks. Stays still for a moment. Then nods and shrugs.

It makes me smile. That he trusts me. That never once has he prioritized his ego over me. I nuzzle the curve between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. “You know I like you exactly as you are, right?”

He cups my face and pulls it back enough for him to study it. Nods and searches my expression with his brown eyes.

“I don’t want or expect you to change—except in the ways everyone needs to change to be with another person.”

His thick eyebrows pull together as he nods slowly again.

“So I’m going to ask you a question, but it’s not because I’m unhappy with anything about you. You get that, right?”

He relaxes. He didn’t understand where my questions were going, but now he does. He closes his hand to sign, Yes .

“Did something happen to make you stop talking?”

He grows still again but for a different reason this time. It’s not defensive as much as surprised.

“I’m not ever expecting you to talk again.

I’m really not. And it doesn’t matter to me in any real way—except if it’s because something is wounded inside you that needs to heal.

” I gulp, my cheeks getting hot as I suddenly fear I’m saying too much, asking too much, pushing too far past his internal walls.

“I like you exactly as you are. But I also don’t want you to…

to stay wounded.” I mumble out the final words. “If that’s what it is.”

He takes several deep, slow breaths. Meets my eyes and then looks away again.

I’m twisting and trembling inside, but I don’t want to put additional pressure on him, so I don’t keep babbling the way I’m tempted to. Instead, I wait in silence, focusing on the pretty flower he gave me that’s lying nearby on the dirty, gray cement floor.

It’s a jarring contrast. The dark pink petals—lush and tender and so incredibly delicate—against the worn, gritty background.

It would take almost nothing for all that beauty to be crushed into the hard gray floor.

It should be treasured. Carefully preserved.

Sheltered from an ugly world that might destroy it.

But even if that flower is protected, it still won’t stay beautiful for long. Because if the world doesn’t crush it, time eventually will.

For some reason, the image feels significant. Symbolic. Like a hard truth I still don’t want to admit.

I shake it out of my mind because it makes my stomach drop, but it’s still in there somewhere. Like a toll of doom in the distance.

Deck makes a brief gesture to get my attention, so I focus again on him.

Impact happen. He smacks his two palms together in the sign we’ve agreed on for Impact. Same as everyone .

“So it was from the general trauma of the world falling apart? Not… not something worse?”

Worse than Impact?

“Well, I mean, I know there’s not much worse.

I guess I meant something more specific.

Something more… more personal. Did… did something…

” A sob lodges in my throat, so I have to clear it before I continue.

“Deck, it feels like something happened that you’ve never told me. When did you stop talking?”

He sucks in more of those loud, slow breaths, but he’s not pulling away. It’s more like he’s steeling himself.

It takes a while, but he finally signs out in halting, awkward gestures, spelling out the words he doesn’t know. Riots in the city. Chaos. Violence. Logan makes shelter. Defend it. I find my mother. Take her to shelter. But I too late.

My throat is so tight I can barely breathe for a moment. My hands are shaking as I clutch at one of his arms. “Deck,” I mumble.

He swallows visibly. Too late. Gang there. In house. I fight. Too many. They hold me down. He’s shaking violently, trying to breathe through the surge of emotion. He rubs at his face until he can continue. Make me watch. Laugh.

Tears stream down my face and won’t stop. “Oh Deck.”

After that, no more to say.

There’s nothing I can say either, so I wrap my arms around him and hug him instead. Both of us are shaking, but only I am crying. That’s okay. I can cry for both of us.

I can do that for him.

When I’ve finally stopped crying and he’s grown still, he eases me up so we can see each other again. You want me to talk?

“No!” I shake my head and wipe at my nose.

“No! If you ever feel ready to start talking again, that would be fine. I’ll help you if I can.

But don’t you ever do it just for me. I told you before.

I like you exactly as you are. The man who doesn’t speak is the only one I’ve known.

He’s the person I care about.” I sniff and peer at him through a couple of stray tears. “You believe me, right?”

He nods. His expression breaks briefly, but then he pulls me into his arms again.

We eventually lie down and turn off the light, but we don’t stop holding each other. There’s nothing more we need to say.