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He didn’t give me a chance to respond; he caught my lips in another urgent, needy kiss that made me feel weak with its intensity.

His hands explored my body hungrily, rousing me with teasing caresses in all my most sensitive places.

He followed with his mouth, spreading open-mouthed kisses across my skin.

John’s kisses were like an opiate, and I was intoxicated. He was insatiable and frenzied. Before I knew it, his hand had wandered into my pants, and he was strumming my clit rhythmically, his fingers inside me, as I writhed with pleasure.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he crooned, his voice low and urgent. “Come all over my fingers. Show me again how fucking good it is between us.”

I cried out against his shoulder, coming hard for him, and he made a satisfied sound in his throat. He rolled on top of me, and we struggled with our clothes. Finally, he entered me with a helpless gasp before taking my mouth with his again.

“I love you more than my own life,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “So much that it breaks my fucking heart. I can barely stand it. ”

He thrust into me hard, and I gasped with pleasure, tightening my grip on him.

“You don’t think,” I replied breathlessly, “that I feel that for you, too? That I can stand to think of a life without you?”

He groaned as I synced my hips with his, and we moved together in a sweaty, enthusiastic heap, drawing closer to mutual fulfilment.

There was a bone-deep ache, a hopeless longing, to our lovemaking that seemed to say, we who are two would be one.

We reached climax together, clutching each other with a naked vulnerability that tugged at the corners of my heart.

“If you loved me half as much,” John breathed, “I’d consider myself lucky.”

When he rolled off me, I curled up beside him, too weary to open my eyes. His breathing uneven, he cradled me against his body like a precious thing he was guarding. Feeling safe and satisfied, I fell asleep with my forehead pressed against the warm skin of his throat.

I woke with a start some time later, from bad dreams I didn’t remember. It was still dark, with only firelight dimly illuminating the tent. John must have felt me stir because he stroked my hair.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re alright.”

I calmed under his touch, relaxing once more in his arms.

“It’s late, my love,” he murmured, and I felt a surge of affection for him. He’d never called me that before. “Go back to sleep.”

“’Kay,” I mumbled, nuzzling against his neck.

John pressed his lips to my forehead. I was almost asleep when he spoke again.

“Marry me, Claire,” he said, his voice soft and urgent, his hands tangled in my hair.

My eyes flew open, and I looked up at his face. His expression was solemn, his eyes full of emotion.

“What?” I asked, startled. “Why?”

The corners of his mouth ticked upward. “Because I’m so out-of-my-mind in love with you that just seeing you happy makes my day. Because I’d live my life thousand times over if it meant I got to keep meeting you. Because when I look at you, I see my future, and it’s so bright that it’s blinding.”

I blinked back sudden tears. I hadn’t even thought of marrying him as a real possibility. My first marriage had been so passionless and carefully arranged—so different from what I had with John—that it hadn’t occurred to me that it was an option. But immediately, I knew I wanted it.

“Is that enough reasons?” he asked, gently cupping my cheek.

I swallowed hard. “You don’t have to ask me just because I went in after you.”

“But I do,” he said. “You’d give your life for mine. I’m used to taking care of people, but you take care of me. I don’t want to waste any more time without you as my wife. I know what I want…and it’s you.”

My wife. The words made me tingly with joy.

“I feel the same,” I whispered.

He smiled. “Say yes, then.”

I arched up and kissed him.

“Yes, John,” I said softly.

He kissed me hard, then held me so tight that I had to fight a little for breath, laughing.

“There’s another reason,” he said after a moment, hesitation in his voice. “You already know that when we get home…not everyone is gonna be happy to see us. Especially with Asha now, too.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. But…it’ll be easier for you as my wife. There’ll be less doubt about my commitment, and it shows you’ll stick around.”

He let out a breath, as if nervous about my reaction. I stared back at him, nonplussed.

“As far as I’m concerned,” I said with a shrug, “getting married is a piece of cake after jumping into a frozen lake after you.”

John smiled and pressed a kiss between my eyes.

“I know it’s not going to be all that official-feeling out here, but I promise we’ll have a real wedding at home—whatever you want.”

“I hardly have grand expectations, darling,” I said. “My last ‘wedding’ was as sterile as could be—signed a few papers and that was it. I’ll be happy so long as I get to be with you.”

I kissed him, and we got lost in each other’s lips for a while before John spoke again.

“I’m excited to bring you home,” he said, soft and affectionate. “Show you everything, introduce you to everyone. Show you off a little.”

I laughed. “Just a little, hmm? Well, I suppose if we ever make it through this godawful winter, I’ll allow it.”

John sighed. “I know, but we’ve made it this far. Just hang in there a bit longer for me.”

“Alright. Just for you, Wastelander.”

He pulled me into an embrace and held me close for a long time. Eventually, he made love to me again, slow and gentle this time, cherishing every moment of pleasure we gave to each other.

“Ah, my Claire,” he breathed in my ear, his voice thick with tenderness.

I pressed my forehead against his as a pleasurable shudder passed through him.

“I’m always your Claire.”