“I think I do,” I tell him.
In the next moment, he shifts my weight, throws me over his shoulder, and forges up a set of porch steps to a log cabin.
Without hesitation, he throws open a door marked Private and stomps inside before kicking it closed again.
We’re in total darkness.
“This isn’t Lamé’s place.” My voice sounds quiet in the dark.
“No. It’s mine.”
23
Zion
The first few seconds inside are a complete blank. All I see, all I feel or hear or smell is that moment in the Glory Hole when I realized it was her.
This is a fork in the road. A choice. A big one.
I know it. Denying it right now would be lying to myself. To her.
To every person I know and respect here.
She wiggles in my arms and, rather than release her the way she wants, I take two long steps. As soon as my shin connects with the bed frame, I drop her on the mattress.
She lets out anouf, bounces once, and goes still.
“You gonna lie down and rest like a good girl?”
She snorts. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“It sounds smart.”
I hear her roll over the comforter. “Nothing I’ve done since I met you was smart, Zion. Why start now?”
“What are we doing here?” I ask, just to be clear. “What are you consenting to?”
For a few seconds, she breathes, probably thinking. “Anything. Everything.”
“You sure that’s wise?”
“I’m sure it’s not. And I don’t care.”
“I have rules,” I tell her. A low, rough voice in the dark.
Her “Okay” is not nearly as compliant as I’d like, but I go on anyway.
“One: No scat.”
“Scat?” She asks, shifting.
“Shit.”
“Oh.” More movement puts her farther up, against the headboard. The light from the big glass door to the back plays over the crystals in her tasseled top, reminding me of something slithery and scaled. Dangerous. “Yeah, I’m good with that. Do people really—”
“Two: no bareback.”
Her breathing’s audible, suddenly. Quick, excited. We’re doing this, it says. This is happening. “Agreed.”
