Kate stirs, makes a soft sound, and blinks awake. Her eyes find mine, and she smiles—small, satisfied, the smile of someone who got exactly what they wanted.
"Morning," she murmurs.
"Good morning." I'm still not sure of the protocol here.
Do we pretend last night didn't happen?
Acknowledge it?
Repeat it immediately?
She stretches, wincing slightly. "You weren't kidding about the 'feel it tomorrow' part."
"Did I hurt you?"
"In the best possible way." She traces a finger down my chest, watching me carefully. "Are you okay? With all of this? I know last night was... a lot ofvariables."
I consider the question honestly. "You were correct. The emotional component does enhance the physical experience. Significantly."
She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression I can't quite categorize. Affection, maybe. Amusement. Something warmer.
"Finn, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest."
My body tenses. This is where she tells me I did something wrong. That I was too rough or not rough enough, too intense or not intense enough. That I misread the instructions somehow.
"Okay."
"Do you want this to keep happening? Or was this a one-time thing?"
Relief floods through me. That's a question I can answer. "I want it to keep happening. Frequently."
She kisses me. "That's a yes, then," she says against my mouth.
"Yes. Definitively yes." I pull her closer. "But I need protocols. I don't want to assume I can... initiate. I need clear signals."
"How about this: anytime you want to touch me, ask. And anytime I want you to touch me, I'll tell you." She runs her hand down my side. "For example, right now I would very much like you to touch me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
I flip her onto her back and kiss her before she can finish the sentence. She laughs into my mouth, wraps her legs around me, and suddenly my morning routine seems very unimportant compared to mapping every sound she makes when I touch her.
I'm learning that some disruptions are worth it.
six
Kate
"Tellmeabouthowyou manage out here alone," I say one morning, watching him repair a trap mechanism.
"It’s predictable." He doesn't look up. “It makes sense. I don’t have to worry about other variables.”
Other variables including me, I know. But he doesn’t seem to mind as much as before.
I understand that more than he knows. My scientific methodology worked the same way. It was a framework that made sense when nothing else did.
"My research team was like that for me," I say. "We had routines. In-jokes. A way of being in the world together." I set down the frequency modulator I've been calibrating. "Ben always made the same terrible pun when we spotted a herd. Liam always triple-checked our coordinates. I always complained about the cold, and they always pretended to be annoyed."
