"Harder," she says.
I go harder.
"Don't stop. Right there, don't, ah!"
I don't stop. I get my thumb on her clit. She cries out and clenches around me, and I feel it everywhere.
"Good," she breathes, ragged. "I want to hear you."
I'm not quiet. Can't be. Not with her wrapped around me, making those sounds. Not with how good she feels. Not with the way she keeps pulling me deeper like she can't get enough. I groan into her neck. She drags her nails down my back and says yes, like that, come on.
She comes hard, her whole body arching up, both hands fisted in my hair, clenching tight around my cock while I keep moving. I follow right after, driving deep, her name in my mouth, her hands holding on hard while I shudder against her until there's nothing left.
We stay like that. My weight on her. Both of us wrecked.
After, she puts her head on my shoulder. Her hand settles flat on my chest. Her fingertips adjust once, then go still.
I look at the ceiling. Outside, the long summer evening has finally gone dark.
"Your pulse is slower than I'd expect," she says eventually.
"I work with my hands for a living."
"Mm." A pause. "The scar on your forearm. The burn."
"Rig accident. The year before Pete."
She takes that in. Her fingers stay where they are, steady. "Does it hurt still?"
"No."
"Okay." She settles against me like that's all she needed to know.
five
Celeste
Theweatherforecastisa total buzz kill:Major winter storm warning. Total snowfall 24–36 inches. Wind gusts to 60 mph. Extended power outages are expected across the region.
I’m Canadian. I know snow. I did my undergrad in Manitoba, which has strong opinions about winter as well. I am not soft about the weather.
What I am is suddenly very aware that I have a lot of work on a laptop with a four-hour battery, in a house that is mid-rewire, with a generator I bought last week at Murphy's Hardware and have not yet tested.
Ross calls at six-thirty. "Saw the forecast," he says.
"I'm working on the generator."
"I'm coming over." A pause. "The rewire is mostly done but I want to finish the panel connection before this storm. If you lose power and someone tries to restore it through a half-connected panel—"
He's here by seven-thirty. We work through the morning — him finishing the panel connections, me following his instructions on the generator hookup. By noon the house is properly wired, the generator is tested and running clean, and the sky has gone that flat white that means it's serious about what it's planning.
His phone rings just after noon.
He listens. Says very little. When he hangs up he has the look of someone working through a problem.
"Town needs me," he says. "Storm coordination. I'm the only licensed electrician in Silver Ridge — if the grid goes down they need someone to manage the restoration sequence so nothing gets backfed." He looks at me like he's apologizing in advance for something.
"Go," I say.
