“You can take that with you,” he continues. “It’ll only get colder tonight when the temperature drops.”
Perhaps he’s a bit more oblivious than she originally assumed, and she’ll have to come right out and say it.
“I think we should have sex, Wyatt.”
“Is that what you think?”
“If you’re on board for that idea, of course. Consent should never be overlooked.”
He runs a hand over his face with a sigh, sending her an exhausted glare. “And why do you think we should do that?”
“Well, things are awkward between us.”
“That they are.”
“And, to be honest, I feel a bit uncertain about your intentions.”
“Please explain how us fucking will fix any of that. I can’t wait to hear this.”
“I feel it would be a good idea to get it out of the way. It would ease the tension and maybe even create a sense of fondness, which could be useful in our…situation.”
He pauses, one brow raised, and a slight grimace on his lips as if she said the most absurd thing, when in reality she’s only being practical. Besides, it’s not like it means anything, anyway. It never does. Sex is a rudimentary action that creates life and placates angry husbands. Her granny always told her that if her husband got too hot under the collar and she wasn’t within reach of a skillet, she should use what’s between her legs to soothe his mind.
Practical. That’s all it is. This one absolutely looks like he could use a little bit of soothing.
Why then, when she knows she’s making perfect sense, does her heart stutter when he moves swiftly in her direction, her feet backing up in time with his approaching steps until her shoulders hit the wall behind her and one of his hands braces beside her head, caging her in.
She swallows hard as fear creeps up her neck, heating it red.
“Do you want to have sex with me, Darlin’?”
“I already said that we—”
“Do you want to? Real important technicality there.” He leans in a little closer. “I ain’t gentle like your husband.”
Warm breath ghosts her lips from how close he’s gotten, and when she looks up to meet his eyes, expecting to find lust circlingin his gaze, there is only poorly hidden confusion wrapped in a hint of concern, if the furrow in his brows is anything to go by. Instead of doing the logical thing that she came here for, she decides to go with the truth.
“Not especially,” she admits, biting her lip. “I mean, we just met.”
“Now that’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said this whole conversation.” He leans away, giving her some space again. “And don’t do this shit again. If we need to…form any fondness to benefit our situation, we can damn well do that without jumping straight between the sheets.”
“Right. Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s um…I’m not exactly from here, and I don’t always know what’s acceptable and what isn’t.”
“Oh Jesus,” he half groans, flopping down on the bed and tucking the pillow under his arm to hug it, his eyelids drooping. “Not from here like you’re an alien, or not from here like you’re from North Carolina?”
“Neither. I grew up on a compound. I didn’t really leave much, or at all, until the virus hit. A lot of things are new to me.”
“Was everyone fucking at all hours of the day in this compound of yours? Was it some kinda sex cult thing?”
“Of course not. That wouldn’t leave much time for preparing.”
“Preparing?”
“For the end.”
His eyes narrow. “Doomsday cult, then?”
“I guess you could say that. Though, to be clear, we didn’t expect the end to be quite so…rotten.”
