OUR CLOTHES FELL TO THE EARTH LIKE THE RAIN THAT HAD forgotten this land.
He lay back against that dry, parched earth, like a jewel laid upon a rough grey cloth. He had begun to glow before all his clothes had come off. When I brushed my hand over his bare arm, his skin glowed behind my fingers as if lightning flared underneath his skin, as if the lightest touch of my fingertips on even the most neutral parts of his body was almost too much. I wondered what he would do if I touched less neutral places.
I laid the very tips of two fingers against the swell of his upper chest. Light blossomed at my touch. His whole body glowed bright white, but around my fingers the light glowed orange and red like true flame. Where I touched him, his body ran hotter, and that red, hot heat followed my fingers down his body. I traced down his stomach, and just the touch sped his breathing, made him writhe against the dry earth. His eyes fluttered shut and his hands scrabbled at the bare earth, and all I had done was trail fingers across his stomach. I lost patience then, I wanted to see what he would do when I wrapped my hands around that most intimate part of him.
I think he expected me to at most trail my fingers across the long swollen bit of him, to give him some warning, but I didn’t.
I wrapped my hand around him and squeezed. He cried out. His upper body came up off the ground, and the feel of him in my hand closed my eyes, bowed my back, because he was so much harder than I’d imagined. So hard, so terribly hard, that he felt more like smooth, hard marble, except he was so very warm.
“Oh, don’t, don’t do that, Merry-girl, or I won’t last.”
“So hard,” I said, and my voice sounded breathy and hoarse.
“I know,” he whispered, “too hard. I will not last.”
“Then don’t last,” I said.
He frowned at me, eyes still wild. “What?”
“Then don’t last, for this first time, meet your need. You can prove your stamina next time.”
“Next time,” and he laughed. “I don’t believe in next times. All that’s real to me is you, here, now.”
He sat up and leaned in toward me. We weren’t touching now, just close.
“If I am not good enough, you won’t want me again.”
I leaned in toward him, putting our faces very close together.
“Did she judge you all on just one night?”
His eyes widened. “Yes,” he whispered.
“I don’t.”
He smiled. “Are you saying that Frost and Doyle were less than spectacular the first time?”
I had to smile. “No.”
“Then who?”
I shook my head. “Everyone was wonderful, some just got spectacular with practice.”
He drew back far enough to see my face clearly. “You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“They can’t all have been amazing.”
“If they weren’t, I’ll never tell.”
“You won’t tell,” he whispered.
I started to touch his face, but he pulled back just enough to be out of reach.
“Tell what?” I asked.
He gave me a look, a look eloquent with meaning.
“Oh,” I said, and smiled again, but it was a gentler smile. “No, Amatheon, I won’t tell.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in against him. His back was covered in the dry, powdery dirt. I expected it to be rough, but it wasn’t. It was smooth and fine like the softest talcum powder. It did not distract from the warm smoothness of his skin but seemed to add texture like icing spread over warm, rich cake.
I pulled back enough to show him my hands covered in the soft, dry powder.
“So soft.” I looked up at him.
“Does it feel as soft against other places as it does on my hands?”
He drew me close, and just before his lips touched me, he whispered, “Let’s find out.”