Tonight is the night. Deep breaths, Eve. Deep breaths.

She'd already reached her hundred brushes for the evening, but she still ran the comb through her smooth hair. It helped to diminish some of the butterflies in her stomach, brushing against her sides and making her nauseous.

M-maybe I should call it off. It's not too late to send a letter….

"No," she said aloud, her reflection glaring at her with impudence. You're not a coward. She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the handle of the comb as she forcefully laid it back on her vanity. You know what you want.

Three years. They'd been dating three years to the day. Well, evening. Three of the happiest years of her life. Not to say that there hadn't been troubles, setbacks, days where she wanted to hide from the world or even lamented the way it seemed to constantly change now that it was no longer a controlled research facility. But through thick and thin he'd stayed at her side, a calm, determined rock that offered protection from the relentless waves threatening to drown her in sorrow.

When she was younger, she had been afraid of depending on someone like that. It was, in her mind, no different than Labyrinthia's citizens depending on the Story to keep them safe from the looming threats of Bezella. But… it was different. Vulnerability wasn't a one-way street, and in his own way he depended just as much on her as she did on him.

There came a point in time, not too long ago, when she finally understood. Three years of rebuilding together, twin pillars of the community holding up the new 'Labyrinthia 2.0', three years of watching him find first a hobby, then a passion in baking under the careful tutelage of a woman who was more mother than master, three years of shy handholding, shyer embraces, eventual kissing and wandering hands, always never enough, never quite fulfilling the strange yearning that she only felt around him.

She watched him one day, laughing at a joke Espella made while he kneaded dough. Their eyes met and he smiled, all teeth and gentle gaze and softened expression. It hit her harder than the crane, metal fingers closing around her with a harsh jostle as she tried to shield Espella from the ground.

I love him.

He could have leapt over the counter and tackled her, and she wouldn't have been less shocked. The concept of love hadn't occurred to her before. It had always been in the back of her mind, lurking under more pressing emergencies. Dating turns to hormones turns to love turns to marriage turns to kids—she couldn't bring herself to think about kids. Not yet, not while she was still so young.

And yet, a different part of her was almost thrilled at the thought of children… just because they'd be theirs. Constantine was fine, even cute at times, although she wasn't sure he viewed her as his 'adopted mum' just because Zacharias said so. But a dog was one thing. A child—a baby, rather—with her eyes and his hair— no, a cute baby as handsome as his father with his dark, gentle gaze…. Just the thought made her blush like a schoolgirl. But perhaps in another few years….

This led into her current point of action. Once she'd comprehended that she loved him, she'd immediately began thinking about the more intimate side of love. The side that, if one wasn't careful, led to those babies. Three years and they hadn't even been half-naked around each other, though it had come close quite a few times. Bad luck and happenstance seemed to be her lot in life.

She'd never considered sex before, not in the same way other women seemed to. She'd never felt the urge to have a one night stand. She'd never really felt the urge to have an extended fling, even in her hormonal peak. But the thought crossed her mind that evening, as she walked home from the bakery in the fading twilight.

If it's with him… then it would be nice.

The more she thought on it, the nicer it seemed. And the nicer it seemed, the more she thought about it. Her mind, normally so calm and focused, began to wander into thoughts, scenarios, fantasies. She began to think about what she wanted, different ways she could get it.

She longed for the feel of his body against hers, without the clothes that usually separated them. She wanted her nails raking his back until he bled, until he winced every time a friend slapped his shoulder in welcome. She wanted his breath to hitch, to stop in a gasp when she teased him. To hear him whispering things to her that would make them both embarrassed later on. To feel how much he cared about her.

So, tonight was the night. What better than their anniversary? She resisted the urge to pick up the comb again, licking her lips. They'd spend the evening together, she'd try her best to seduce him—though it was by no means her strongest skill—and then see what he said. A part of her was afraid that he'd refuse, but she tried to assure herself it wouldn't be the end of the world. She would gladly wait until he was comfortable with the idea.

But she really, really hoped that he'd say yes.

Tonight's the night. Deep breaths, Zacharias. Deep breaths.

He paced around the small alcove he'd called a bedroom for the past four years. He knew by heart how many footsteps it took: eight to cross east-west, twelve north-south with a duck on the last two to keep from banging his head on the eaves. His entire being was concentrated on how he could not screw this up. His stomach felt as though there were rhinoceroses thundering around his colon, making him nauseous.

Perhaps I should call it off. It's not too late to send a letter….

"No." He squared his shoulders, only to knock his head against the ceiling. "Augh!" Rubbing the tender spot through his hair, he stomped over to his armor and peered down at his lopsided reflection in the breastplate. Even twisted as it was, it scowled back at him impudently. What sort of man are you?! You know what you want!

Three years. She'd said yes exactly three years ago to the day… evening. He couldn't see how other men could forget such auspicious occasions; it was as branded into his soul the same as his birthday or the day of the last witch trial. It had been three of the happiest years of his life—that he could remember, anyway. Not to say that there hadn't been troubles, setbacks, days where he wished he knew nothing but the strict life of a military officer and an Inquisitor. But through thick and thin she'd been at his side, offering a word of encouragement or an understanding ear until he could pick himself back out of the dust and face life head-on.

He'd never needed anyone like that in the garrison. He was the leader, and if he fell and couldn't rise, than he didn't deserve that position. It had taken him time to learn how to open up, to show a softer part of him that usually hid beneath the thick hide he'd grown during his training. But… it was different. He could be even more forthcoming with her than he could even with Mrs. Eclaire or Espella, whom he loved like family. Even Rouge didn't know as many secrets as Eve, and the former had to listen to him when he talked off his rocker on a drinking spree. And he knew, in some way, that she felt the same about him.

There came a point in time, not too long ago, when he grasped the concept altogether. Three years of rebuilding, perfecting the city that had become the same, and yet so different from the beloved medieval town he'd once vowed to protect. Three years of realizing his knack for baking, despite all the tongue-in-cheek references to 'Sir Apprentice Baker' that were thrown his way. Three years of gathering the courage to grab her hand, to kiss her cheek, to leave a proper mark on her neck too high for a collar to hide, always more, never quite enough to give him the satisfaction he knew had to be out there.

He watched her one day, telling Espella about a project. How her eyes glittered with excitement, even though she was as calm as ever. Their eyes met and she smiled, cheeks barely flushed, lips slightly parted. It hit him harder than the road when he'd finally gotten his foot loose from that damned Parade saddle.

I love her.

Her father's ghost could have appeared from thin air and socked him, and he wouldn't have felt less bewildered. The concept of love had never been very important to him. He loved many things: Constantine, the women at the bakery, the town, a good sparring session, sleeping in on Sundays. But this love was different, very different. This was the love that led to rings, a house of one's own, sharing a bed and actually being under the bedclothes at the same time, kids.

Kids with her beautiful eyes, with his strength, to teach how to swordfight and how to drive boats, to watch with pride as they grew up just as intelligent as their mother. Maybe not immediately, but soon—the next few years, perhaps? The thought of children of his own had never interested him, but it was growing more appealing.

This lead to his current point of action. Once he'd understood that he loved her, his mind jumped almost instantly to the less innocent implications. Those certain urges that lead to the smart, beautiful, strong children. Three years of being careful, of learning boundaries and nearly getting caught when he ventured to hoist her onto the bakery counter to better kiss her.

Sex was… sex. He'd personally never seen the benefits of trysts, though he knew there were women enough in town that would jump him at the first open opportunity. Any physical urges he'd felt before were either taken care of in due time, at the first hint of privacy, or repressed entirely and released through physical activity. He'd run his lust away more times than he could count, if only to keep a clear head in 'battle'.

But if it's with her… that would be good.

The more he thought about it, the better it seemed. And the better it seemed, the more he thought about it. He'd always had problems with keeping on track, but now his poor taxed mind was stuck running through scenarios, fantasies, her. He began to consider what he wanted, all the ways he could have it.

He yearned to feel her, to take her clothes off slowly, or rip them off, whichever came first. He wanted her squirming beneath him, over him—hell, beside him for all it mattered. He wanted his name coming from her, all the little pants and sounds he could wring out of her, her teeth and claws tearing him to bits as he pinned her down. He wanted to feel everything the next morning and know that it was no dream.

So, tonight was the night. What better night than the one where they'd first became a true couple? He'd do everything right, be the perfect gentleman. He'd smile that smile that made her hide behind her hair, try to get closer and closer until he could properly ask her to let him have her. Of course, she could always say no. The thought sat like a stone in his chest, but he tried to assure himself that it wouldn't be the end of the world. She could say no, and he'd wait until they were both 90 years old, if that's how long it took.

But he really, really hoped that she'd say yes.

Knock knock-knock-knock knock

That was him. She smoothed her dress as she walked to the door. Why did she wear a dress? Was that asking too much? Easy access? Should she change? No, she couldn't change, he was at the door already. What if he was underdressed? Was she overdressed?

She opened the door.

"Hi."

"Hi."

At least she wasn't overdressed. He'd actually cleaned up—well, more than usual. It looked like he'd even tried to get his hair to make a decision on which way it wanted to lay, and… had he ironed that shirt? Probably asked Mrs. Eclaire to do it for him.

"For you." She took a step back as a bouquet of lavender and pink roses was thrust nervously at her. "H-Happy Anniversary."

"Oh, thank you." She took them from him, taking the opportunity to hide her red face while taking an appreciative sniff. The calming fragrance of the lavender was nice against the pale whiff of rosebud.

"No problem. I'm glad you like them." His voice broke and he cleared his throat quickly.

"I'll just go… put these in some water. Make yourself at home." Make yourself at home? Why was she acting like this was the first time he'd ever been in her house?! She couldn't begin to count the times she'd come home to find him already there, sleeping on her sofa while waiting for her to get back from helping Mr. Cantabella or overseeing a quick side project. He even had the spare key, for goodness sake!

She scurried into the kitchen, cursing herself for acting so strange. Surely he could see it, couldn't he? He'd know something was off, and ask her, and then the night would be ruined. This wasn't seducing him, this was just confusing him! But he's acting odd too, isn't he? She paused, the water overflowing out of the vase and spilling into the sink as she thought. Was he feeding off her emotion, or was it also some anxiousness on his part?

Stupid, stupid, stupid! He tried to slow his pacing so that if she came unexpectedly into the sitting room, he could play it off casually. Though already his 'casual' had been everything but. He'd nearly knocked her on her rear with the flowers, and instead of explaining how he'd though the lavender was a good match with her hair he ended up choking on his words until he squeaked and squawked like a preteen boy.

He stopped before the mantle, picking up a decorative egg and running his fingers over the bumpy, gilded edges. Stop acting like a novice and just do something! He had to sweep her off her feet somehow, really make her see how cool of a guy he was. Someone worth being with for another three years, maybe more. Hopefully more. If he could ever get a proper proposal worked out. Maybe for the fifth anniversary?

"Alright, they're in—" He turned, fumbling with the egg and nearly knocking it off the mantel before sliding it back into its golden stand. Her eyes widened and he laughed awkwardly, leaning against the marble edge. His shirt pulled uncomfortably at him, but it was the only formal one he owned and he'd wanted to make a proper impression when she opened the door. "Is everything okay?"

"What?" His voice was squeaking high again, damn it all. "Ahem… what? Fine, everything's fine." He pushed off the mantel, swinging his arms before shoving them down in his pockets. If only she didn't look so darn cute in that dress, with her bare legs and the little peek of cleavage and her hair all around her bare shoulders giving him those sort of thoughts way before it was a proper time—"W-w-where did you want to go tonight? I heard there was a summer thing down at the—"

"Actually…" She bit her lip, and he felt his knees nearly give way. "I was hoping we could… stay here." She turned a pretty shade of pink and he shoved his hands further into his pockets, trying to gain control of himself. Stay here? Blushing like that? What is she thinking about?

"Stay? Oh… I mean, of course! 'Tis a good idea." Now you sound too eager, you oaf. Play it down a little! "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, there are lots of things we could do. Play a game, stargaze… read books…." Her eyes flitted to the window and back.

"Stargaze, I love to stargaze. I see stars all the time!"

"W-what?"

"No, I meant—I'd love to look at the sky with you."

Lying on opposite ends of the quilt while looking at the stars was not what she envisioned. But it was partly her fault, for not lying down right next to him from the start. This is going terribly….

He seemed comfortable enough, one knee raised with his hands behind his head, staring up at the cosmos spread above them. They were both quiet, the faintest sounds of town life from the world behind the wall overshadowed by the croaks of frogs in the lake and chirruping crickets in the fields. A bat fluttered overhead, heading for the lights of the town where the insects would be in abundance. An owl in the woods called softly to its mate.

"Can you believe it's been three years?" It was all she could think of to break the silence. He turned to her, the moon shining brightly enough that she could clearly see his face.

"'Tis flown by, hasn't it?" he replied with a chuckle. "I can still remember how nervous I was, catching you by the Courthouse steps."

"Nervous?" she repeated, bemused. "Whatever for?" He leaned up on an elbow to look down at her.

"I had no idea whether or not you'd say yes." He studied her a moment. "It was something I wasn't used to… before you, I was hardly nervous around anyone."

"You weren't nervous around me when I was the High Inquisitor," she pointed out, frowning.

"No, but I never thought of the High Inquisitor as someone I'd like to—like to—" he trailed off, brows wrinkling. "Date," he finished quickly. What was he about to say?

"Well." She let it slide, seeing that the thought was something he didn't want to share right now. "I'm glad you got the pluck to do it anyway, nervous or not."

"You are?" She sat up, crossing her arms.

"What sort of question is that?" she laughed. "Do you think this is some sort of punishment for me?" It is, in a way, but it's just because I'm a coward sometimes.

"N-no! Of course not!" He sat up as well, expression pleading. "I didn't mean it like that. Only that… I just… it's hard to imagine that you'd want a fool like me as a l—companion." Lover hung in the air between them, both of them realizing it but neither knowing exactly how to act on the impulse. He shuffled a bit closer, watching her like a doe or rabbit, something that he fully expected to bolt if he got within touching range.

"I might change my mind, if you dare to leave me unkissed on our third anniversary." It wasn't a smooth offer by any means, but he didn't seem to notice. Besides, as strange as he's been acting… he's not smooth even on a good day, is he? That wasn't entirely true; she could think of plenty of times that he finessed and managed to swing out of situations. But, it only seemed to work when he wasn't trying hard to impress her or be overly suave about it.

"Then I suppose I have no choice." He leaned over and kissed her gently, barely putting any pressure on her mouth. She reached up, cupping his jaw and running her thumb over the faint prickle of stubble that never quite made it to five o' clock shadow status before being shaved away. He deepened the kiss, tongue running against the seam of her lips before pulling away. Huffing impatiently, she tried something new to keep him close an extra moment; holding him steady, she caught his lip between her teeth and bit gently before letting go.

There was a quick, stomach-lurching movement and then she remembered, all too well, that she was only in a dress. The night air was cold on her upper thighs, her dress bunched around her waist as she sat straddling his lap, his hands tight on her hips. For a moment she was frozen, staring into his dilated eyes as he caught his breath. She was afraid to shift on his lap, afraid to shout at him, afraid to go further. Then, he seemed to realize what position he'd dragged her in and let go of her waist as if burned, his eyes dropping down between them and lips parting.

"I—I apologize! I have no—what am I doing—a-ha…heh…." His brain was stuck in a logic loop, unable to function as he stammered repeated apologies, but made no move to either shove her off or keep her on his lap. She tried to relax, to calm her pattering heart as she hesitantly put her arms over his shoulders and leaned into him. He stopped talking the moment her chest met his, mouth clapping shut as he gulped.

"I guess you liked that?" she mumbled shyly, resisting the impulse to shake her loose hair down over her face and hide. He nodded wordlessly, eyes still wide as he slowly untensed and let his right hand rest on her waist without grabbing. "Did it feel good?"

"You tell me." Before she could stop him, he repeated the movement on her, possibly even more carefully than she'd been with him. She couldn't stop the eep that left when he moved away, feeling hot despite the cool night air. "Did it?"

"M-mmhmm."

"Then I can do it once more?" She didn't bother answering, kissing him again and again as her fingers tangled in his hair, undoing all the hard work he'd put into making it lay flat. "Eve," he whispered against her lips when she paused for breath.

"Zacharias?" His fingers were inching up her legs, farther than she'd ever let them go. She shifted on his lap, feeling an all too familiar throb between her legs. He paused at the edge of her dress, watching cautiously before dipping beneath. She said nothing as he felt over the edge of her panties, letting out a little gasp when his fingers deftly slid beneath the band and popped it on her hips. "Don't tease, Zach."

"What do you want, then?" His voice was rough, breathing haggard.

"You know, don't you?" When he didn't reply, she tentatively rocked against him. The friction through the thin layer of her panties made her clench, nails biting into his shoulders. He waited a moment, staring steadily at her before adjusting her position and grabbing her hips once again. He held her still, or tried to at least, holding her steady as he ground up into her slowly. "I said d-don't tease!"

"I'm not."

"You are!"

"Fine, do it yourself." He let her rest on him, sliding his hands up her body and yanking at her dress instead. She squirmed under his warm fingers, reluctantly letting go of his hair to help him get the dress over her head. She hadn't needed to wear a bra with it, and with the first sharp inhale from him came the first stirrings of timidity. She tried to cover herself, but his hands grabbed her arms and held them behind her in an iron grip, forcing her to let him look his fill.

"Stop staring," she muttered after a moment, trying to renew the motions he'd started without straining her arms. He let go, fingers brushing over the flat of her stomach before he leered up at her. She faltered, startled, and then bit her lip when the flat of his tongue ran over her nipple.

"That's teasing," he grumbled, words muffled as he buried his face in her chest with a contented sigh. She tried to stop the moans that kept forcing their way out of her, only to have him stop what he was doing and lift his head. "Let me hear them," he asked softly. "Please? 'Tis only you and me."

"It's embarrassing!"

"It's arousing," he countered calmly, before brushing the hair off her neck and nipping at her pulse. "Can't you tell?" He pressed his hips against hers, erection straining against his pants. "Eve… I know 'tis not stargazing, but…." He let out a yelp as she pushed him on his back, blinking up at the sky before looking at her. "Hmm?"

"Just be quiet and—" her mouth fought to form the words, more than a little mortified that they even crossed her mind. "And t-ta—" She leaned in, letting her voice drop to a whisper even as the blush spread over her cheeks. "Take me." It was silly, seeing how much worse she could have said, but he still lay back, stunned into submission as she began to fumble with the buttons on his shirt. He lifted up suddenly and tore it over his head; her mind first tried to wrap around how? followed quickly by wow! as she caught sight of his chest. It wasn't as if she'd never seen him shirtless before; it was a common sight for the knights to be half-dressed when training. But never as close as this, to feel and appreciate. Was it possible to taste every inch of skin she saw? Would he even let her get that far?

No, he wouldn't; already he was rolling them, her back against the warm quilt as he knelt over her and ran his hand up her thigh. She involuntarily clenched her legs together, not used to someone being so close, and he looked up at her.

"Do you want this?" he asked, rubbing her thigh as he spoke. "Really want this; not because you think that I want it."

"I do." He moved back up and kissed her, resting his weight carefully on her so that she could run her hands over his chest and map the muscles in his back without feeling squashed. "I do, trust me."

"Is this your first time?" He rested his forehead against hers, noses brushing.

"Is it yours?"

"Can't remember." It was the truth. "Is it, though?"

"…yes."

"Then I'll be gentle." He leaned up, gently moving her legs apart before kneeling between them.

"You wouldn't have been otherwise?" she huffed, trying to ignore the shyness as he stared down at her, expression hungry. He grinned.

"Not unless you asked for it," he said with a wink; she rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. At least it helped her to forget how nervous she was. He ran his fingers lightly over her panties, smile widening when she shifted with a low sound.

"Just take them off." He shook his head, even as his fingers pulled them to the side and repeated the motion over her flesh.

"No time," he quipped, eyes leaving her face to concentrate on his task. "Later," he added, voice strained. He began rubbing her in small motions, tracing shapes and who-knows what else; she lost focus, eyes sliding shut as she grabbed handfuls of the quilt. She tried to stay quiet, but her voice had a mind of its own. He didn't seem to care in the slightest; in fact, it spurred him on until she was a writhing mess, toes curling as she arched up against him.

Her panties were removed at some point, though she couldn't quite say when, and then she tensed when she felt him switch positions, the heel of his hand too easy for her to thrust against, moaning with every exhale. His finger carefully felt at her entrance, dipping teasingly before attempting to stretch her out. She paused, legs trembling as she tensed against the feeling.

"'s alright." He moved his hand, bending down and staring at her from between her legs. She whimpered, wanting and yet not wanting him to do what she knew he was thinking about. "Shhh…." I thought you wanted to hear it, but no, it was only a comfort sound, to appease her anxiety and make her open her legs more so that he could taste her, kissing and licking until her legs trembled and she nearly tore out his hair from yanking it so hard.

His fingers were inside her now, stretching her out, uncomfortable but not painful, distracting her with his tongue every time she started to move against them. She felt the end coming and shoved his head away, shaking hers.

"No, I can't." He looked up, puzzled, wiping at his mouth with his free hand.

"You can, if you want to," he assured her.

"Not yet," she begged. "Not without you." His brows rose but he shrugged, fingers sliding out and wiped on the quilt before he reached for his pants. Shakily, she sat up and beat him to it, working on the zipper as her mouth found his. It was odd, tasting herself on his tongue, but she could easily ignore it. Her mind was on more important things, like the coarse hair beneath her fingertips, and the low groan he made when she wrapped her fingers around him.

"Don't tease, Eve," he joked, thrusting into her palm. She loosened her hand, fingers trailing lightly as he moved. His closed over her own, tightening them back. He bent his head, burying his face in her hair as he bit back a soft curse. "D-damn, I can't—" He let her go, moving away and shoving his pants off his hips. "I promise it'll be longer next time," he stammered, yanking them off his legs and tossing them on her discarded dress. "It's just… I have to… I've wanted you… for so long…."

"Let me," she whispered, pushing him back again. He lay back, watching as she positioned herself over him.

"You want me to… help?"

"No, just—let me." She swallowed, taking him and guiding him in her. How do you even relax against this? She took a deep breath, closing her eyes against the growing pain as she slowly sunk down. Even after having his fingers in her, it was still— He stayed motionless, a breathing statue as she took him inch by inch. This… this is stupid. Just get it over with! Taking another deep breath, she dug her nails into him and forced herself down until their bodies met.

"E-Eve!" She couldn't answer him, trying to keep from crying out. "Eve are you—why'd you do that!?"

"Like a band-aid," she managed to say. "Just… do it."

"You shouldn't have hurt yourself," he fussed, petting her hair and kissing her puckered forehead.

"I'm fine."

"Eve." She felt his bare arms go around her and he tugged her down, resting her full body against his. "Don't do stupid things like that. That's my job." He let her back away so that she could see his face. "You can always just beat me up for it later."

"It's fine. Look, you can move now." He watched her, and then carefully rocked his hips against her. She winced and he stopped. "It's fine, Zach."

"Do it yourself," he repeated, the same as earlier. She scowled, but tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted herself, legs protesting. As she slowly rode him, the pain ebbed away and she began to move faster, biting her lip. "Better?" he asked huskily, running his hands over her hips rhythmically to urge her on.

"I told you," she protested, stopping to let her legs rest. He arched a brow and then rolled her again before sliding back into her, far more carefully than she had done to herself.

"My turn," he growled against her neck, setting a pace that quickly had her clawing at him again. He arched into her nails with a hiss, offering a savage grin before leaving marks on her neck, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin and making her cry out. It was almost as if they fought each other, twisting and yanking and tugging until her moans reached a new pitch and he laughed, holding her against the ground hard enough to bruise as he thrusted into her.

She arched to meet him, reveling in the odd tenderness to the rough motions, feeling the need to hurt him just because she could, to make him snarl louder, to let the world know that she was his and he hers. For three years, for right now, forever. He seemed to be of the same mind, mumbling incomprehensibly under his breath as his fingers dug into her aching hips.

She crossed the threshold almost without realizing it, her body crashing into an orgasm so intense that it nearly hurt. She gasped, temporarily forgetting how to breathe as her head fell back against the ground, jarring her neck and making her realize that it was sore too. A lot of her was starting to hurt, in fact, and he was still moving against her sensitized flesh, panting.

"Just… a little… more—" She reached out for his hand, lacing her fingers with his and squeezing, rocking her hips to help as best she could.

"Zach?" She kissed his chest, his face, his neck. "Zach—" He shuddered, moaning loudly as he spilled himself inside of her. She barely stopped him from falling down on her, his full weight resting on her hands as she tried to push him back. He laughed again, more kindly this time, and gathered her in his arms before sliding out of her and to the side.

"Mmm…" he snuggled up to her, ignoring the fact they were both covered in sweat, cooling in the night air. "Shouldn't've done that," he sighed apologetically after a moment. "You'll be sore tomorrow."

"I'm sore now."

"Sorry." He petted over the darkening marks forming on her hips. "I didn't mean to, but you're just… so… you." He sighed again, all brain power lost in the wake of his afterglow.

"You meant every bit of it. So did I." Now that she thought about it, she was tired. "We can't go to sleep out here."

"We can too." His hand slid between her legs, tracing her inner thigh. "Watch me."

"No."

"Yes."

"No." She pushed him away and grabbed her dress before standing. Their mingled fluids ran down her thighs and she wrinkled her nose. He pouted up at her, pinkish marks on his neck from where she'd bit him. "Come on and let's get cleaned up."

"E-ve." He sprawled out on the quilt. "You'll have to drag me. I can't move."

"Then I guess you'll lay here by yourself." She stepped over him, walking to the house and hearing him scramble to his feet behind her. He passed her, clothes and quilt abandoned as he beat her to the door and held it open for her. "Changed your mind?"

"Only if you let me stay here tonight."

"Really? I thought that was a given."

Afterword:

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