Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard and Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in. Finally after 200 years...relations in my Nutty Professor voice...This chapter is rated M for Mature for the authors' original work. The smut fairy has not visited me in a long time, and I doubt it will return any time soon. They are still the awkward two from before. He is in love; she is in lust LOL...Use him Cedes he doesn't mind if you keep on using him until you use him up...in the words of Aaron Neville...5 more chapters and 5 more days until Christmas. Thanks for continuing to read and those that review I appreciate it, too, more than words can say.

Chapter Twenty

Sam carried Roz back to her bed, over her protests, then he and Cedes said goodnight to the others. She put on her coat and gloves, and they walked out to their vehicles. "I'll follow you home," he said.

She gave a start of surprise, but then since yesterday afternoon, he'd been doing things that surprised her. She started to say she'd be okay, then realized that though she didn't know who had tried to steal the gasoline, they certainly knew who she was, and might have vengeance on their minds. She might not be okay, going home alone. She had to start thinking strategically, she reminded herself.

The short distance to her house only took a minute. Sam pulled into the driveway behind her; as they walked up to the porch, a speck of white drifted in front of her face, then another. She stopped and looked up at the delicate flakes floating down from the darkness. "It's snowing," she said with surprise. With everything that had happened during the past couple of days, she hadn't thought of the possibility of snow.

Snow in November wasn't unusual, just a signal that though it was technically still autumn, winter didn't necessarily agree. There would still be good days, mild and sunny, even in January and February, but by and large people should be getting ready. In normal times that meant wrapping the outside faucets to protect against freezing. This year, things were both more simple and more complicated.

Still . . . the first snow of the season was always a little magical, no matter how light. This wasn't a storm, it was a silent downward spiral of flakes, peaceful in the still night. She stood there for a moment, her face upturned, a smile curving her lips. She wasn't a nature fanatic, but she did enjoy the weather, and this moment in particular. Without thinking she reached for his hand; it wasn't until the pause before he carefully folded his fingers around hers that she realized anew how wary he still was with people.

But he was holding her hand, the heat of his palm burning through her gloves. Though he might not feel the same as she did about the first snow, he was willing to stand there with her while she enjoyed it.

"Isn't this great?" she asked, and felt the glance he arrowed down at her.

"You like the snow?"

"I like the first snow," she said, smiling. "It's new and special, and listen to how quiet everything is. But if it's still here tomorrow morning, it'll be a pain in the rear end."

She couldn't be sure, in the darkness, but the flashlight cast enough light that she thought he might be smiling a little. However small a smile she could get from him, she'd take it.

"That's true. If we hadn't given out the gasoline today, everyone would be walking and there wouldn't be a problem. But if people get out on the road tomorrow—"

"Ouch." She winced, thinking that her timing sucked. In normal times the roads would be plowed and treated with salt brine, but "normal" had changed, and no snowplows would be running.

"It is what it is. Everyone here has driven on snow before."

He hadn't pulled his hand away, but she thought she'd held on to him long enough and let her hand drop; it was better to break the contact herself than to push him out of his comfort zone.

He opened the screen door and they went up on the porch, his hand on the small of her back, then he held the flashlight while she unlocked the door. Seizing her courage, she asked, "Would you like to come in?" All he could do was tell her no, and though she would be disappointed, she wouldn't die from it. After the way he'd kissed her, she knew he was attracted to her, and at the same time, she also knew he'd likely had his fill of people today.

"Yes."

She was a little startled and a lot happy. They would talk and likely make out some, the thought of which sizzled through her veins. That was what she was thinking, but when she started to go inside, he stopped her with a touch on her arm. "If this is too soon please, say so now." His voice was rough, strained, as if he thought she might send him away.

Cedes's heart gave a giant leap, then everything in her paused, as if her body waited on her decision. Sexual relations? Now? She knew what he was saying, and wondered why she hadn't already realized it. Why else would he have come to Roz's house—bearing a gift of bacon—and actually sat down to eat with them? Taking care of security was one thing, but socializing was a giant step for him to take.

Her heart was booming in her chest. What was "too soon"? She'd been attracted to him for years. They hadn't dated, hadn't done any of the traditional romantic things, but in the world they found themselves in now perhaps a can of bacon meant more than any box of chocolates or an expensive dinner. A hot shower outweighed a movie, and tending wounds was priceless. Not only that, in this new world life was more precarious than it had been before, and tomorrow was only a possibility, not the given most people had considered it.

"No," she said quietly, and leaned her head against his arm. "It isn't too soon." If she didn't seize life, it could slip away from her. Today she could have died without ever knowing what it was like to be with him, and she wouldn't take that chance again. He had offered, and she happily accepted.

They went inside and she made sure the door was locked behind them. He paused a moment to look around and check his surroundings like a wary animal, then shed his coat, hung it on the coatrack beside the door, and went to the fireplace where he crouched down to build up the fire because once again it had burned down. The open space of great room, kitchen, and breakfast nook was chilly. It wasn't a huge space, but being so open made it more difficult to heat. She lit two oil lamps, illuminating the cozy surroundings with mellow light and adding a bit more heat.

This was her home, as familiar to her as her own face, but what did he see when he looked around? His house was bigger, and a lot more bare. Nothing here was luxurious, but her furniture was comfortable, her throw pillows were colorful, she had nice rugs on the floor, pretty lamps that were useless for now, photos and books and a few paintings on the walls. It was a woman's home, and to him it might feel fussy and stifling.

He straightened from the fireplace; he made everything feel small, dwarfing it with his height and the breadth of his shoulders. She went breathless just looking at him, absorbing the impact of his size and strength, but after a few seconds she managed to follow his lead and take off her coat and hang it beside his. That mundane action somehow felt piercingly intimate, seeing their coats hanging there side by side.

Breathe.

Doing so was more difficult than she'd expected. She was so overwhelmed by the look of him and the prospect of what they were going to do that she was in a daze. She hadn't been intimate with anyone since her engagement ended; she had been too traumatized and insecure to even try to meet someone else. Now, suddenly, there was Sam, who was like no other man she'd ever known.

She would be naked in front of him . . . but he would be naked in front of her, too, and the thought of that was far more riveting than the vulnerabilities she felt.

He was still standing there looking into the fire. Cedes regrouped, reining in her nerves and wondering if he was nervous, too—not because of the prospect of sex, but because of the prospect of emotional connection. The set of his shoulders looked tense. Instinctively she reacted, searching for something that would relieve that tension, or at least give him time to deal with it. "Would you like something to drink?" Lord, that was the wrong thing to ask; her available offerings were slim. "Mostly I eat at Roz's, but I keep a little coffee here, and some mix for hot chocolate."

He turned, his head cocked a little, interest in his eyes. "How much coffee?"

"Not much," she confessed. "Enough for a few cups."

"Then we'll have hot chocolate now, and save the coffee for tomorrow morning."

She processed that, reading between the lines and . . . he intended to spend the night here. Every muscle in her began quivering in anticipation.

"Unless you want me to leave. Afterward."

Had he read her mind, or just her face? It couldn't be her face, because she felt as if she was blazing with joy, in which case he wouldn't even have to ask that question. "No," she managed to say. "I don't want you to leave."

She went to the kitchen and poured some of her water supply into a small cast-iron pot, then took the pot to the fireplace to begin heating it. He took the pot from her, bent to nestle it in the coals and put the lid on it so ash couldn't fly into the water. "Do you have a generator? I could turn it on, get the house warm."

"I do, but I took it to Roz's before the CME hit. I thought she and Bree would need it more. I sleep here, but that's about it." And retreat here, when she needed some alone time. Besides, this was her home, and she was emotionally more comfortable here even without electricity than she was at Roz's. "It was great today, running the generator and the water heater. Carmen helped me get the well pump going. All of us had nice hot showers." She smiled at him. "I've had a shower two days in a row. I feel pampered."

"You mean aside from being shot at?" he asked, moving his hand to her waist and urging her closer to him. She went willingly, and nestled against his side. This was so new, such an unexpected fulfillment of her silent yearning, that she was caught in a vague sense of astonishment. Why would someone like Sam be attracted to someone like her? On the other hand, she was just as astonished that she was so attracted to him. She felt as if he was her polar opposite—but skin chemistry overruled a lot of things, and she wanted him to touch her, wanted to touch him in return.

"Everything that happened feels surreal." She gave voice to her thoughts. Talking was easier like this, not facing each other but watching the flames lick at the wood. "The unusual never feels real does it? It's the normal little things that anchor us."

"It was unfortunately very real." His tone was grim, and his hand tightened on her waist. "After a while you get used to it, to looking at everyone to see if they have a weapon, then not being in combat is what feels weird as hell." He fell silent, as if he'd revealed more than he meant to, or perhaps his own words had taken him back.

What he'd said had skimmed the surface of what he'd seen and done, of what he'd lived through. She couldn't imagine combat—and then realized that yes, after today, she certainly did have an idea of it.

They stood there in silence for several minutes, each of them lost in the overlap of their shared moment and their private thoughts, watching the fire, nestling together.

"Where's your bedroom?" he asked unexpectantly.

She jerked in his grip, electrified by the words. "Back there," she said, indicating the short hallway to the left, past the kitchen. "At the end of the hallway, on the right."

"I'll be right back."

Taking the flashlight, he disappeared down the hall. Cedes stood there by the fireplace, flabbergasted. Why would he not want her to go with him? Curiosity got the better of her and she started to follow, only to have him exit her bedroom by the time she reached the hall. He was carrying her mattress, covers and all. She could barely flip the thing, and while he wrestled with the size of the mattress, maneuvering it out the bedroom door and through the hall, the weight didn't seem to bother him.

Automatically she took the flashlight from him so he had both hands free. "What the hell—?"

"It's warmer in here than it is back there."

That was the truth. As the weather had turned colder, she'd begun warming a towel in front of the fireplace, then hurrying to bed and wrapping it around her feet before it cooled. She imagined as winter came on the towel alone wouldn't be enough, and she'd turn to the old-time method of heating a rock in the fireplace and wrapping the towel around the rock, then putting it under the covers at the foot of the bed. The alternative was sleeping on the couch, closer to the fireplace.

"Push the coffee table back," he said as he carried the mattress past her.

Or to stay warm she could move the bed into the great room, she thought, and almost laughed at his practical solution to the problem. She dragged the coffee table to the side, shoved the couch back a couple of feet. He positioned the mattress on the floor in front of the fireplace, and she retrieved the pillows from where he'd left them in the bedroom. When she returned he'd repositioned the couch so it was flush with the pillowtop mattress. To lean back against, she thought, recognizing immediately what he was doing.

They both removed their boots and sat down on the mattress with their backs against the couch, using the pillows for support. Either it was surprisingly comfortable, or just being with him made everything feel better. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest where she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart.

She was filled with wonder that she felt so at home with him. When she'd been dating Anthony, she'd been uncertain and self-conscious for months, wondering if she was doing or saying things that would turn him off. With Sam, those thoughts never occurred to her; the excitement and sheer pleasure of touching him, and being touched by him, seemed to override her insecurities. Once he'd kissed her, things had changed. It wasn't just that his arousal had been so evident, but that the power of his hunger had been, too. He wanted her, the woman, but he also wanted her, the person, and that made all the difference in the world.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "I've never been married."

Interesting. His masculinity was such a magnet to women, she was surprised he was a bachelor. She hadn't thought he'd always been such a loner, but perhaps he had been. She tilted her head against his shoulder to look up at him, to marvel at the way the firelight played across the hard planes of his face. "Why not? Roz doesn't call you the Trouty Mouth Hottie for no reason."

He made a sound that was half snort, half laugh, and it warmed her all the way through. "I thought I was White Chocolate."

"She has a whole list of names. I think she has a bit of a cougar in her."

"Yeah, I should probably check for claw marks." A flicker of amusement crossed his face, then was gone. "I was in the military—I was a Marine, and I deployed overseas on several tours. When I was stateside things just never worked out. A lot of women like dating the uniform, but the reality of having a relationship with someone who's on the other side of the world half the time—it's more than they wanted to deal with. I didn't mind. There wasn't anyone I particularly cared about."

"What about after you left the military?"

He didn't move, but she felt the inner withdrawal and knew she'd bumped against his emotional wall. "No one?" she prompted, not willing to let him stall with his thoughts.

"No one." A few beats later he glanced at her. "At all." He cleared his throat. "I should probably apologize in advance, because—I'd intended to take some pressure off before we got in bed together, but so many things happened today, and I don't want to wait any longer. I need you Cedes."

She'd been so focused on keeping him talking that it took a few seconds for his meaning to sink in. Her reaction pinged in several directions at once: astonishment, laughter, profound gratitude that he'd even thought of such a thing. Warmth flooded her and she turned into him, lifting her arm to wrap it around his neck and hug him closer. "I—well. It's been a while for me, too. Since my engagement ended, almost five years ago."

She felt him tilt his head to look down at her. "Why did you dump him?"

"I didn't," she admitted, kind of amazed that he'd immediately come to the opposite conclusion. "He dumped me."

He drew back, frowned at her. "What is he, brain-damaged or gay?"

Part of her wanted to put the most flattering spin on it, say that she and Anthony had wanted different things—which they had—but the past couple of days had been kind of a trial by fire, and if Sam wanted to leave because she wasn't what he wanted then better she learned that now. "I haven't seen or heard from him since he broke our engagement, so he might be both by now, but no, when he dumped me a few weeks from the wedding, he had full brain function and claimed to be heterosexual. Nothing I did was ever enough for him, and I lost my parents back to back, and he couldn't take my grief or my caring for my widowed father." There. It was said, and she didn't feel mortified. If anything, she . . . yes, she felt a little angry—not a lot, because Anthony didn't really matter any longer.

"He didn't just want to postpone the wedding; give you time to grieve?"

"It wasn't all on him. I kind lost myself and was no longer the fun party girl he met and dated while in college. He met me when I was full of liquid courage and most of our dates back then were at his frat parties where I continued to drink to tolerate his brothers. He proposed as soon as we graduated from college and with us getting jobs and adulting I was no longer drinking, and he really didn't like that I was unadventurous in pretty much everything especially sexual things" She sighed.

"You didn't trust him, that's why you didn't want to be adventurous with him in anything."

"I—what?" Confused, she tilted her head back to look up at him, her brows knitted.

"I've done a lot of dangerous stuff, shit that can get you killed. It's either desperation that gets you through because your life is in danger, or it's trust in your team to have your back. You didn't trust him to look after you the way you'd look after him. What was this shit's name, anyway?"

"Anthony." She'd never thought of Anthony as a shit. On the other hand, she'd also never looked at their relationship from the viewpoint of whether or not he'd have her back if she was in danger. Partly, because he'd never been sensitive to her wants or needs, if she felt ill, if she was tired. Her mother died and not long after her father died. He was not there for her at all. It was all about him. If he loved her, he would have given her time, been there with her, and understood her anxiety and the panic attacks.

"Anthony what?"

"Rashad." She could hear the water boiling in the pot, and got up to remove it from the fireplace, using the poker to drag it out. The next few minutes were taken up with making the hot chocolate, then settling back with the warm cups in their hands. As always, it was deeply satisfying to be drinking hot chocolate while the snow was falling, as if some primal need was being met. Sitting so close beside him, in front of the fire, satisfied another deep need. Sexual anticipation sizzled on the back burner, waiting to be brought to a full boil, but for now this slow approach suited her. As much as she wanted him, she also wanted to talk to him, learn the details of what made him the man he was today.

"I've always felt like such a coward." She sipped her hot chocolate and stared at the fire. "Some people relish at being the lead singer in the band, but I guess I'm always content to be a background singer."

He snorted. "Yeah in what universe? The Cedes Jones I know is most definitely not a background sort of person. Would a background person offer to sleep with me to get what she wanted or hold off a group of men shooting at her?"

Listening to everything she had just done in less than 48 hours horrified her. The getting shot at—as she'd said, that was surreal, and already at a distance. Offering to sleep with him was much more immediate and personal.

He set his hot chocolate down and stroked his hand up and down her back. "About us sleeping together. Make sure this is what you really want, that you know I don't look at it as a deal. We can still wait, but—damn it all to hell and back, you got yourself shot at." His tone turned savage. "You don't ever do that again, you hear? I aged twenty years getting down that blasted mountain."

Something had to be wrong with her, because she didn't think anyone had ever said anything sweeter to her. She cuddled closer to him touched by his obvious feelings for her. "I promise I'll try to never get shot at again."

He put his other hand on her throat, used his thumb to tilt her chin up, and pressed a warm kiss on her mouth. The kiss quickly turned hot and deep, his tongue moving against hers, his hand sliding from her throat back to clench in her hair. Her fingers slipped on the cup of hot chocolate and hastily she steadied the cup. With a low, rough chuckle he lifted his mouth. "Don't spill it."

"Then don't kiss me." She loved hearing him laugh; it wasn't a real laugh, it was more a rough sound in his throat, but it was accompanied by crinkling eyes and an upward curve of his mouth, so it counted. Every moment with him counted.

The hot chocolate was delicious, but it was in the way. Rather than waste it she quickly drained the cup and set it aside. "There. Problem solved."

He reached for his own cup and swallowed the chocolate as if it were a shot of whiskey.

"I want to see you naked."

The rawness of his tone thrilled her, made her tremble with desire. The thought was mutual. She wanted to see him naked, too, so much that she couldn't decide if she should undress herself, or him.

Actually, who cared? All that mattered was that they got out of their clothes. She maneuvered astride his thighs and looped both arms around his neck, kissing him with all the fire she felt, and that was the only encouragement he needed.

Dizzy under his fierce kisses, she felt his hands moving everywhere, over her breasts, playing with her nipples causing her to rub her body against him, then he was unfastening her jeans, delving into her underwear and between her legs. She gasped as a big finger pushed into her, whimpered when he added a second one. She rose to her knees, driven by the penetration, lashed by the surge and shock of pleasure. Oh God, oh God, it had been so long and never like this before anyway. She'd never before felt so exquisitely, painfully aroused as if she might come before he was even inside her. She didn't want that, she wanted the whole experience, she wanted his weight on her and his thrusts and . . . everything. She wanted everything.

She sat back and pulled at the buttons on his shirt; he tugged hers over her head. They rolled over on the mattress; she pushed her jeans down, then found herself flat on her back before she could get them off. He leaned over her, his bare shoulders gleaming in the firelight. "I have seven condoms that haven't expired," he said, his tone rough. "Total. After they're gone, you have a decision to make about how we continue this."

She knew he meant would they end their sexual relationship or continuing sexing each other up with the risk of her becoming pregnant? Her heart leaped at the idea of having his baby. No, she couldn't do that even though, she hadn't even thought about ever being a mom after Anthony's rejection. This wasn't a decision she would be able to make alone; she knew what she wanted, but perhaps now wasn't the time to tell him. Just because she wanted something didn't mean she should have it. There were two of them who had to make that decision about the practicality of raising a baby during an apocalypse. For now, she had this, and for now this intimacy between the two of them was more than enough. She stroked her hands over his chest and shoulders, up to cup his jaw and rub her thumb over his lips, then stretched up to kiss him.

He then stripped off the rest of his clothes and hers, took a condom from his coat pocket and rolled it on, then pushed her legs apart and moved over her.

Cedes caught her breath, glorying in his heavy weight, the hardness of his body pressing down on her. His breathing was ragged, but he held himself still on top of her. "I'm going too fast," he muttered. "You aren't ready—"

Her breath sighed out of her. "Yes, I am," she whispered. "Hurry." She gripped his hips with her thighs, lifted herself up to him. She clung to him as he reached between them and opened the folds between her legs, pushed his thick penis against her folds lubricating himself in her heat her wetness stimulating her clitoris before he slowly sank inside of her.

She caught her breath as a multitude of sensations overwhelmed her. There was his taste in her mouth, the heat of his chest on her breasts, his hips on the inside of her thighs, the sharp sting of being stretched, the pressure inside as he moved deep. She was drowning in him, taken even as she took. She gasped again, her own hips instinctively lifting to take more of him in, and her gasp became a thin, breathless cry. She wanted to feel his balls; she reached down, managed to palm them, then stroked her finger around the base of his penis. He grunted and gave a short, hard thrust, another, and another. Her hand was in the way and she released him, dug her fingers into his back as she held on and ground herself against him.

The act was breathtakingly carnal. He was carnal, and for the first time in her life she felt carnal, sexual, basic, and free. He drew back and looked down at her, their gazes meeting. Looking into his eyes while their bodies were joined was the most sensual, overwhelming moment of her life. Sharp waves of sensation tightened her inner muscles, strengthened, centered. A cry, female and primal, broke free. She began coming, legs and arms locked around him, her back arched, head tilted back and more of those wild cries filling the dark, quiet room.

He held himself high and deep, continuing to rock against her; a raw, harsh sound burst from his throat and he bowed in her arms, every muscle in his body tensing, helpless to stop thrusting. She didn't want him to stop, she wanted him to feel what she was feeling. He poured himself into her, shuddered, bucked, and went even deeper.

Slowly the tension in his body oozed away and he eased his weight down on her, his movements jerky and lacking his usual powerful grace. He was breathing hard, but so was she, and sweat sheened their naked bodies. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. If her house collapsed around them right then, she didn't know if she'd have the energy to get up and put on her clothes. All she wanted to do was lie right where she was, under him, being held by him.

After a while he reluctantly rolled off her and got up to dispose of the condom. Without his body heat she felt chilly, despite the proximity of the fireplace, and she pulled the blankets over herself. When he returned she simply lifted the blanket and he slid under them next to her, pulled her close so her head was on his shoulder. "Your feet are cold," he muttered sleepily. "Put them on me."

Cedes didn't know how any part of her could be cold after what they'd done but her feet were definitely chilly. She curled into him, her arm around his neck, and tucked her feet against his legs. Utterly satisfied, utterly content, she slept.

Sometime later he got up and added more wood to the fire. When he lay back down, he noticed she was awake and looking at him hungrily; he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him.

Two condoms down.

By morning there were only five condoms left.