Don't Touch Me

"Did you think you could kick this particular can down the road forever?"

I felt my stomach drop. Mr. Edgar couldn't possibly be talking about what I thought, could he? I tried to brazen it out. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

He gave me the bright white shark smile that reminded me of Homelander. Maybe he'd learned it from Mr. Edgar. "Really, Ms. Barrett? At this time of year, you think it could mean anything other than the Searching?"

Officially the event was called the Vought Annual Summit Meeting-Northeast. Held from April 30 to May 2, it was supposed to facilitate greater engagement between management and the rank-and-file employees, or whatever fashionable corporate buzzwords currently meant the same thing, but the real purpose of the Searching was to allow the supes to screen Vought employees for possible soulmates. Other Searchings were held in different areas of the country and the world on different dates. The Searching was how Translucent had found his wife, who'd been working as an X-ray technician in the on-site clinic. That had been a couple of years before I came to work for Vought, straight out of college, but I'd also had to sign the new employee agreement to present myself at the annual summit meeting for soulmate evaluation.

I'd been full of nerves, terrified and maybe a little hopeful since I wasn't immune to societal attitudes and expectations, but those emotions faded into boredom and a little irritation as the days passed. The summit was held on Vought property in Dutchess County, and that year had had a carnival theme. I had my schedule for evaluation—all new hires saw two supes per day-and got into line.

Black Noir was my first evaluation. The supes had tents set up so the actual evaluation would be semi-private. Two security guards stood inside the tent, one by the entrance, one by the exit. They were there as witnesses in case someone wanted to state falsely that they were a supe's soulmate, or refused to leave when they found out they were not. In case one of the supes did find a soulmate, private and luxurious tents had been set up a few dozen yards away. I called them fuck tents in my mind. I don't know what their official name was.

The process itself was pretty cut-and-dried. Black Noir sat in a chair, one of his hands ungloved, while I sat down in a chair opposite him and extended my hand for the clasp. Neither of us felt anything other than the press of skin on skin, so I was not his soulmate. If I had been, both of us would have gone into orgasm instantly, just from the brief touch. He said nothing. I said "Thank you" into the air, awkward, and the security guard steered me out the tent's exit flap.

Lamplighter was next, and since he didn't wear a mask, there was nothing to protect me from the full experience of his disappointment as I proved not to be his soulmate either. He did say, "Thank you" before I left, and I briefly wished he'd been the one. The next day I also proved not to be the soulmate of either A-Train or the Deep, although the latter did slip me his private cell phone number and cop a feel of my ass as I was leaving.

The third day—Queen Maeve was my next-to-last evaluation. The reek of whiskey fumes coming off her hit me in the face as I entered her tent. My heart sank at her instant, derisive smile at the sight of me. "Not much to look at, are you?"

Maybe not, but at least I wasn't drunk off my ass and acting like an iron-plated bitch. I hoped against hope that she wasn't my soulmate. When I didn't answer her question, she snorted and extended her hand. "Kiss it," she ordered.

Fuck that. I slapped my hand down on the back of hers and relief washed through me when nothing happened. I hadn't really thought she would be the one: same-sex soulmates weren't common, making up anywhere between seven and ten percent of recorded soulmates, but it would be just my luck to get stuck with some bitchy lush.

She frowned. "You're no fun," I heard her say, but I was already pushing my way through the tent flap into the open air without being steered by the security guard. I wasn't worried by what I'd done, since Queen Maeve was far too drunk to remember me and hurt my career. Now there was no one left but Homelander.

I'd been in line for his tent about forty-five minutes when I heard a wail of—protest? Anger? Grief?—erupt from the head of the line. From my vantage point, I could see the familiar red-white-and-blue figure of Homelander take flight and disappear into the sky seconds before the PA system crackled. "Attention please. For everyone in line for Homelander, unfortunately, he has been called away to assist with the rescue of civilians from a collapsed condominium in Dallas. Please give your names to the attendant on duty and your evaluations will be rescheduled." But today was the last day of the Searching, and everyone knew what that meant. The evaluation with Homelander would roll over to next year.

The wail hit my section of the line. The woman in front of me, a tall blonde with a slim body and pretty face, burst into tears. The man behind me, slim and dark and reminiscent of Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman, let out a steady stream of cursing. Me, I just felt relieved. I didn't want to see one more disappointed look when I didn't measure up. Oh, I felt sure Homelander would be gracious about it, if for no other reason than the optics, but he wouldn't be able to hide that first-glance opinion. Not much to look at, are you? said Queen Maeve's ghost voice in my head.

Dutifully I stayed in line until I reached the attendant, a young woman in a tailored gray business suit with her hair in a bun. A lanyard held an ID badge reading Dolores. Either she already had a soulmate or had tested out with the supes. "Name and department?"

"Ashley Barrett. Public relations."

She scribbled my information on her clipboard. "If Homelander returns before 4 PM, the evaluations will start again, but you aren't close enough to the front of the line for that. Your evaluation will be rolled over to next year. Here's the documentation for your department head." She ripped a section of paper off the portable printer next to her and shoved it at me.

"Thanks, Dolores. Have a nice day." She seemed surprised that I wasn't screaming threats at her or dissolving in hysterics. I spent the unexpected leisure time getting some of the free food—they had excellent corn dogs and lemon shake-ups—and going on the Ferris wheel, playing some of the games, and having fun before the Searching ended.

When the next Searching came around, I'd been working as Madelyn Stillwell's assistant for four months and got up the courage to ask her for a medical extension. According to the terms of employment, if an employee was unable to attend the Searching due to a medical issue, the evaluation could be rolled over.

Madelyn looked at me with more interest than she'd ever displayed. "Well, I could certainly do that for you, Ashley. Why do you want to put off your evaluation by the supes?"

"I finished my evaluation by everyone except Homelander. Last year was when he had to leave early to rescue the Lee's Landing residents. I was too far back in line to finish."

Something passed over her face that convinced me she felt glad that I didn't want to be evaluated by Homelander, didn't want him to touch me. Later, when I became aware of the full extent of their relationship, it didn't surprise me at all. "But why, Ashley? Don't you want to know if you're his soulmate?"

"I'm not." The next part was easy. I didn't even have to lie. "I don't believe the soulmate bond is a good thing. It's a crutch that takes the place of a real relationship. Respect and admiration and love should grow naturally, not be roofied into you by an orgasm. And I don't like the meat-market feel of the Searching. We're just a bunch of prize mares paraded past the stable's top stud. If it weren't a company regulation, I'd pass on it altogether."

Madelyn gave me a big smile, and I knew I'd just gotten my own way. "If you feel that strongly about it, I'd be glad to give you the extension. I think a hospitalization for a broken leg would be in order this year, don't you? Don't worry about the paperwork. Just stay home until the Searching is over."

"Yes, ma'am." Over the years, Madelyn had given me extension after extension with no questions asked. I knew she wasn't his soulmate or he wouldn't still be looking, and probably thought one less competitor couldn't do anything but serve her interests. After her death, when I'd taken over her job, I'd turned in my own extensions, and everything had been hunky-dory. Until today, when Stan Edgar caught me.

All of this went through my head in the time it took me to say, "No, sir."

He tapped a few keys on his computer. "I'm really quite impressed that you managed to string it out this long. Let's look at your excuses, shall we? A broken leg, then mononucleosis, then sepsis, then a kidney stone, and Covid for the last three, including the one starting tomorrow. Do you intend to force me to order you to take a Covid test, which I'm sure will come back negative?"

I swallowed. "No, sir."

He smiled again. "Good. Then you'll report for evaluation by Homelander bright and early tomorrow morning, and we can forget all about this blatant flouting of Vought employee regulations."

"Yes, sir."

"And just in case you have any ideas about being last in line or some other creative disobedience, I've detailed a security guard to insure you arrive at the correct tent at the correct time. Due to the long-overdue nature of your evaluation, the attendant will have orders for you to go straight to the front of the line."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

And Mr. Edgar did make sure that this security guard—named Lucas, whether first or last I didn't know—turned up outside my apartment as I dawdled over breakfast, insisting I get a move on. "Mr. Edgar's instructions," he reminded me when I tried to stretch out getting dressed.

"I know. It's just humiliating. Why couldn't he give me a permanent exemption?"

"A lot of people are grateful for the chance, ma'am." His voice was mild, but it made me feel ashamed. The vast majority of the people in the world never had the faintest realistic chance of touching a supe's bare skin to maybe find their soulmate. This was a perk of Vought employment that brought in a lot of new hires.

I smiled at him. "You're right, Lucas. I'm just an odd one. I should remember this is a privilege, not a punishment." As much as it felt like that…

The festival atmosphere matched what I remembered from my first and only Searching eight years ago. Vought had set up the summit with a carnival theme again (maybe it was always a carnival), with rides and games and free popcorn and cotton candy and corn dogs and soda. Maybe I'd get a couple of corn dogs and a lemon shake-up for the drive back to the city. Since I'd had to reschedule several meetings after Stan Edgar's decree, it was wall-to-wall work and I wouldn't have a chance to get lunch. At least I'd have the weekend off to rest, barring any emergencies.

My outfit drew any number of raised eyebrows, including Lucas when he'd seen me come out of my bedroom, but I didn't give a shit. I had a respectable corporate suit and pumps stashed away in my office closet, so I could afford to exact a little passive-aggressive vengeance on Stan fucking Edgar. The only thing that might make me recognizable as Ashley Barrett was my Prada purse. Truthfully, I fitted into the carnival surroundings better than the new hires did.

I'd ditched the corporate dress-for-success look in favor of faded jeans with razored slashes over the thighs, Vans sneakers in a checkerboard pattern, and a concert T-shirt for the Damned. I wore no makeup except the eyebrow pencil I used to darken my brows and avoid looking surprised all day, and my hair was skimmed back into a ponytail. No one here could possibly think I intended to try looking beautiful, or even pretty. I pushed down Queen Maeve's mocking ghost voice as Lucas took me to the head of the line, which caused some groans and grumbling that he didn't pay any attention to.

Homelander looked up from his chair. It was the same setup Black Noir had had eight years ago, including the two security guards at the entrance and exit. "Ashley. What are you doing here?"

I flung myself into the chair opposite him, crossing my arms over my chest before crossing my legs, nailing myself off from this. "Stan Edgar insisted."

He looked at me, questioning, then shrugged. "That's a new look for you, isn't it? Regressing to your rebellious teenage years?"

I ignored that. "I—it's that—well, you've never evaluated me."

"What? That's impossible! You've worked here for, what, like eight years?"

"Eight years," I agreed. It surprised me a little that he knew this. Madelyn had introduced us when I went to work for her, but there was nothing memorable about me.

"You're required to be evaluated by all supes at the first Searching. Why weren't you?" Homelander's expression darkened, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes.

"My first year was the one where you had to leave early because of the Lee's Landing condo collapse. I was far enough back in line to roll over."

"And what about every Searching between then and now?"

"Madelyn signed off on all my medical extensions until she died. Then I did it myself."

Homelander grinned. "I bet you've never taken an actual sick day in your life. How did you get caught?"

I sighed. "I got careless. Sloppy. I was supervising a pretty important project, and I had a question for one of the leads. She didn't respond to text or e-mail or calls in what I considered a timely manner. Since she was working at her office in the Tower, I took a chance on coming in. While I supposedly had Covid."

"That'll teach you," he said. My lips pressed together, threatening, and he laughed at my expression. "So now you have to take your medicine."

"Looks like," I said glumly. "Even though we both know there's a snowball's chance I'm your soulmate." I'd once lost fifty bucks in the office pool betting on Stormfront as Homelander's soulmate, and I still thought she was a better match than me.

"The only proof's in the touch, Ashley," he told me, waving his bare hand in a gesture that could be hello or goodbye.

I sat there and stared at him for a while. Lucas cleared his throat. "You wanted me to remind you about the conference call with the marketing arm of Vought Studios Japan about the potential Seven anime. And then you have that meeting with the senior VP of marketing for Vought Toys."

"Yeah." I sighed again. Homelander's two security guards stood expressionless as statues.

"You're holding up the line, Ashley," said Homelander. "Think of it like Scotch. Get it down as fast as you can so it'll be over."

"Fine," I muttered, but I meant fuck it. Just lean forward, put my hand in his for one second, try to ignore his look of disappointment but when wasn't he disappointed with me, have Lucas get me back to the car, and I'm on my way back to the Tower. Maybe I could look over the marketing VP's proposal for a Classic Seven line before I—

My hand touched Homelander's and everything stopped. My eardrums started popping as if there'd been a big change in air pressure, almost as if a tornado were approaching. My eyes widened and my face froze, and Homelander wore the same expression of shock as oh sweet Jesus the orgasm steamrollered over me.

I screamed. I couldn't help it, the pleasure boiled through me, scalding me like lava, and I'd rather die than have it stop. I wasn't a virgin; I'd had sex before, and I'd had orgasms before, but this tsunami of bliss made any previous orgasm look like a mild sneeze. Through the roaring in my ears I heard Homelander let out a soul-deep groan as he climaxed and it made me so happy that he felt this pleasure, too, that it was because of me. The only thing I could feel, except the howling gigantic storm of sensation in every cell of my body, was my hand in his. My fingers locked in like claws, my nails trying to dig into his flesh so that no one, no one could ever take him from me and make the pleasure go away. Just the idea of it brought tears of loss to my eyes.

His hand clutched back at mine, but even with his strength there was no pain, just the profound bone-melting orgasm that still held me in its grip. The feeling of being pulled out of my chair meant nothing to me compared to that until I felt Homelander's chest against me, his shoulder under my cheek, the heat of his body through his costume, its nubby fabric rubbing against my braless breasts through my T-shirt. My nipples stiffened and sent another pulse of delight through me, intense enough that I screamed again.

Dimly I heard Lucas. "Uh, sir—sir—if you could just let go of Ms. Barrett for a minute—"

"Mine. I'll kill you if you touch her." His tone of voice was like nothing I'd ever heard from him. Normally, even when he was threatening, he had an urbane, intelligent tone, but now he sounded like a caveman who'd learned to speak English ten minutes ago.

Lucas heeded the warning. When my guard spoke again he was several feet farther away. "Homelander—sir—no one wants to take Ms. Barrett away from you. We're all so, so happy that you've found your soulmate. It's just that there's no bed in here. If you could let go of her for just a little while, you can go to one of the tents that's more comfortable and has a bed, and refreshments if either of you get hungry or thirsty. Toys, if you want them. But we have to go there."

I started babbling into Homelander's ear, my voice tiny and breathy and frightened, not loud enough for anyone to hear but him. "I don't want to go. Please. You'll leave and be disappointed and I don't want you to leave me. Please don't be disappointed. I know I'm not beautiful like Maeve. I'm so sorry. I want to stay with you. Please. Don't make me go." His arm tightened around my waist and he pulled the concert T-shirt over my head with one hand, but it hung up on our other clasped hands. Neither of us would let go.

"Yeah, man, that ain't happening," said one of Homelander's guards.

"Well, shit," said Lucas. "Okay. You—Newman?" The guard who hadn't spoken nodded. "You go outside and notify the attendant that Homelander's found his soulmate and disperse the people in line to their next scheduled evaluation, if they haven't already figured out what's going on in here from all the screaming. Fiore, you radio Security Central and advise of the situation. Requisition every spare person they have to set up a cordon around this tent, fifty feet out." Homelander's mouth locked onto my nipple and he began sucking, hard. I cried out with the joy of the sensation. "Make that a hundred feet," said Lucas. "I'll call Mr. Edgar and relay the news. Can anybody tell me why they don't have the fuck tents set up directly behind the evaluation tents? That way we wouldn't have to run the risk of getting killed to try to convince a supe in the first bloom of territoriality that they need to release contact with their soulmate for a little while. They'd just go straight to the bed, no problem."

Wow, I thought with the tiny sliver of my mind that wasn't occupied with the pleasure. Other people do call those things fuck tents.

"Management didn't see the need. None of the supes has found a soulmate here since Translucent," said Newman. "Mostly it's the new hires that find soulmates with each other."

"Normalcy bias," said Lucas. "I'll put that in my report to Mr. Edgar. At the next Searching the fuck tents need to be a lot closer. Do you want to deal with Queen Maeve, completely hammered and just found a soulmate that you want her to let go of?" Both men winced.

Their talk was just background noise to me. Homelander and our clasped hands occupied the vast majority of my mind. He'd switched his attentions to my other breast and the pleasure kept on cresting. His free hand went to the waistband of my jeans and he undid the button.

"Okay, we need to get out of here," said Lucas. "Give them some privacy."

"Neither of them care," said Newman.

"That's foul, man," said Fiore. "If you found your soulmate, would you want rubberneckers hanging out watching?"

"Enough. Get to work," said Lucas as he pulled out his cell phone and they all vacated the tent.

I'd thought Homelander was as focused on the pleasure we were giving each other as I was, but now he lifted his head from me, looked at the closed tent flap, and smiled. "Ashley?" He still had some of the caveman tone in his voice.

"What?" I sounded hoarse to myself from my screaming.

"You're about to get fucked."

"Yes. Hurry. Please. I want you to." That tiny sliver of clear mind was appalled. Everything I'd thought was so important twenty minutes ago, the meetings and Stan Edgar's disapproval and not getting lunch and my own desire not to have Homelander touch me, had been blasted into nothing by the soulmate imperative. Now the only thing that mattered was Homelander, having him touch me, fuck me, feeling the power of the orgasm from our first skin-on-skin contact again. I wanted to fuck him more than I wanted to live.

"I'll have to let go of your hand to get your jeans off." I opened my mouth to protest, but he hurried on. "Then I can touch you again. Then we can fuck. Please let me let go of your hand, Ashley. I need to so we can fuck."

He was asking permission. Had he ever done that before, in anything? It touched me, and I nodded, even though I knew I still looked dismayed. It took an effort; even though we'd only been holding hands for a little while, my fingers were cramped and three of my nails were broken to the quick from clamping onto him. "Did I hurt you?" I almost cried at the thought of it.

"No, no, sweetheart. You couldn't hurt me with your little fingernails. But even if you had I'd still want you. Nothing could ever make me not want you."

I stood up and he unzipped my jeans, bracing myself with my hands on his shoulders. From what I knew of the soulmate process, the first three days were the most intense in the bonding. Trivial bare skin contact caused orgasm, and it was the only time in his life a man could have multiple orgasms. There were physical changes to the brain chemistry and other changes that I couldn't remember at the moment as Homelander's hand brushed against me while sliding my jeans and panties down my legs, and my body spasmed with another burning orgasm and I wailed. His hands fisted around the waistband of my jeans and shuddered with his own climax. Both of us were gasping with the aftermath of the pleasure, but my jeans were off and I was naked.

The storm of endorphins subsided with the loss of contact and I felt a moment of cold fear. I was too thin, my breasts were too small, I wasn't pretty enough, I didn't measure up to Madelyn or Maeve or Stormfront or any of the multitude of groupies he'd fucked. How could he ever want me, even with the soulmate imperative forcing the pleasure into him?

"What's wrong?" His expression instantly morphed to that of a man who's contemplating murder.

"You—I don't have to be naked if you don't want. I know I'm not up to your usual standards." I barely managed to get the words out. Why had he made me say that?

"Are you insane?" Then he seemed to remember something. "Is this that crazy shit you were talking before about not being beautiful like Maeve and disappointing me?"

"It is not crazy shit." I had the impulse to cover myself but there was nothing nearby except my jeans. I bent and retrieved them. "If you were thinking clearly, you'd agree with me."

Homelander pulled the jeans out of my hand and took firm hold of my hips. The now-familiar pleasure blasted through me and he set his teeth against his own. "You feel that, Ashley? No one except you can ever give that to me now. No one except me can ever give that to you." He pulled me forward and kissed my belly with an open mouth, teasing the skin with his tongue. If it was possible, the pleasure got more intense each time we touched. Was I going to be able to survive fucking him without having a heart attack? "I couldn't get hard for anyone except you now because what they would give me is nothing compared to you. You don't need to be insecure about anything at all. You are the only woman I'll ever want. You're my soulmate."

Tears came to my eyes, but he didn't let go of me so I could regain some clarity of mind. Instead, he kept his grip on my hips. "We're going to fuck now, Ashley. You'll forget all those stupid ideas once we've done that and you can feel you're mine, not just understand it."

I couldn't feel anything but the pleasure riding me, and he loosened his grip on my hips to slide his hands up my body to my breasts, rubbing them with his palms. The nipples stuck out impudently against his hands and he smiled as he started teasing them. I let out a wail of delight. He took one hand off me to unzip his codpiece and bring out his cock. There was no question of me not being ready for him, not with the string of orgasms I'd had, and I tried to straddle him, to get his cock inside, but the arms of the chair didn't allow for that. With an impatient growl, he broke the chair arms off, but that must have weakened the frame, because the chair collapsed and spilled us both onto the ground. Vought had put carpet down, but underneath that was the bare earth, hard and uncomfortable.

I'd landed on the bottom, and I pulled him on top of me. "Fuck me, Homelander. Right now."

"Yes." The word was almost a hiss as he lifted one of my legs onto his shoulder and sank his cock deep inside me and I screamed with the annihilating pleasure of it. This was what I'd needed, the sheer unyielding power of the orgasm from the first touch of our bare skin, and I loved it, and I'd never give this up.

My hands scrabbled at his costume. "Please. Homelander, I want you naked too. I want to touch you everywhere."

He helped me get his costume off, both our hands fumbling as the pleasure blasted through us over and over again, but then he was naked and all our skin touched and he was pumping into me, hard, and it was more glorious than I could ever have imagined. I lost myself in the sex, the relentless ecstasy and my helplessness in the face of it. How could I have disdained this, I couldn't believe this could have happened seven years ago if Madelyn had refused my medical extension. Homelander and I could have been together for seven years, and the idea almost made me cry for what we had both lost.

I didn't remember when the coupling stopped, and I didn't remember falling asleep, but the sound of my phone ringing woke me. My Prada bag lay abandoned near the wreckage of Homelander's chair, and I threw out an arm to retrieve it. He lay next to me, beautifully naked, and I realized he must have thrown his cape over me sometime in the night, as I was covered from shoulders to mid-calf. The caller ID registered as Stan Edgar. "Mr. Edgar?" I sounded hoarse to my own ears.

"Ah, Ms. Barrett! Are you well?"

He was checking to see if Homelander had injured me, if he'd have something new to cover up. "Quite well, Mr. Edgar. Thank you for asking."

"I understand congratulations are in order."

"Uh—yes, sir. Homelander and I are soulmates."

"Excellent news. I think you'll deal well with each other. I also wanted to advise that one of the soulmate tents has been set up directly behind Homelander's tent. You can get into it through the exit flap. I believe you'll be much more comfortable there."

How long had we been in here, fucking and sleeping? The clock on my phone read 9:47 PM, so we'd been here for over twelve hours. I wondered why I wasn't sore and guessed it was one of those changes that the soulmate bond created. "Thank you, Mr. Edgar. It's appreciated."

"Not at all, Ms. Barrett! I'm quite happy for the both of you."

He disconnected the call and I turned toward Homelander. He was awake, staring at me, and I felt the soulmate bond reawakening, demanding the contact of flesh. "Mr. Edgar says they've broken down one of the fuck tents and set it up behind this one."

He raised an eyebrow. "Fuck tents?"

"That's just what I called them in my head. Mr. Edgar called them soulmate tents. But they're really fuck tents."

"I heard them moving out the food stands that were behind the tent and some construction, but as long as they didn't come in here to bother us I didn't care what they were doing."

"Lucas must have gotten his way. He said the fuck tents needed to be closer to the evaluation tents in case of a supe finding a soulmate. It's safer for the security people."

"I heard him. It may have seemed like I wasn't listening. Stan must have agreed with him. Did you want to take a look inside the fuck tent?"

I nodded. "He said it was comfortable, with refreshments. I'm kind of hungry. I didn't get lunch."

"We'll get you food, then. And it has a bed."

"It does." I wrapped his cape around myself and rolled to my feet, then gathered up our clothes and my purse for the move to the other tent.

He let his hand hover over my shoulder before drawing back. "We can't touch for a bit, not until you eat. You have to keep your strength up. Afterward, we can do what we want."

He held the tent flap for me as I walked into the other tent. I laughed. "Well, Lucas wasn't lying about the fuck tents being more comfortable."

It looked like how I'd picture a king's tent in medieval times. The bed was a big wooden four-poster with sky-blue opaque draperies that would close us off from the rest of the world. Carpet that looked Persian and expensive concealed the ground, and there was a linen-covered table and two chairs with sky-blue cushions that matched the bed's draperies where we could dine. In contrast to the medieval feel of the rest of the room, a very modern refrigerator sat near the table and a champagne bottle chilled in an ice bucket. A sideboard near it held a microwave, and the bottom part probably held dishes and glasses and silverware. The lights were low; I'd have expected candles but that would be a fire hazard inside the tent, so lamps with 20-watt bulbs were scattered around. There was a large screen in one corner of the room, which hid a portable toilet and a jerry-rigged shower.

Homelander held my chair as I sat down at the table. "What would you like to eat?"

"I'm not a picky eater. Surprise me." He moved over to the sideboard and found a plate and two crystal champagne flutes, then he opened the refrigerator door and loaded my plate. He was so beautiful naked, tall and lean and completely unselfconscious as he moved. I knew it was only the soulmate bond that made me want to touch him as he placed the plate before me and popped the cork on the champagne bottle. "Are you drinking?"

"Since this is a special occasion, I'll have a glass of champagne to celebrate. You don't have to worry about me getting drunk on one glass. A supe metabolism burns through alcohol quickly; that's why Maeve has to drink bottles and bottles at a time to get drunk."

I had been a little concerned about that. "Thanks for letting me know."

He smiled. "Of course." He poured out the champagne and raised his glass. "To soulmates."

"To soulmates," I echoed, and we clinked our glasses. "Marketing's going to be working overtime on this. Remember the publicity circus when Translucent found his wife? Take that and multiply it about a hundred times."

"I'm used to that sort of thing."

"I'm not." My plate held several slices each of ham and turkey, peas, green beans, and a couple of yeast rolls. "I can fake it, but I haven't been trained to be on camera the way you have. I'd appreciate it if you did most of the talking."

"I believe that's the first time you've ever said that to me."

I laughed. "I believe you're right."

"We don't need to worry about that tonight. Except for the security cordon around the tent, we're all alone. All the new hires and the other supes have gone home." The idea sent a shiver through me, and he changed the subject. "There are a couple of cakes in the refrigerator, devil's food and angel food. I think someone was being funny there. Which would you like?"

"Angel food. I don't like chocolate."

He made himself a turkey sandwich and a glass of milk and we ate in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, though; I'd never been with him much when he was quiet. After I'd finished the slice of angel food cake he'd cut for me and he ate the piece of devil's food he'd taken for himself, he reached out and placed the tip of his index finger on the back of my hand. The orgasm hit me and I couldn't help but cry out. He smiled as his own hit. "Let's look at the bed now, Ashley."

"Yes." It was the barest breath of sound.

The bed was king-size, with fluffy pillows and a navy-blue comforter that Homelander pulled back to reveal matching sheets. I reached out a hand and ran it over the bottom sheet. "It's silk."

"So it is. What about it?"

"I've never slept on silk sheets before."

"So I get to pop your silk sheet cherry. Sweet."

Nerves almost stopped me from saying the words, but I had to know. "Are you angry?"

He looked confused. "Angry about what?"

"That I dodged the evaluation for seven years. We could have been together all that time if not for me."

"No. If I'd wanted, I could have touched you bare-handed anytime. I just didn't believe you could be my soulmate. Maeve wasn't my soulmate, or Madelyn, or Stormfront. How can you have a soulmate when you don't have a soul?"

"Who told you that?" I was suddenly, viciously, furious. "Who said that?"

"The scientists who raised me. They didn't want me to get my hopes up and have them disappointed all the time when I couldn't have a soulmate."

"Well, they were lying evil bastards and you are never to pay any attention to anything they told you again. They would have ripped your soul out with pliers if they'd known how to do it to make you a more compliant product, but that isn't possible. Everyone has a soul and it can't be taken away. So you are never to believe those monstrous fuckers ever again. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured. I thought he might be pleased with how angry I'd gotten. "And I'm not mad about you arranging not to be evaluated. If you'd gone to that second evaluation, we wouldn't have known each other at all, but since it's happened now we have a shared history. I think it's better we got to know each other first."

Even though the remnants of anger still simmered, I mostly calmed down at his words. "I'm glad you aren't angry."

"Afraid I'd put you over my knee?" I'd never heard him use a teasing tone of voice before.

"I've never thought about it. I'd be frightened if you did that. You're so strong you could hurt me."

"I never would. You're the other half of my soul, Ashley. I'd die before I'd hurt you." He reached out and drew me toward him, careful to keep his hands on the parts of me that his flag cape covered. "You're safe now. No one will ever hurt you. You have me to protect you."

I turned my face up to him. "You're so sweet. I never knew you had any sweetness to you."

"I'm sorry about that, but it's over now. We'll get to know each other better, differently."

I reached up and put the palm of my hand against his cheek and the orgasm hit us both again. Both of us were gasping before I took my hand away. "I like getting to know you better."

He lifted me, put me down on top of the bed, then peeled the cape away. "That's good, because we have another two days of this before the bond calms down and we can touch each other without coming our brains out."

I gave him a grin. "Then we need to take advantage of that. Often."

He grinned back. "Yes, ma'am."