Walk Through Fire

I would have given him my assurances that forgetting what we were sharing was an impossibility, but I couldn’t.

The best orgasm I’d had in my life was rocking through me, shaking me to my core, embedding itself into my soul so there was no way I could forget.

I endured it gladly, gripping his hair, clenching him to me every way I could, every way, and heard his grunts of exertion as I felt him pound deep, God, straight through me. Like his cock drove through my gut, my heart, right to my throat before he lodged himself inside. His head jerked back, his body shuddering, rooted in mine, covering mine, wrapped in mine, and I absorbed his orgasm with every part of me.

Finally, he collapsed on me and I took his weight, all of it, and I did it knowing he could never move and I’d be happy. He could squeeze the breath out of me and I’d be happy.

I had him back, really back, and if it was only just this once, I’d be happy.

His hand relaxed in my hair so I could right my head and he slid his mouth to my ear.

“You love me, Millie?” he whispered there.

I closed my eyes and clenched him tight to me.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You always loved me?” he asked.

I clutched him so tight it was like I was trying to fuse with him.

“Yes, Low.”

“You wake up every day knowin’ you’ll love no other man but me?”

A tear I couldn’t control slid out of the side of my eye.

He’d done that for me.

And I’d done it for him.

And he deserved to know it.

“Yes, baby.”

He lifted his head and looked at me through the moonlight.

“Then whatever you were thinkin’ starin’ at the snow, stop it. We lost each other. Now we’re found. And nothin’ else matters.”

He believed that.

Me?

God.

I just hoped it was that easy.

“Okay, Logan,” I whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back, moved in and kissed me.

He took his time, it was long and deep and wet and sweet. And even if he hadn’t given me all the words he’d given me just then and during our day together, that kiss would have said it all.

So no, oh no.

I’d never forget this.

Not in my life.

And when he broke the kiss, he swept his thumb across my lips like he was trying to seal the memory of it there.

He didn’t have to.

Then he asked, “You wanna clean up?”

I wasn’t leaving his arms until I had to.

“You can sleep in the wet spot,” I teased.

I heard humor in his voice when he muttered, “I’ll get a cloth.”

He hated the wet spot.

Crazy, but I loved having that back.

“It’s late, or super early. You’ll crash. You won’t even know it,” I told him, holding on even when he was trying to separate.

“Won’t take a second,” he muttered in reply.

All teasing was gone when I declared, “Logan, you leave me, I’ll shoot you.”

He stilled.

“Though, I don’t have a gun but metaphorically I’ll shoot you,” I went on stupidly.

He didn’t move or speak.

“I’ll sleep in the wet spot,” I gave in.

He rolled us to our sides, his cock sliding out but he kept his hips between my legs so his weight was resting on my thigh.

I didn’t care. My leg could fall asleep, all blood circulation curtailed, and I’d deal to keep him wrapped in me.

He reached out and jerked up the covers.

He was settling in.

I wanted him where he was but this was a surprise. And I might want him where he was but I wanted him to want to be where he was more.

“We sleep like this, I’m gonna leak on you,” I pointed out.

“Don’t care.”

What?

He’d always cared.

“You find the drip irritating.” I told him something he knew because he always dealt with these matters for precisely that reason.

“Right now, don’t care,” he returned.

I sighed. “I’ll go clean up.”

His arms around me tightened. “Babe, you leave me, I’ll shoot you and I do have a gun.”

I stilled.

“Christ, it’s ten your body clock’s time, middle of the night my time,” he declared. “I fucked you hard, gonna crash in ’bout three seconds you shut up. I crash, I won’t feel shit.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. “Okay.”

“So shut up and drift,” he ordered.

Yes, years ago, I found the bossy hot.

Now it was kind of annoying.

Hmm.

At first I shut up because I didn’t have anything to say.

Then I had something to say so I stopped shutting up.

“You own a gun?”

“Own five, only got one with me. And you know I own guns, Millie. Owned three when we lived together.”

This was true.

“You have one with you?”

“Millie.”

“What?”

“How about we talk about this tomorrow when my cum isn’t drippin’ on me, irritatin’ as fuck?”

“I can go clean up, Logan,” I noted again.

He sighed, heavy and deep.

I shut up again.

It was then, with the reference to him having a gun, it occurred to me in all that happened, he didn’t know Benito Valenzuela visited me.

“Logan?” I called.

“I’d stop her talkin’ by fuckin’ her face but fuck if I don’t have that in my right now so do I stick a sock in her trap or listen to her babble?” he asked no one because he certainly didn’t say that shit to me.