Hiii. So remeber that adult content we talked about? Well, here's your friendly reminder. The following chapter contains content that's (seriously) intended for mature audiances blah blah blah. K? K. Thank you so much for reading, voting, following, commenting and telling people about this little story. You're all amazeballs. Lets form a line so we can hug. Just nod. Thanks for reading, guys - Lauren & Christina

July 14-15th

Nora didn’t see him the next night. She spent it in her room, not eating, sitting on the floor, and trying not to think about him.

The soft drumming that blew across the street distracted her all night. She didn't want to cover the sound with radio or television or even her hands over her ears, but it made her chest hurt, made her remember his stories, his fingers, the lilting rhythm of his speech. Probably no one else on the block heard the music over the crickets and crackling wind. Maybe the rhythm of his music was like the house itself—only noticed and appreciated by her, something that had to be attended to actively to be seen or heard. He was a magnet to her; anything he did she would notice. It only made sense that the house was his. She had always belonged to him and had never known it.

Nora cooked the next day. She cooked for them—maybe out of habit, but more out of a naked, conscious need to imagine that he would be in that house tonight, and the next night, and every night after that. She layered phyllo dough over kale, squash, and various Spanish cheeses. She made it delicate and hearty and colorful. She made it something they would both want, something that would bring them together with comfort and spice, novelty and familiarity. She knew he wouldn't get to eat it if she didn't take it to him, but she was nothing if not constant. She wondered idly if she would cook for him every night of forever, even when he was being inconstant elsewhere.

It came out of the oven bubbling hot, steaming, golden, and beautiful.

The door rumbled with the movement of feet up the front steps. He didn’t need to knock, and he knew it; she felt him on the porch. She dropped her dishtowel and went to the door, opening it and letting in the humid night air, the smell of him.

Drew stood on the doorstep, scruffy and distraught.

“Are you scared that I’m not that guy?” he asked, his eyes begging.

“Yes.”

He moved toward her and she took a step back, overwhelmed by what she wanted from him and terrified that he was going to give it to her.

He walked her back, pressed her against the closet door, his hands planted next to her head.

“You make me want to stay here,” he whispered, running a hand down her bare arm. “You make me wonder what’s important.”

“You make me want to leave with you,” she admitted, finally. She felt her brow furrow, felt her eyes sting with tears. She was so naked for him. It felt like there was no floor underneath her feet.

His gaze lingered on hers for a moment before his eyes dropped to watch both of his hands move to anchor her wrists to the door with his thumb and index finger. He had a small bandage on his wrist and she started to ask if he was okay, but he looked up at her and leaned forward, letting his lips hover in front of hers, mere millimeters from touching her skin.

“Do you think you can love me?” His voice was strained. “Just like this?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Very much,” he nodded, spreading her legs with his knee and leaning into her. He raised his hands and pressed them against her cheeks, wiping her tears with each of his thumbs. They were warm and calloused, and his touch felt achingly familiar.

He felt like home against her skin.

Leaning in, he bridged the short distance and pressed a single soft kiss to her lips, then pulled back to look at her. “I never once asked you to leave.” He kissed her again, longer this time, but still chaste. “I would never have asked you to leave. I’ve never been as lonely as I was last night.”

This time, she closed the small space between them. His mouth was warm and welcoming and she felt the breath leave his lungs in surprise, the air moving across her skin. Nora moaned as she felt his lips fully against hers, his taste, his smell wrapping around her. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs brushing in feather light strokes along her jaw.

Her hands trembled as she brought them from her sides, unsure as she placed them against his chest. Hard muscle flexed beneath her fingers, and his hands wound into her hair, his fingertips massaging her scalp as he deepened his kiss. He was at once desperate and tender and her heart tore with the knowledge that this might be the only time they would be together. Sliding her hands down his chest, she let her nails drag softly along his stomach. His breath caught as she reached the waist band of his jeans, slipping her fingers under the hem of his shirt.

Drew was warm and smooth beneath her fingertips as she traced his torso. Her mouth became more urgent, teasing, searching and silently pleading with him to take more. As if sensing her need, he pulled away from her lips, his teeth dragging along the column of her throat.

Without a word, she pushed him away slightly and began walking backwards, leading him down the hall toward her bedroom. Drew pulled his hands from her hair, letting them linger as he moved them down her body, stopping at her waist.

He only looked away when they reached her room, and he took in the sight of the dim light from a lamp spreading across her bedspread.

Looking back to her, he ran a finger down her neck to her collarbone. “Can I see you?” he asked, hazel eyes searching hers.

She nodded, shivering as callused fingers moved down her side, beneath her top and grazed the soft skin of her stomach. He slid his hands up along her ribs, the thin material of her tank top gathering under his fingertips, and pulled it up and over her head. A ragged breath escaped his mouth as he looked at her, his fingertips brushing along her neck, over her breastbone, and down between her breasts.

“Can I see you?” she whispered, her lips brushing along the cotton of his T-shirt.

“Yes,” he said into her hair.

She freed him of his shirt, her eyes taking in the beautiful colors and pictures painted into his flesh. She traced along each image, trying to memorize them.

He let his hands run from her shoulder and down to her hand, pulling her fingers to his lips. “Nora . . .”

She led him toward the bed, their hands exploring, learning the planes of each other’s bodies. He removed her bra and bent to take one nipple into his mouth before moving to the other. His tongue, his breath and the hoarse sounds he made against her skin felt unreal, unleashing, unlike anything she’d felt before. Her hands threaded into his hair as she watched him, his gaze meeting hers as he caught and lifted her silver nipple ring with his tongue, hooking his barbell through and pulling gently. Her head fell back and she moaned, finally, finally seeing the image she had fantasized about every night since meeting him.

Her hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning them slowly, feeling his lips move over her chest and to her shoulders, sucking tiny fleeting marks into her skin. His hands began to work her yoga pants down her hips.

“I need to see you,” she whispered.

Their hands became impatient, pulling down the remaining clothing between them, and greedily touching everything. His fingers moved between her legs, spreading her as he growled and shook, whispering his secrets—his need for her, the restraint it took, his obsession with the red of her mouth and the smooth perfect skin on her neck—he touched her as if he was feeling her again after so long, memorizing every slide of skin, every sound she made.

It was a frenzied moment, his hand was at first hesitant and then ravenous, finding a rhythm moving over her and into her, circling his thumb there, pressing and hard just where she needed him.

Nora clawed at his back, bit his lips and arched into him as she begged him for deeper and faster and nothing,

nothing

nothing had ever felt so good. Hunger built in her belly and she could feel that relief, that perfect radiant explosion building where he touched her, where his rough fingers hit her deep, both sweet and savage in their perfect rhythm. Drew gripped her leg, curling it up around his waist with his free hand as she ground against him, crying out when she came.

His fingers slowed, slipped out of her and over her, gently petting as if he didn’t want to stop. “Yeah?” he confirmed, pressing a kiss into the soft skin of her neck.

She nodded against him, clutching his shoulders. “Yeah. God.”

He smiled into a kiss, sweet and cocky—so clearly hers it nearly took her breath away. It was almost as if her release calmed them both and allowed them to slow down, their kisses shifting to languid, his movements more measured as he lowered her leg and rubbed her hip.

She ran her hand down his stomach and lower, feeling him twitch beneath her first, tentative touch.

Their foreheads touched as they looked down at her fingers feathering his shape and tracing the piercing there.

“Did it hurt?” she asked in a whisper, ghosting her fingertip over the horizontal bar.

“A little,” he admitted quietly, always honest, never verbose.

“Does . . . this hurt?” She wrapped her fingers around him loosely and squeezed.

“Hurt?” he whispered, letting out a quiet laugh through his nose. He shook his head slightly. “Not at all.”

Nora found herself wanting to move her hand, but not sure what to do. They stared at her fingers around him, and he seemed to be content just with this level of contact, this level of stimulation. He was always so patient with her, never pushing.

She pulled her head up and their eyes met. His were heavy and dark and his breathing was choppy. Lust spiked beneath her breastbone and ran down her abdomen.

“Show me?”

His eyes dropped to the space between them and he rested his forehead against hers again, covering her hand with his own. He shifted her grip up slightly before squeezing his hand around her fingers, tightening her grip. With a slow, smooth movement, he shifted their hands down, pulling his foreskin over his piercing in the process, and back up again, covering the head of his cock.

“You don't have to be tentative,” he murmured. “It just makes me . . . sensitive.”

She repeated the action and felt his hand loosen and then release hers. Her thumb reached his tip and she flicked it gently over the top, spreading the moisture around before stroking down again, his skin covering the piercing quickly in the downward movement. He moaned and his head fell back, throat bobbing as he swallowed heavily.

“God,” he groaned in a trembling breath. His hands moved up to cup her face, pulling her toward him and kissing her roughly. “That feels . . .” he trailed off, running his teeth over her bottom lip, nipping, licking.

She felt bolstered by his reaction and gripped him tighter, increasing her pace. He sighed against her lips and she watched his eyes roll closed. His lips moved with hers almost as if they had been kissing like this for years instead of hours, and she took a step closer to him to feel her chest brushing against his, her arm moving between them.

The feeling of his piercing under the base of her thumb as her hand moved down and up, of his foreskin slipping easily over the head of his cock, was the most delicious sensation she could imagine. She felt a surge of confidence, for the first time she was certain that she could ask a lover for what she wanted, that she could be honest about what she needed.

“I want it on my skin,” she whispered.

Without needing further explanation he grunted quietly, and his words came out in a tight moan. “Where?”

“My chest.”

He stepped forward and she stepped backward until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed. She kissed him, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth and letting out a whimper around it. “You feel so good in my hand. Does this feel good?”

He let out a short, tight laugh, communicating everything he needed to in that single, overwhelmed sound. She sat in front of him, her eyes level with his stomach. He stepped between her legs, bracing his hands on her shoulder as they both watched her hand glide over him.

“I'm so . . .” he whispered. “You . . .”

She leaned forward and licked a bead of precum from the tip of his cock and sat up again to watch, needing to see what she did to him. “I want to feel you come.” She looked up at him. “I want to see it.”

That finally did him in.

He twitched in her hands and his fingers gripped her shoulders, digging, anchoring. Drew’s voice caught on her name and his entire body froze before she saw and felt him coming on her chest, on her neck.

“Fuck,” she breathed at the same time he did.

He stood still in front of her, his head bent and resting on top of hers.

“Yeah?” she whispered, looking up at him with a smile.

Drew grinned, dazed. “Yeah. Christ, Nora.”

She held him in her hand, feeling his body relax. “Stay with me tonight,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his navel. “Stay and . . . be with me?”

Drew nodded, stepping back and disappearing for a moment before returning with a damp washcloth from the bathroom to clean her up.

They crawled into the bed, pulling a sheet over their bodies and letting their limbs tangle with a familiarity akin to years together. He buried his face in her hair and she wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her face into his chest.

“Look,” he said, kissing her hair. “We fit.”

She stretched to kiss his chin and then remembered. “What is this?” she asked, rubbing the gauze on his wrist.

“A truth from my most recent home.”

Always such simple answers. His tone was casual but it was still a sharp reminder that he was leaving.

“Drew?” she asked quietly and he hummed in response. “How long will you be gone?”

He was completely still against her for a long moment. “At least six months.”

Nora froze, feeling her throat close. “When?”

She felt him swallow heavily against her forehead. His voice shook. “Tomorrow. They needed someone who could come right away. I had it in my paperwork that I could be a last-minute resource if need be.” He pulled back to look at her and kissed her, long and slow. “That was true until recently.”

That was finally too much for her. “Why didn't you come over last night?” her voice broke. “We wasted a day and I didn't even know!”

Drew held her and whispered softly as she cried against him, clutching his back with her nails.

“Please,” she whimpered, pulling him over her. “God, please.”

He moved fluidly, brushing the hair from her face and looking down at her. “Do you have protection?”

“I'm still on the pill,” she whispered, stroking his arm he used to prop his body above her. “I've been tested . . .”

“Me too,” he smiled and she laughed quietly, remembering the jealousy that had ripped through her when he mentioned his regular blood work.

“I've only been with one person,” she admitted, biting her lip. She felt like she needed to explain. She wanted him to know what he meant to her before he left.

“I want to be the only one that matters.”

She reached down and took him in her hand, rubbing her thumb over his piercing, pulling his foreskin over his head and taut again.

“Fuck,” he choked.

She rubbed him along her slick skin before pressing down and letting him push inside her. They both moaned, their mouths coming together in the same slow rhythm as his movements in her. She pulled her legs up along his sides, her knees at the side of his chest, causing him to slip deeper.

“I love you.” He spoke the words into the corner of her mouth.

“Already . . . so much.”

Drew pulled her hand up next to her shoulder and held it there, resting his forehead against hers as he moved over her.

“Will you come back to me?”

“Of course,” he whispered.

It was the last thing she asked him, their words giving way to soft breaths and quiet, urgent sounds. He moved in and out of her in the shortest of increments, preferring instead to stay as deep and connected as he could while he was here.

“Oh God,” she gasped.

“I know.”

“I'm close . . . I'm . . .”

He covered her mouth with his, her wild sounds spreading only as far as the space between them.

July 16th 

Drew was reluctant to sleep, but she begged him to try. He fell asleep almost as soon as he gave his body permission, his head curled against her chest, his arm bent at her waist, one hand on her breast.

For hours she couldn't sleep. She could only let herself think about how his skin felt against hers, how he looked at her over the coffee table every night. Nora stared at the bare skin of his wrist where she had seen the bandage earlier. Now the bandage was gone, having no doubt come loose at some point in their lovemaking. The gauze was gone, somewhere buried in her bed, and she could see the edge of Asian characters underneath the protective sheer covering. She reached in her bedside table for her pad of paper and a pen, and rolled his arm slightly, trying to copy down the script of his new tattoo.

He stirred, moving his arm to her waist and pulling her closer. “Nora?” His voice was thick with sleep, but his body woke next to her and he slid one hand up, cupping her breast. “Come here.”

She dropped the paper on the floor and rolled onto him. While Drew watched with dark, ravenous eyes, she slid down onto him, running her hands up his chest to cup his neck as she made love to him again, kissing him goodbye over and over.

~

It wasn't a long, drawn out goodbye in daylight. It was made up of sweet kisses and strained voices.

I promise, he said. Please, Nora, tell me you’ll wait for me.

She promised too, having no choice but to let him see how thoroughly she was his. Nora watched him climb into the cab and two hours later the same movers that brought him to her came to carefully pack up his drums and take them to storage again. She stood and watched the entire time, absently sweeping her hands across her wet face.

It was the middle of the night, when she was thinking about how he felt moving inside her, his sounds when he came, the feel of his teeth on her skin . . . and she remembered the tattoo. She found the paper and searched online dictionaries for the characters she'd seen.

She hadn't drawn them entirely right, and she wasn't sure she'd even found the right characters until the translation popped up on screen.

我注定是她的

I'm destined to be hers.

Nora crossed the room and flung open the closet.

Her suitcase looked ridiculous: too new, never really used.

Her hand reached for the handle, and pulled.

--Hi again! Well???? Tell us what you think! Find us on twitter and rant/flail/swoon. We love that stuff! Also, our next book Sweet Filthy Boy will be in stores May 13th. You should totally order a copy. We love you guys - Lo & C--