A Night by My Fire

“Look, a lot of people get the wrong idea when they see the tattoo. It doesn’t mean you can touch me.”

He didn’t understand. “My back is also marked.”

“Oh yeah?” River was uncomfortable, sitting back into the cushion while the man continued to hover too near. “Let me guess, a tribal tattoo or your name in script? The same ugly smear every meathead wears.”

“No.” Stephen stood and moved the short distance to continue his exercise, no longer in a pleasing mood.

The atmosphere was awkward, River irritated he’d walked away. “Well, what is it?”

Making no effort to answer, no longer looking at her as he strengthened his body, Stephen went back to his endless push-ups.

She wasn’t having it. Their fights always ended with a clear winner—her. Silence was not an option. Rolling from the couch, she walked right over and did to him what he’d done to her, flipping up his thermal to see what she’d missed when she’d stripped his lake sodden clothes.

“Oh... my... god...” The words were hardly a breath.

Every muscle on the man flexed, his back rippling as she gaped. He bore the long crisscross scars of a whipping—many, many scars from his shoulders to his lower back.

She didn’t quite understand it, but she felt terrible. “I’m sorry.”

Popping to his knees, glowering at her as if he might strike should she misstep, he hissed, “Why should you apologize?”

“Does it hurt?”

A fist flew out so quickly River never even saw him grab her shirt, only felt him yank her down so they were eye level. “I have risen above such mediocrity as infirmity and pain.”

“So I see...” Half kneeling, half hanging by the grip he had on her clothes, River deadpanned.

It was an animal noise. “Pitying me would be your last mistake.”

“Pitying you is what saved your life.” Her hands went to his chest, to push just enough to make a point, she wanted him to let go. “Or did you forget? I pulled you from the lake, got the water from your lungs. I breathed for you.”

“What did it feel like?”

The suddenness of his question, the instant shifted tenor of his speech unbalanced her. Unsure what he was asking she muttered, “The water—”

“When you breathed for me.” Correcting her, Stephen hardened his phrasing again, “What did that feel like?”

Her eyes went to a pretty mouth that did not belong to such a hard man. “Perhaps... like an awkward kiss.”

By the grip on her sweater he pulled her a little nearer. “What if it wasn’t an awkward kiss. What does that feel like?”

Swallowing, watching his unusually open expression, or at least what she could make out of the clenched jaw and tight brow, she was unsure how to answer. “Ummm... fuck... that entirely depends on the participants and the goal.”

Stephen spoke the words slowly, “What if the goal was pleasure?”

River colored a little, hearing something in the statement she’d missed before.

When she didn’t offer the reply he was pressing for, Stephen grunted, “Well?”

She had to say something. “You want me to kiss you...”

The man nodded.

Black eyes looked to his lips.

He seized her action as acquiescence, Stephen using his free hand to immediately pull her closer. His mouth was on hers before River could really grasp how far the situation had snowballed. He pressed in so hard her neck gave. Trying to steady herself, she grabbed broad shoulders, River only making it so far as to jump when he tasted the seam of her lips and garbled her squeak. The kiss was entirely one-sided, ending almost as quickly, and abruptly, as it began.

Stephen felt failure when she tensed. The second he could find the means to speak, he argued, “You didn’t kiss me back.”