Page 71 of Unhurried Hearts

My hands fly up to cover my mouth. The same tiny tent we shared is set up in the centre of the surprisingly large room and hanging from the ceiling are dozens of glowsticks, just like the ones he’d brought on our trip. They look suspended in mid-air. Cool blue light bathes the room as I take in the basket of snacks and drinks by the tent entrance.

“Want to spend the night with me?”

I’m in his arms in two seconds flat, doing my best to crush him. His windbreaker slips against mine, the fabric cold against my cheek. This isn’t working for me. I’m grateful for the heater as I unzip my jacket and pull my sweater over my head.

“Don’t just stand there,” I tell him. “I read that it’s actually warmest to be naked in the sleeping bag.”

Chris hurries to catch up, stripping off his hoodie and t-shirt in one go. “You heard right.”

When we’re down to our underwear he walks me backwards toward the tent, dodging a couple glow sticks. We fall inside with absolutely no grace at all while he peppers my face and neck with messy kisses. He toys with the edge of my panties.

“Do these ones have my name on them?”

I gasp into his mouth. “No. I like these ones too much.”

He shrugs, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. Yeah, nudity might be one key to staying warm. This particular heat source is looking up, grinning like a devil.

“This is our room now, Annie. Gonna have you every night.”

“Every night?” I squeak when he licks me over the fabric.

He inhales. “Every night, in every room.”

“Not the basement.”

He tugs the underwear to the side and fills me with two thick fingers.

“Oh my God, Chris.”

Between the steady pump of his hand and the suction on my clit, I come undone in mere minutes. He crawls up the sleeping bags which, tonight, are set up on top of a much cushier air mattress instead of the compact mats. I wrap my legs around his hips, lining us up. With a deliciously slow stroke, he fills me, pausing at the deepest point and taking my mouth in a kiss. My hands are in his hair, clutching him, wanting him as close as I can possibly get him.

“Fuck, I have to move.” His voice is tight with desperation.

Releasing my legs allows him the space to pull out and slam home again. I cry out, my voice muffled amongst the pile of sleeping bags and extra blankets he prepared for us. Each thrust, each one slow and deep, pushes me higher.

“Need you so much.” I curl up toward him, chasing release.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The muscles of his arms are bracketed around my face, his breath hot against my neck, the speed of his pumping hips increasing. The blue lights beyond the nylon fabric are blurry, casting us in shadowy versions of ourselves.

“Christ, you’re tight. Give it to me. Need to feel you come, Anna.”

On the next thrust the tension mounts, then everything uncoils. I let my head fall back against the plush pillow, the distance feeling like a mile instead of mere inches. Stuttering, rough thrusts push me through the waves of pleasure as he cries out my name in his own release.

“Anna. Coming for you, baby.”

Later, when we’re cleaned up and snacking, Chris tells me about every step of the renovation he and Isaac have planned.

“And how long will this whole thing take?”

“Ah, 6-12 months, give or take. Faster if we could put more attention toward it but we still have regular projects.”

I nibble at the corner of a cracker, trying to not cover the tent in crumbs. “Do you think my mom could stay with us for a bit when the spare rooms are fixed?”

“First off. This is our house, so whoever you want to visit can. Is that something you want?”

I take a sip of juice to wash down the dry cracker. “Thad finally signed the divorce papers,” my voice is a whisper.

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