Page 8 of Invocation

She saw stars, and she struggled to stifle her gasps. Her hands clenched on him.

She tilted her head to kiss him again, and then, hands moving with languid fluidity, she pushed him away enough to unlace his pants. She pulled him free clumsily, her fingers too impatient for accuracy in the complete darkness. He didn’t seem to mind.

Her hand slid down the hard, soft-skinned rod, her thumb circling under the head as she slid back up. He made a soft, wordless sound of appreciation and rested his hands on the wall on either side of her, leaning in.

The darkness let her appreciate little things that she hadn’t noticed before. The tiny shudders that went through him. The way his breaths grew ragged as he gradually came undone with her movements.

It was all so real and so close and so physical. So very much alive. She felt a certain pride, a certain intimacy, knowing that he was still here because of her, and she because of him.

He nudged her head upward and kissed her again. His cock twitched in her grasp. He gasped a few sputtered words against her cheek, and his hips went stiff. She felt him spill over her hand.

Breathing hard, he leaned heavily against her. She didn’t mind. She didn’t want him to let go. They could stay that way forever, as far as she was concerned.

But they couldn’t really, could they?

Reality came crashing down again. Something in her core twisted painfully. She quickly put a hand to his chest to push him away, then pulled at her clothes, trying to make herself presentable again. His dark outline was motionless in front of her. She didn’t look toward his face.

She’d only even spoken to him aloud a handful of times. She had no right to feel this way about him. It was all incredibly foolish.

She bent to pat the grass until she found her light. She flicked it on, located the fallen notebook, and picked it up. She started toward the front of the house. Aruna’s arm shot out and caught her arm. Ducking her head guiltily, she let him pull her to a stop.

Bright eyes studied her. His face was flushed dark. He held a hand out for the notebook. She gave it to him. She ground her teeth as she watched him write.

“Every time you touch me, you end up upset.”

She shook her head at him. “It’s not like that,” she wrote.

“Then what is it like?” he scrawled with a heated flourish.

I saved you because I care for you, she wanted to say. But he was looking at her with so much impatience and frustration by then that she couldn’t bring herself to admit to such a troublesome thing.

“I wouldn’t keep touching you if I didn’t like doing it,” she wrote. A non-answer. The one good thing about not being able to speak was that it made it easier to avoid questions.

He took the book from her and held the pencil over it. She watched his expression go from angry to something more like hurt and tired. He made several starts and stops before he wrote, “We shouldn’t do this anymore.”

Novikke’s stomach lurched. Aruna was watching her warily, holding the book at his side.

Novikke got the impression he was hoping she would argue. She wanted to. But this was probably for the best.

She gave a half-hearted nod, and walked past him.

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