Chapter 69 Chapter 68: Stay
We didn't walk. We almost ran for the hopper stop, our footsteps echoing in the quiet street, giddy and uncoordinated. It felt like we were children again, bursting out into the first snow of the year, our excitement at just being close to each other too immense to be contained by a casual stroll. Her hand was clasped tightly in mine, a tangible tether of joy.
When we reached the deserted hopper stop, a glance at the schedule screen told us we had ten long minutes until the next one arrived. Without a word, Silver threw her arms around my neck, and I enveloped her, my larger frame wrapping around her like a protective cloak. The night air was cold enough that our breath plumed in soft, mingling clouds as we laughed, and we began to slowly turn on the spot, a clumsy, blissful carousel of two, wrapped in each other and the quiet night. Our foreheads touched, and in the dim light, our eyes mirrored each other's pupils, wide and full of a shared, unspoken wonder.
We started to kiss. It was soft, then hard, then perfect, a kiss that held a week of fear, a lifetime of longing, and the sheer, dizzying relief of being together again. I was so lost in her that the bright, intrusive beam of headlights shone right through my closed eyelids. I opened them, blinking, to see the hopper idling patiently before us, its driver having given a soft, kind honk of the horn, a gentle signal to the two oblivious lovers that their chariot had arrived.
We broke apart, laughing breathlessly, and scrambled aboard. To our surprise, the entire bus, a handful of late-shift workers and night owls, erupted into applause and cheerful whistles. They had all seen our spontaneous performance. Silver’s face flushed a brilliant, beautiful crimson, and she buried it in my chest. But I felt no such shyness. A surge of pure, unadulterated pride washed over me. I was proud to be seen with her, proud to be kissing this incredible Polli. I even gave a playful, theatrical bow, which only increased the merriment of our impromptu audience.
We found a seat, and as the hopper pulled away, Silver once again crawled inside the circle of my arms, tucking herself against me as if trying to merge into my very being. She stayed there, a warm, breathing weight of contentment, for the entire ten-minute trip to her door, the world outside blurring into an insignificant streak of light and shadow.
Silver fumbled in her bag; the kiss having short-circuited her usual coordination. For a long, breathless moment, we just stood on her doorstep, locked in an embrace that did nothing to quell the fire threatening to engulf us. If anything, the pause only stoked it, the anticipation crackling in the cool night air. Silver finally pulled away, her breath coming in soft gasps. "Let me open the door, please, Nanda," she pleaded, using that deliberately childish, high-pitched voice she reserved for being both funny and utterly irresistible.
Playing along, I snapped to attention like a soldier receiving a vital command, throwing her a crisp, exaggerated salute. "Yes, madam!" I mocked, my voice a low rumble of amusement.
She finally fished the jangling keys from the depths of her bag and, with a playful grin, slapped them lightly against my stomach before turning to wrestle with the lock. The door swung open into the dim, quiet shared hallway.
Foolishly, I thought we could make the twenty-meter journey up the stairs and into her apartment without further incident. I was profoundly wrong. We had barely taken five steps, half of them on the first flight of stairs, before our hands found each other again. It was magnetic, uncontrollable. My fingers tangled in her hair, hers gripped the fabric of my tunic, pulling me down. We half-collapsed onto the steps, a tangle of limbs and desperate, laughing kisses, completely forgetting the world outside her door.
The sharp clearing of a throat from the landing above was like a bucket of cold water. We broke apart to see Mrs. Henley, a perpetually disgruntled neighbour, glaring down at us over her spectacles. "That kind of thing," she enunciated with prim disapproval, "is for the bedroom."
Chastised like teenagers, we scrambled to our feet, murmuring embarrassed apologies. Gathering the shattered remnants of our composure, we practically sprinted the remaining distance to her door. She shoved the key into the lock, turned it, and we both fell through the doorway into the blessed privacy of her apartment, the door swinging shut behind us to block out the world, Mrs. Henley, and any further delay.
It was a frenzy, a beautiful, desperate storm. We were both tearing at our clothes, buttons flying, fabric ripping, while our mouths remained locked in a kiss that tasted of need and home. We stumbled toward the bed, a chaotic, four-legged creature, like crazed dieball players making a final, mad dash for the end goal, where the only prize was each other.
We fell onto the soft expanse of her bed in unison, already a tangled knot of limbs and heated skin. The feel of her body beneath me, the intoxicating smell of her hair and the sweet salt of her flesh, drove me into a primal frenzy. There was no time for finesse, no slow, drawn-out foreplay. There was only the sharp, gasping moan that escaped Silver’s lips as I speared her, my throbbing anther sheathing itself in her wet, welcoming heat.
I tried to hold back, to pump slowly, to make it last, but her body had other ideas. Her purring moans, the way her hips rose to meet mine, the whispered chant of my name, it pulled at me like a powerful drug, unravelling my control. I lost myself to her completely, thrusting, pumping, my world narrowing to the rhythm of our joining. Her cries of pleasure melted into me, fuelling my own desperate need until, with a final, shuddering arch of her back and a cry torn from her soul, she came apart. Her climax triggered my own, a week of fear, of missing her, of violence and death, all pouring out of me in that last, frantic thrust of madness.
Afterward, we clung to each other, two survivors of an emotional tempest. Our hearts hammered a frantic, slowing rhythm against each other as we searched for our breath in the quiet dark. I leaned down for one last, deep, languid kiss, a seal on what we had reclaimed. Then I rolled onto my back, and she immediately nestled her head on my chest, her ear over my heart. This. This was where I was meant to be. This was all I would ever need from life.
She broke the perfect silence, her voice a sleepy, satisfied purr against my skin. "Stay."
I stroked her hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands. This was the only place in the universe I wanted to be. "I can't," I whispered, the words feeling like a betrayal. "They are coming to pick me up at my parents' dwellings tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. I promised them I would be there. A debriefing, or something like that."
Her hand drifted up, stroking my nipple in a slow, absent-minded circle, her head still a comforting weight on my chest. "Please," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and longing. "Just stay. One more night."
I looked down at her, at the peace on her face, at the sanctuary we had built in this bed. The world with its debriefings, its lies, its new, terrifying career, it all felt a million miles away. This was too perfect. The world could wait.