Avery has seen more of Calden lately. He looks at apartments; he visits with her at her penthouse. They go to dinner, they stay in. They go dancing, they watch movies on her couch while he strokes her hair and she falls asleep while it's still light out. They play chess, on occasion, and the games are surprisingly calm affairs, the two of them engaging in battle but -- of course -- a gentlemanly war it is. They play for the stimulation rather than the conquering. They leave games undone when they go to bed and pick them up later, a day or a week or more. A little figurine, a zombie toy given to her by a friend, moves from one side of the table to the other to keep track of whose turn it is.
They make love before breakfast in her bed, kicking away the covers. They have sex standing up in the shower. They strip each other naked in that canopied bed on her balcony, surrounded by topiary and half-hidden by sheer curtains, touch each other slowly with fingers and tongues. The days grow very warm. They walk to the giant milk can ice cream place, Little Man, and walk back, holding each other's hands and holding their ice cream cones. When she can, Avery goes with him to look at condominiums or apartments. She is on a different schedule than he is: some nights he goes to bed and she goes with him, but then leaves a while later to go patrol, to go mediate some conflict. Many mornings he wakes up and slips out of her covers, kissing her cheek before stepping into his jeans and grabbing some coffee before meeting his realtor, and she is too deeply asleep to even notice.
Today is one of those days when she goes with him, eating a light lunch in between tours. They finish the last appointment of the day and she turns to him in her car -- the Tesla, deep blue as though it is made of midnight -- and asks him:
"I saw a place, a while ago," she mentions, somewhat offhand. "I think you might like it. I can call the number. Would you like to see it, before we get some dinner?"
Calden WhiteIt feels like summer already. Truth is, Avery always feels like summer to Calden: the crowning glory of midsummer, the golden wash of the sun, the indolent buzz of bees and cicadas, the scent of wildflowers and rainstorms and lush, hot nights. They met at the tail end of winter, as though their very meeting broke the cold. They drew closer and closer still in the estival season, their love a golden wash, an indolent buzz, a scent, a storm, a lush, hot thing.
Now it is summer again, or near enough not to matter. They ate at some little eatery, out on the patio in the dappled shade of a maple. Calden's sleeves were rolled up, his boots crossed at the ankles, his legs stretched out. He finished his meal -- a salmon pecan salad, heavens above -- and he enjoyed his dessert. It was a slice of lemon meringue pie, glowing and light on a tiny plate he balanced in one large hand while he plied the fork with the other.
She said something to make him smile. And she snapped a cellphone photo of him like that, relaxed and desserting, which becomes the latest portrait to show up when he calls.
--
A little later, in the car. She is driving. He has his seat rolled way back to accommodate the length of his legs. He looks at her: she saw a place. He reaches over -- sometimes it's like he can't stop touching her -- and takes her hand, her knuckles delicate and strong under his thumb.
"Absolutely," says Calden.
Avery Chase[EDIT to end of last post: "...before we go back to my place?"]
Avery ChaseAvery smiles, the way she does, and it is not a golden broad winning thing but a sly little smile, pulled to one side. She drives, and does a tight u-turn at the end of the street, going back the way she came. On the way, she makes a brief call to someone named 'Carol' that she'd like to see that place they talked about, if she's still available. And it is still light out, and Carol says yes through the speakers in the Tesla, and Avery ends the call and drives on.
"My father acquired another new entity," she mentions, driving not far from the river. "You might see the signs around -- black and gold ones for 'Chase Custom Homes'." She gives a wry smile. "Guess what they make. Oh, and some stock in Avery Brewing Company." She can't help but laugh as she says that. "He claims he's going to put the dividends into trust for his grandchildren."
She shakes her head, amused by her father. But really, it's not a long drive. And when they get to the building, they find one facing the river, with neatly marching windows up the white stone exterior to the topmost floors, which all have large, semicircular windows like rising suns. Pulling alongside the curb, she parks parallel to it and exits the car, rising to her feet and shutting the door, waiting on the sidewalk for Calden to meet her there. The doorman to the building is already holding the door open for them, and Avery is smiling, taking Calden's arm. "I really think you'll like this place."
Calden White"Maybe I ought to have your father's company design me a house," Calden quips, and then --
Avery Brewing Company. Dividends. Grandchildren. Calden sneaks a smirk. "Grandchildren, huh," he muses, amused, and -- well. He leaves it at that. Wouldn't want to push, after all.
It's not a long drive, and then they're there. Calden climbs out as Avery turns the engine off. He looks up at the building -- the semicircular windows, the white stone exterior. When his lover comes alongside him, taking his arm, he smiles down at her.
"I'm hopeful," he says. "I haven't really found a place that really grabbed me yet."
Avery Chase"You already have a house," Avery says, laughing. Her eyes are sparkling. They aren't sapphires, it's not dark enough for that yet. They are topaz, rich but pale, translucent but shadowed, and she takes his arm and walks with him towards the open doors, into the well-appointed lobby. It is floored and paneled in red maple, rich and lustrous and old-world. The elevators gleam with brass. This is a fine place. Upscale. The doormen wear uniforms with gloves.
He teases at the word grandchildren, but does not use this -- of course not this -- as an opportunity to suggest that Avery might want those grandchildren to be half-Fianna, with laughing eyes and music in their hearts and scraped knees and hints of red in their golden hair, hints of green in their blue eyes. Avery does not seem to even notice the restraint. She just thinks: her father is amusing. Her father teases her.
She squeezes his arm, smiling still, as the head for the elevator and press a button: the interior is mirrored, and the mirrors are spotless, and the floor is carpeted. They ascend, and the building is not perfectly sleek and new but the elevator goes steadily, quietly, upward.
And opens into a hallway that is just as well-appointed as the lobby, with distantly-spaced doorways, each with their own little alcove of an entryway separating them a bit from the hall. "This way," Avery says. "We can wait for Carol there." And she leads him left, towards the northeast corner of the building. The door there is fixed with a simple brass number on a plaque beside it. "She said it would be unlocked," she mentions, and tries the doorhandle, which -- as predicted -- gives way and gives them entrance.
The space is vast, or feels that way. In truth, the floorplan, while open, is not overabundant. The walls are pale but not pure, plain white. The floors here are almost exclusively oak, with a golden warmth and visible knots, dark spots that give it character, tell its age. As soon as they enter they see one of those enormous semicircular windows, the flat sill a windowseat, the arch reaching up towards the ceiling. There is one to the north. There is another to the east, where the kitchen and dining area are. The building is not perfectly aligned to the cardinal directions, so in reality, that northern window is a bit northeast, the eastern window a bit southeast.
Avery's heels step softly on the wood. The room does not catch the sunset, and it is cool at this time of day. But it can see the blaze of the sunset at the edges of the window, and the darkening sky's colors. "The bedroom," she says quietly, entering the space with a sort of reverence, "has a bit of a northwestern view. You can see the mountains past the rest of the city." Just as, though the window here, he can almost see the plains beyond the edges of the horizon.
She turns to look at him. "The counters in the kitchen are granite, with a weathered copper sink and rubbed-brass fixtures. The dishwasher is concealed, and the stove is Viking. If I'm not mistaken, the en suite has a claw-foot tub and a heated floor. Residents have access to a rooftop courtyard with hot tub and firepits. And there is a billiards room on the floor below with a wet bar and patio, though I'm told it faces south and gets an unfortunate amount of heat in the summer. Some things can't be helped.
"The cabinets are all new. This residence has been wired for sound -- plug in your dock, plug in your phone or iPod, and you can control the volume throughout. There is a balcony just outside there," she points at the dining area, with a lighting fixture that looks something like a silver-rimmed full moon. "Extra storage and reserved parking in the basement level. The doormen do not work on the major federal holidays, but I heard a remarkable little story from a current resident about being invited to Thanksgiving dinner by one of those doormen because her employer was being deposed and -- well, it was a complicated story, but she really was heartbroken that she couldn't see her family until Bruno said she would be more than welcome to come home, that he'd like his daughter to meet her and reconsider going to college."
Avery smiles, and unwinds her arm. "Look around," she suggests. "Tell me what you think. If you don't like it, I'll just give Carol a call and tell her not to bother, that she can head home."
Calden WhiteIn the end, they do very little waiting for Carol. As soon as they are in the lobby Calden wants to see the unit; as soon as they are in the unit he is moving about that space, exploring like a wild thing might his new environment. Looking at the walls, their arrangement, the floor, that beautiful dark oak. He opens a cabinet; closes it. Feels the smooth weight of those heavy, snap-closure hinges. Looks out the window, hunts down that view she mentioned, plays with the thermostat, runs his palm along the strength of that arched windowframe.
By the time she invites him to look around, he has already turned back to her. That sunset window is at his back, and framed by it, Avery's paramour looks large and sturdy and earthy, all broad shoulders and long legs, red-touched hair that could so easily run shaggy. He is smiling, and we will admit he was somewhat remiss in his shave today, but all the same she can see the familiar creases that smile puts in his face.
Calden comes back to her. He crosses that oak floor, which is polished enough that they can cast the faintest reflections across the grain. He takes her in his arms, hand clasping wrist just below the lowest arches of her ribs, and bends -- smiling still -- to kiss her.
"Tell Carol not to bother," he says, "because she might as well head to the office to draw up the paperwork. I love it, Avery."
Avery ChaseHe comes back to her, and he wraps her in his arms, and she is ready for this, tipping her head up, lifting her arms like a dancer's and looping them around his shoulders. Their torsos press together; her back arches with the way she leans into him.
She is smiling. Not coyly, preciously, mischeviously. Peacefully, actually. Sweetly.
"Remember what you said," she asks him quietly, "about having my father's new company design you a house?"
Calden White"Mmhm?"
-- murmured, because you see: he is still kissing her. His lips are warm and welcoming and firm on hers, just as his arms are around her, just as his body is against hers. And he is smiling too, the corners of his mouth turned up.
Avery ChaseEverything he says, he mumbles against her mouth. Mumbled something about Carol and paperwork. Mumbles a half-question against her lips now, holding her, bending to her, finding her lips opening to him, her tongue tasting his. She keeps trying to talk.
"Oh Calden," she says, amused by his obliviousness at the moment. Breathy, too, because of the way he keeps kissing her. Because of the way he feels when he presses to her. Because she is stirring, shivering slightly, but it is not cold inside. "Calden, you fool, we did."
Calden White-- and that effects a pause. A cessation of amorousities, such as it were: a drawing back, a dawning smile.
"Oh." The penny drops. "Chase Custom Homes designed this unit, did they?"
Avery ChaseShe had to have thought for a moment he wasn't being foolish, he was just teasing her. That's all that makes sense. He has to figure it out. But she only would have thought that for a moment, because she can feel him through his clothes, thin and light for summer, she can smell him in the air and it mingles with the wood and the stain, the polish, the faint scent of copper, all of it feeling like him, which is why so many of these touches on the design and finish were her own.
Avery is aroused by him. That is putting it simply, mildly. She wants him, and she almost always wants him, and he is kissing her, he is smiling at her, and she isn't thinking about what he can or cannot guess for more than a moment. Which, if you think about it, should make her a bit more charitable to his cognitive capacity while holding her. Kissing her.
"I helped," she confesses, as if it weren't obvious. "I liked the building. It isn't far." It is also far enough. "The oak floors were in place, they just needed to be restored, a few walls knocked out, the interior renovated. I just made suggestions."
Which were, as her suggestions often are, law.
Calden WhiteCalden is amused, and he is delighted, and he is also --
suddenly, powerfully moved. Aching with it. That she would put such effort into this place. That she would help him look for a second home, a den nearer to her; that she would hunt down a building, a unit, and then design it and furnish it and make it so that it reflected not what she wanted nor even really what she thinks he wants, but --
who he is. What he does, in fact, want. A small abode, but with an expansiveness that lets him feel the openness of his northern home even when he is in the center of the city. A home furnished with dark, natural things, as solid and earthy as the man himself. A home with a view, and with music, and with warmth; with good neighbors and good guardians; with just the right amount of space for one, or two, or none.
"Love," he names her, and wraps his arms a little more tightly around her; draws her against his chest and holds her close. "Oh, love. I can't believe you did this. And without telling me, or knowing if I would like it, or if I would even come look. I don't even know how to begin to thank you."
Avery ChaseThere would be absolute grounds for Calden being wary of something like this. Upset by it. She went and found a building. She bought the unit. She had them gut it and refurbish it. She did all this for him, created this obscenely expensive gift tailored to him,
without talking to him about it. Without giving him input. Without knowing if he would like it. He would not be out of line if he weren't pleased the way he is. And truth be told, Avery would be a little sad, but she would not be angry at him for disliking it. She would say oh well. She would close the door and call Carol. She doesn't want him to feel beholden. She doesn't want him to feel like he has to move in here.
But oh: she is so pleased that he likes it. And likes it so much.
Avery turns her head, smiling, resting her cheek on his chest. She listens to his heartbeat. She is happy. "I'm not entirely sure how I would have survived the embarrassment if you didn't like it," she confesses.
Calden White"Graciously, I'm sure," he says, gently amused -- a curious duality of voices: the upper timbres clear in her air-exposed ear; the lower registers resonant in the ear she presses to his chest. "And I suspect you would've never even told me."
A small pause, thoughtful. Then: "Oh, Avery." And he kisses her again, this time atop her head, his work-rough hands stroking through that remarkable sun-spun hair of hers. "Next time you ought to tell me. Just so I don't end up with a complex, wondering if every little thing you show me is some grand elaborate gift.
"But thank you. It means something, that you did this for me. That you know me well enough. It means a lot to me."
Avery Chase"Oh, I wouldn't have kept it from you," she says, but does not lift her head. She is too comfortable there. Too comforted. "I would have told you one day. One day when you wouldn't collapse in on yourself with chivalry, rushing to purchase back the residence to preserve my tender heart."
She teases, but there's truth in it. Some measure, at least. "The building permits dogs," she mentions. She made sure. She closes her eyes, holding him around his waist. "And this is the only elaborate gift I have engineered for you," she says, almost entirely certain of it. She judiciciously does not add the words "so far" to the end of her own sentence.
"I'm so happy you like it," she says, more softly. "Every time I decided on something -- the heated floor or the Viking or the copper sink -- I got this little thrill in my heart. I've nearly died from happy anxiety forty times during all this."
Calden White"Lies," Calden says, low and gentle and laughing. "Your heart may be tender, but it's also much too strong to stop from a little happy anxiety. I'll believe you might have swooned, on the outside.
"Thank you." He can't seem to stop saying that. Gives her a little squeeze with this one, and it turns out he's actually thanking her -- "For hypothetically telling me one day. I'd want to know. Even if it made me rush around in a panic of chivalry."
He unwraps his arms from around her, then. Well; one of them, at least. The other he leaves draped over her shoulders, keeping her close to his side as he looks around.
"Come on," he says. "Let's see the rest of it." He closes an eye, bracketing an imaginary space with his outstretched hand. "I think I'm going to put a couch right there. Am I lucky enough to have a fireplace somewhere in here, or was that against building code?"
Avery ChaseHer heart is tender, but strong.
When Calden says things like this, that is when Avery loves him most. No -- when she feels the most loved. Seen. Known. And not feared, and not idolized. She feels loved, and she does not want to run from it. She wants to sink into it like a hot bath on a cold day. She wants to breathe it in like a breeze in summer. He is teasing her, but it makes her shiver, and she leans heavier into him, like an animal. Like a wolf. Her arms are so tight around his middle.
One of his warms unwraps and the other moves to her shoulders. Avery does not stop hugging him around his middle, but slides to his side, tucked under his arm. She is terribly affectionate today. Any moment she is going to nomf his chest or his arm or his shoulder in utter adoration and happiness.
Couch there. Fireplace?
"I would never build you a home without a hearth," she says, lifting her head suddenly. Her surprise -- almost affront -- shows in her eyes. "Come," she says, and unwinds finally, grabbing his hand and taking him around a corner. There is a fireplace against one wall, between two of the arched semicircular windows in the main room. It is not terribly large, but it is surrounded by rough stone. "There's one in the bedroom, too," she says, "but it's smaller." She doesn't say: they had to put that one in. It was not part of the original structure. It was obscenely expensive. They worked quickly to complete it and inspect it, because Avery could not imagine Calden coming here in winter and not sleeping with a hearth burning low, Patches sleeping up on the foot of the bed, Avery wrapped in his arms.
Calden WhiteShe has a right to be surprised, almost affronted. This is Calden, and this is Avery, and if Avery knows Calden (and Avery does) then Avery must know that Calden loves his fireplaces.
He kisses her as she lifts her head. Softly, and with just a hint of apology. "I didn't think you would," he murmurs; and then a hint of laughter returns: "but building codes. They're downright evil sometimes."
His hand is taken -- nay, grabbed! -- and he is led around the corner. His smile resurfaces to see the hearth, which would be seem small in the wide-open expanses of his ranch house, but seems just right here. Stone-bolstered, as though to remind all that here lives a son of stone and wood and earth; here lives a son of Stag.
"You're spoiling me, Miss Chase," he teases gently, then, as they wind their way out of the living room and toward the bedroom.
For all the clear thought, love and luxury that went into this unit, there's no waste to it: one main room, one bedroom, one kitchen, one dining area, perhaps a nook for books and the like, and a well-appointed bathroom. No more, no less. No excess, no spare. Exactly as Calden himself would have chosen it.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his arm still around Avery's shoulders, Calden says: "Let's go find Carol and sign the papers. I'll put down a deposit while I liquefy some assets. Me and the boys will move some stuff down here next weekend," because of course it would be him and his cousins, doing their own work with their own hands, "and I'll probably set up the rest the weekend after and stay here through Monday. And maybe we can plan loosely on me staying here for two or three weeks starting the end of June.
"I'll give you a key when I get the set. Someone's gotta rescue me when I lock myself out." Pause; his body close to hers, their arms wrapped around each other. The teasing fades into something sweet and poignant and genuine. "You know you're welcome here any time. Even if I'm not here."
Avery ChaseThe residence is well-proportioned: there is a tendency in Colorado design to overstate, to imply size that isn't there. This place is what it is: it is graceful but it hides little. It is rough but it is comfortable. It is grounded, but the pale walls and tall ceilings give it an airiness. There is a lot of light. There are hearths. There are luxurious creature comforts and touches of beauty: the heated floor, the gleaming copper sink. The truth is, this place would suit Avery herself in some respects. At its best, it suits the two of them together.
That is not said aloud. It is in the little touches here and there: the size of the closet, for example, which is perhaps a bit larger than it strictly needs to be.
"Well, you are buying it," she points out, when accused of spoiling him. They are looking in the bedroom, and he is holding her, and the bedroom has its own large window that can see past the skyline to the mountains, and the bedroom has the same rich oak floors, and the bedroom's closet -- the slightly larger-than-necessary closet -- is lined in cedar. The fixtures and porcelain in the en suite look to be gleaming, with chrome accents.
Calden details the plan, reciting aloud what he's surely decided some time before: this is what he would do as soon as he found a place. It's just about pulling the trigger. She is smiling as she looks into the cozy, sunset-lit bedroom. This time of year it is golden, blazingly golden. Quite warm, at the moment.
She reaches up, squeezing his hand where it rests on her. "I have many homes," she reminds him, which is also true: the pack house to the south, the penthouse, the mansion. She has keys to all of them, but not to the houses across the street from her family's, the houses where her servants reside. Her steward holds those keys, as well as all that belong to Avery. But she will not have a key to this place. Just the two of them. This makes her smile. "I would rather share this with you when you're here," she muses, because it is the truth.
Calden White"I know," he says quietly, of her many homes; and perhaps also of her preferring to share this space with him. "But if you ever miss me, and want to feel a little closer to me -- well," he laughs, diverts himself, "I suppose if you really wanted to feel closer to me you'd just drive up to the ranch."
Avery ChaseShe smiles -- she's already smiling. Her smile broadens into that gleaming, bright thing he knows. "Or run,"
at which point they are interrupted. There's a soft knocking on the swinging-open door of the front, an elderly woman -- who Calden will discover is wearing a little skirt-suit the color of eggplant, low heels, pantyhose, and glasses on a chain -- calling out: "Hello? Miss Chase? Mr. White? Hellooo?"
Avery turns her head. "We're in the bedroom, Carol," she says, not too loudly, since -- especially empty -- it echoes. "He said he's going to sign the papers tonight if you have them." She turns, looking up at Calden as the older woman who is half a foot shorter than both of them comes toward them, carrying some legal-sized folders and smiling.
"I believe you'll find the unit offered at a fair market value," Avery informs him, without unwinding from his side, "though Carol, and I believe the owners, will respect you for a clean negotiation."
Calden WhiteThey are such unabashed lovebirds. They do not unwind from each other, though they do -- for politeness' sake -- turn to face the broker.
"Hello, Carol," Calden says, and there are handshakes, and smiles, and introductions.
Then there are negotiations, short and sweet; the unit is, in fact, offered at fair market value, and the only thing Calden counteroffers with is a request for an additional parking space, preferably adjacent to the first. Carol, representing both buyer and seller, has a dual commission to earn. She phones the owners -- someone at Avery's father's company, likely. Calden waits by the window, standing a ways away to offer privacy, watching the sunset tint the mountains. The return offer comes back: an additional parking space for an additional ten thousand. A bargain, in this neighborhood.
And so, standing at the breakfast bar of his new townhome, Calden signs the preliminary contract and writes a check for the deposit. Carol tucks it away in her leatherbound binder and departs, promising to call very soon with account information for a wire transfer and a time and date for closing.
Night is beginning to fall when she leaves. The unit fills with purple shadows in the last glow of twilight, and Calden, wanting to stay for just a few more minutes, slides his arm around Avery's waist again.
"Well," he says quietly, "that's that. You'll come to the closing? We can go to dinner afterward."
Avery ChaseAvery, though she is a rather stalwart representative of the seller, does not interfere. She reads a book on her phone at the windowseat while Carol and Calden discuss terms at the kitchen counter. When she sees that they've finished, she walks over, smiling. She takes Carol's hands with her own, giving her a kiss on the cheek, thanking her for her help, escorting the older woman to the door before shutting it, turning to Calden. Truthfully, Carol should lock up, but Avery and her family -- in the end -- own this as one of their assets. The transaction will move swiftly. There are no other buyers with offers being considered.
She leans her back to the door, smiling at him, and he comes to her, sliding his arm around her waist, making her tip her head up to look at him. Adoringly, right this second.
"Of course," she says softly. "And if I can, I'll even help you move furniture." There is a twinkle in her eye. "I'm very strong at times."
Calden WhiteCalden laughs, and since she's leaning against the door like that, he slides both arms around her. Dips his brow to hers, smiling.
"I remember that elk," he says by way of agreement. "You should definitely come to moving day. I'll bring a case of cold beer and some steaks to barbecue when we're done. We'll make a party of it, and then shoo the boys off to romp around town or something while we properly christen this little hideaway."
Avery ChaseThey are so close. Have been since the restaurant, the car. She is running her arms up and down his biceps now, closing her eyes as though drowsy. He remembers the elk. He remembers her running to him during the floods, literally hosing her down because she was so drenched with mud and silt. He knows she's strong, he knows her endurance. He knows, perhaps, what cheeky delight she would get in shifting to glabro or crinos and moving furniture -- his heavy, thick furniture -- around his new place, which she helped design to make him happy, to make him feel more comfortable in the city that he has not chosen to make his true home. A home away from home; that's all it needs to be. That is all it takes for her to be euphoric at his acceptance of it.
Her hands flex warmly on his arms. "We could do that now," she says quietly, and maybe he saw that coming. She can barely wait sometimes. Even these days, when she's been seeing him a bit more while he shops houses. But then there was that day she arrived on his land and was undressing herself on his patio just to press her skin against his. Avery touches his arms now, breathing in deep, exhaling slowly. "You know it's yours."
Her eyes open. She looks up at him, smiling lazily. Hungrily.
Calden WhiteThat lazy smile of hers reflects itself in his eyes. He has this lazy look himself: eyelids a little lower, smile a little looser. Calden steps into his lover as she runs her hands up his arms -- fingertips bumping over where his sleeves are rolled up, palms feeling the mass and shape of his biceps through that
red-checked shirt of his.
"There aren't a lot of soft surfaces here," he notes, and on that note, catches her mouth, kisses her mouth, takes his hands off her to start undoing the buttons of his shirt. "We're just going to have to make use of the walls."
Avery ChaseThat is something she overlooked, a bit: the claw-footed tub in the bath. They could kill themselves if they try to fuck, freestanding, while water pours over them in that thing. They'll break bones. She think sof that, sudden and both horrified and amused, but the thought passes quickly: she kisses Calden instead, is lifting her mouth to kiss him even as he is stepping into her, leaning into her. She meets him in the air between their faces, sliding her hands up his arms to his face, holding him there.
His words make her breath catch. "The windowseat," she suggests, "or the floor. I don't care." And she doesn't: luxurious as she is, the softness of the surface doesn't matter much to her. "I really don't care," she murmurs, a whispering echo underlining the first utterance.
Calden's shirt is coming undone. Avery takes her hands from his cheeks, though they go on kissing, and unzips her dress from one side. Strapless, sleeveless, it takes a tug or two and then begins to fall downward, rustling off her hips as he shrugs out of his umpteenth red-checked shirt and lets it fall behind him. Her lingerie is thin white cotton; she guides his hand to her breast, his other hand finds the clasp on its own. Avery's hands go to his belt, his jeans. She shudders when he lowers his head, putting his mouth on her. She shudders when he goes to his knees, putting his mouth on her. She bites her lip, tipping her head back, leaning still against the door while he opens her, tastingly. She is panting, gasping for air, falling dizzingly into her first orgasm, and he has not even gotten his jeans all the way off.
Avery keeps telling him she loves him. When she bows forward over him, caught in the throes of an orgasm that flows through her in waves, her hand pushed into his hair trying not to grab him by the scalp. She keeps gasping it. Moans it when she can't breathe. When he makes her come. When she sinks down to his body, sliding her own against his chest, straddling his lap as he knees on that hardwood floor. Wrapping her legs around him as he lifts her, kissing him as he takes her somewhere -- the wall, perhaps, the door again, the windowseat to lay her out and have her there, where only the most dedicated observer would be able to make them out through the glass as darkness falls in the city and douses the empty apartment in shadow.
He takes her somewhere. She clutches at his arms as he enters her, crying out a moment before her arms wrap, wrap him tight, keep him close to her heart while he sinks into her body. She thinks: I can't get enough of this. She means, and she knows it: I will never have enough of him.
And this is Avery. She tells the truth.
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