Folsom (End of Men, #1)(28)
The adoration on his face kicks me in the gut all the way out the door. I hope I don’t let him down.
At seven o’clock when Genome Y is usually still hopping, Doctor Hunley clears out all but one of the attending staff and assigns her to labs. Locked in an eight by ten windowless room, she will be secluded for at least an hour. Doctor Hunley buzzes me, and I quickly make my way to dome six. I see the doctor coming out of Folsom’s room and going to the central desk, pulling out a few files and a book. She smiles when she sees me coming.
“I’m giving you time with him, not permission to exhaust him.” She picks up her book and waves it. “I’ll be right out here. Make sure he’s rested. His meeting with the Society is at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I agree. “I won’t be able to stay long anyway.”
I might be back out in minutes if Folsom isn’t in the mood for company. I tap on the door and then enter, holding up two glasses of lemonade.
“Sounds like you’re skipping out on this place soon. Thought you might want to celebrate.” I get all the words out without sobbing and wonder if that’s what pregnancy will mean for me: constant emotion. Or maybe it’s just Folsom’s effect on me.
“No bourbon?” He turns to face me and reaches for the drink, clanking our bottles together. “The doc said I should get at least one good night’s sleep in this place.”
It registers then that he’s standing by the window and doesn’t have a machine or tubes trailing behind him. He takes a long swig of the drink as he looks outside and my throat burns.
“You seem happy to go. I thought you might like the peace a little longer,” I say quietly.
He makes a face, wiping his fist across his mouth. “Peace? Being poked and prodded here, or poking my way through the female population out there…either way, no peace. I may as well get on with it. Live life to the fullest, isn’t that the saying?”
I swallow the lump I’ve had in my throat since this morning and move next to him, watching the beacon from the lighthouse cast light across the water.
“I’ll be sad to see you go,” I tell the window. I can’t look at him.
He turns my chin toward him. “You act like you’ll never see me again.”
“Because I most likely won’t,” I say. “I spend most of my time here and you’ll be—”
He runs a finger across my top lip, smiling faintly like he’s enjoying a private joke with himself.
He’s looking at me with the same hunger as he had this morning… I haven’t let myself think about that all day. He moves our glasses out of the way and takes my face in his hands. His mouth is on mine before I know what’s happening, but I quickly respond, my tongue clashing with his. His hands are everywhere: my hair, my face, my breasts, my ass. My lab coat falls to the floor, shirt following, and he has my pants halfway to the ground before I can get his shirt yanked over his head.
“I want you right here,” his teeth tug on my nipple, “against this window, with that light flashing across your skin…” His fingers move between my legs and when he pushes a finger inside of me, my head falls back against the window and I start panting.
“Folsom,” I moan. “We’re going to get caught…” He doesn’t seem to care.
He draws his fingers in and out slowly and then gets on his knees. With his other hand, he spreads me wide and groans, watching his fingers disappear inside me. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing, but he spreads all of my wetness across my clit as he looks up at me.
“You like that?” he asks.
I whimper out a yes, my legs trembling.
When his tongue flicks across my clit, I grab a handful of his hair and pull, anything to keep from screaming out. He goes faster, and I don’t even know what he’s doing with his mouth because it’s all I can do to have a coherent thought. I shudder and convulse and he moans and bucks like he can feel everything I’m feeling. I clench around his fingers, coming so hard my knees buckle, and he holds me up, kissing up my body until he’s standing over me, fingers still working me over.
He pulls out and puts my hand on his cock, which is hard and heavy, bobbing into my hand. He leans his forehead against mine as I fist around him and slide up and down. When I get a little braver, I swirl my thumb over the tip and his head falls back. He moves my hand away and plunges into me, deep. I cry out and he lifts his head and stares at me while we move together. I pretend we’re two normal people falling in love and starting our lives together, rather than two splintered people saying goodbye. His eyes never leave mine and even when we both rush faster toward our finish, we ride out the pain, the fury, the ecstasy…together.
“Have you been sick?” he asks, when we’re cleaned up and lying in bed.
“Too soon for that, I think. Maybe next week or the next the symptoms will start.”
“Your sister?” he asks.
I grow silent. I haven’t seen my sister in weeks. I’ve been so busy. It strikes me as odd that I don’t even know if she’s pregnant or not. Surely my mother would have said something…
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Folsom nods.
I keep telling myself I’ll only stay ten minutes longer, but we keep finding things to talk about.