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jumps, and Mari feels her mouth fill with saliva.
    â€œPlease.” Jackson is reaching down between her legs slowly, like he expects her to spook. “Let me do it properly this time, okay?”
    Mari licks her lips. “Okay.”
    She’s so slick her body makes an actual sound when he opens her up, wet and thick and embarrassing. Mari can hear it and smell it, how completely ready she is.
    Jack stares at her. “Mari.”
    It’s pretty much over with then, properly or otherwise, both of them scrambling to put him inside her, a graceless tangle of elbows and skin. “But what about a—” Jackson starts, and Mari hisses, “I don’t care,” and in that second, hand to God, she really doesn’t. Then he’s inside and moving almost inhumanly fast, pornographic thrusts that make Mari bounce on the mattress, teeth and spit and sweat. Two strokes in, Mari’s so close she’s biting her tongue. He’s big, she remembers that much from that night in his apartment. This isn’t good—Jesus Christ, this is terrible, this is the worst thing she could possibly be doing right now—but fuck if it isn’t working for her almost criminally well.
    â€œJack—” Mari says again, warning this time, wanting to let him know how hard she’s going to lose it. “Oh my God, Jack, I’m—”
    â€œShit,” Jack hisses, hips jerking, and she realizes a second too late that he’s trying to get away from her, pull out, but by then she’s already coming and coming, one leg wound around his and this feeling like there was a missed stitch in her someplace and he tugged it, like she’s unraveling everywhere. Jack groans low and helpless into the curve of her neck. Mari can feel the pulse of him as he loses it. Both of them at the exact same time, fuck, it’s the kind of thing they’d probably never be able to do if they were trying.
    Then again, she and Jack have always been in sync.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he gasps as soon as they’re through, ripping away from her. Once he’s out he keeps right on backing up, straight off the bed, as if that’s going to make a bit of difference now. “Oh shit, Mari.” He sounds younger than he is, like Mari’s prom date instead of her partner.
    Mari sits up too. She can feel it dripping out of her as soon as she shifts, thick and regrettable. “Well.”
    â€œShit,” Jackson repeats, rubbing both hands across his bristly head. Thinner, definitely, Mari can see it in his hips and chest now that he’s standing, in the new taper of him. The scars are big and ugly on his chest. “Shit.”
    â€œYeah.” God, Mari is thirty-three fucking years old. “Listen, it’s fine. We’ll just have to go to a CVS.”
    â€œA CVS?” Jackson stands stock-still for a second. Then he turns away and pulls his pants up, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The cheap mattress dips under his weight. “Right. Okay, Mari.”
    Which—really? Mari yanks her bra back on, ignoring the sting in her nipples. “Yeah, okay ,” she says pointedly. “Unless you have a better plan for fixing this.”
    That makes him look at her. “No.” He sinks into himself, back rounding. “I don’t.”
    â€œOkay.” Lord, where are her underwear? “Then let’s get our job done.”
    They get dressed in silence, just the crackle of her staticky sweater and the noisy zip of her jeans. Jackson still looks stunned so Mari volunteers to make the buy. She figures she’ll look the part now, at least, strung out on sex and fear. But by the time she goes downstairs and crosses the lot to the lobby, the greasy clerk is gone. Abruptly, Mari remembers Leo telling them he only works the morning shift.
    Dammit. She chokes down one useless sob as she heads out toward the sedan, knowing Jack can see her from the window of their