Chapter 8: Exported

They got back to the dorm just after dark. The walk was quiet again, but heavier this time. Chase unlocked the door and let them in. Sam set the journal on the desk without opening it. Neither of them looked at it.

They spent twenty minutes searching the room. Chase checked under the sink, in the desk drawer, behind the mini fridge. Sam went through the bathroom cabinet and came out empty-handed. In the small cupboard above the kettle they found a jar of coconut oil, half used, the lid sticky. Chase held it up. Sam nodded once.

“It’ll work,” she said.

They took turns in the shower. Sam went second. The water ran for a long time. When she came out her hair was damp, her skin flushed pink from the heat. She was wearing one of his clean t-shirts and nothing else. The hem sat high on her thighs. When she shifted her weight, the light caught the smooth, bare skin between her legs, no hair left, just soft pink. She didn’t meet his eyes right away.

They stood at the foot of the bed for a minute, neither of them moving. The lamp was on low. Outside, the campus was quiet.

Sam looked at him. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.

“Chase ... even if this doesn’t work. Even if nothing changes. I wanted to say thank you. For all of it. We were strangers. You didn’t have to help me. You’re the only person who’s cared in a long time.”

She stepped in. Her hand came up to the side of his neck. She leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first. Careful. His mouth opened under hers after a second. She kissed him deeper, slower, one hand sliding into his hair. He kissed her back, tentative then surer, his hands settling at her waist. They stayed like that, mouths moving together, breathing each other in, until the kiss turned warmer. Her tongue brushed his. He made a low sound against her lips. She smiled into it, small and shaky, and kissed him again.

She walked him backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He sat. She followed him down, still kissing him, one knee on either side of his hips. Her hands pushed his shirt up and off. He did the same with hers. Her breasts were bare, small and soft, nipples already tight. His hands came up, thumbs brushing over them. She shivered. Skin met skin. She kissed along his jaw, then lower, guiding him to lie back. She moved down his body without speaking, eyes flicking up to his once, checking, asking. He nodded, small.

She settled between his legs. His penis was only half hard, resting against his thigh. She took it in her hand, warm and careful, and stroked once, slow, from base to tip. It thickened under her fingers. She leaned in and ran her tongue along the underside, base to head, then took the head into her mouth. Her lips stretched around him. She sank lower, tongue flat and wet against the sensitive ridge, hand working what she couldn’t take. She sucked gently at first, then deeper, cheeks hollowing, spit slicking the shaft until he was fully hard, flushed and rigid, the head swollen against her tongue. She kept her eyes on his face the whole time, watching the way his breath changed, the way his fingers curled in the sheets, the way his hips twitched when she took him deeper.