Chapter Eight
Nora heard the announcement in the medical bay.
She was already on the exam table, pants off, Knox’s fingers working her open with the same steady routine he’d had every day since all this started.
The announcement washed over them like a shift in the air, but his hand didn’t stop.
Three fingers curled inside her, stretching her, while the computer voice went through the message one more time and then fell silent.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The wind outside was still loud, but it didn’t sound as wild as before. The doors would open in less than a day.
Knox pulled his fingers out slowly, wiped them on a towel, and looked at her.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"Yeah, I heard," she said.
He moved between her legs and unzipped. No more talking.
He pushed inside her in one long, steady move, filling her up.
Nora’s head dropped back, and she let out a low moan—her body was used to him now after twelve days of this.
He set a slow, deep rhythm, hands tight on her hips, the exam lamp bright above them.
Knowing this was their last full day alone made every touch feel different. Nora kept her eyes open, watching him. His look was focused, a little possessive, and already starting to drift—like he was thinking ahead to schedules, other people, and the end of all this privacy.
He kept going, making her come once, then again, never rushing, until she was shaking and begging. Only then did he push in all the way and come with a rough groan, filling her like he always did. He stayed deep afterward, breathing against her neck, while her body squeezed the last of it from him.
When he finally pulled out, the warm slide of him felt both familiar and like an ending.
Nora sat up on the table, legs still apart, his shirt loose around her shoulders. The medical bay was quiet except for the faint sound of people moving around outside, finally getting the news. Soon, people would be everywhere again. Their private time was almost over.
She looked right at him.
"When the doors open, this ends," she said.
Knox met her eyes and didn’t look away. "That was the deal. No girlfriend. No promises after lockdown. My job comes first."
"I know." She smoothed the shirt over her thighs, feeling him still slowly leaking out of her. "I’m not asking to stay in your bed after tomorrow. I’m asking if you want me to."
The silence dragged out. Someone laughed in the hallway—first time in almost two weeks. The sound seemed strange now.
Knox’s jaw tensed. He stepped closer, still between her knees, and put one hand on the table beside her.
"I want what we’ve had," he said finally. "You, open and available, on a schedule that works with the job. I don’t want anything getting in the way of my work. If you’re okay with that after lockdown—private, limited, and work always coming first—then yeah, I want you to keep coming. If not, we stop at 6 a.m. tomorrow."
Nora searched his face. He wasn’t being soft, but he wasn’t cruel either. Just straight with her, like always. She felt that familiar ache inside her—and the sharper ache of knowing exactly what was on offer.
She had a choice. She made it.
“I’ll stay under those terms,” she said. “Private. Limited. Work comes first. You get me when the schedule allows, and I won’t ask for more.”
Something in his face relaxed—possessive, but not emotional. He leaned in and kissed her once, quick and firm.
"Then nothing changes at six except the doors." He stepped back and handed her the rest of her clothes. "Tonight, my quarters. Last full night of lockdown. After that, we get used to having people around again."
Nora got dressed. The shirt still smelled like him. She paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back.
"Don’t be late for your own protocol, Doctor," she teased.
He almost smiled. "I won’t."
She stepped out into the hall. The station already felt different—lighter, less shut-in, filled with the low buzz of people getting ready for the outside world again. Nora walked toward the women’s quarters, the familiar ache between her legs and a clear sense of what she’d just signed up for.
The lockdown started with a storm and an avalanche. It would end with open doors—and a private arrangement just for the two of them. She did not need it to be more than that.
Tomorrow the slopes would be safe again. Work would start back up. And she’d still show up when he called, open for him, and then leave, marked and quiet.
It was enough.