Chapter 9
“Where are we going?” Samite asks with a wide grin, his sharp teeth flashing at me with excitement.
“It’s a surprise.” I grin back. I zip through the kitchen like a whirlwind on borrowed time. This burn isn’t over. I have two days left, and I’m going out hot and bright.
We fill a couple of backpacks and head out, hiking north along the ridge. Shortly before we arrive at our destination, the telltale smell floating on the chilly winter air gives away my surprise. Samite takes a big sniff and his face lights up.
“Is that sulfur?” he grins at me.
I nod. Sulfur isn’t a popular scent the world over, but it is used in soaps and candles marketed to demons, and I get it. The pungent aroma in small quantities can add complexity, rounding out a scent much the same way bitter herbs can balance a flavor.
“Behold, my private spa,” I announce as we come into view of the travertine-terraced hot springs. It’s a natural wonder, a hidden gem, and my chest puffs with pride as we both take in the view. The hazy afternoon sun streaming through the clouds lends a dappled sparkle to the limestone rocks mottled with minerally browns and creamy yellows. The water is a brilliant turquoise. Add to that the snowy woods backdrop and the steam rising off the water, and it’s simply—
“Magnificent.” Samite pronounces, plucking the word directly from my brain. “Why didn’t they build the resort here? There’s nothing half as beautiful on Mount BZB.”
It’s true. Mount BZB doesn’t hold a candle to Mount Winter Bliss, but the developers had their reasons. “It’s an active volcano, for one,” I say. Not that lava flow is a real concern. The earliest demon settlers, through crafty engineering and a feat of elemental magic, created permanent channels for lava flow. In the hundred and fifty years since, the channels have never failed. Sure, the mountain still trembles during eruptions, but the chaos and violence is tempered. Mount Winter Bliss is a safe place that doesn’t feel safe, and it’s one of the things I’ve always loved about it.
“And the lack of ski slopes,” I add. Tourists love skiing. And gambling. The resort was built on the right mountain for what it is and for who it’s for.
Samite rushes ahead, stripping naked as he goes, and I laugh at the eager hop in his stride as he beelines to the biggest, deepest pool and jumps in with a giant splash.
I collect his clothes, which he’s discarded in a very un-Samite-like fashion. I fold and drop them along with our bags on a rock the perfect distance away. Far enough from the springs to be dry, but not so far that it’s covered in snow.
“It’s glorious!” Samite shouts as he swims a backstroke across the spring, and I laugh again, warmth bubbling up in my chest like I’m one of the pools.
I strip off my clothes, then naked and covered in gooseflesh, I take a seat on the edge of the pool Samite’s swimming in. I sink my legs into the steamy water and let out a gusty sigh. There is no texture on earth that can match the sublime silkiness of mineral-rich hot spring water. And the temperature? Delightful.
“Get in,” Samite says.
I hesitate. “I usually soak in that pool.” I point to a smaller, shallower pool a few tiers higher.
“What’s wrong with this one?” he asks, floating on his back, smiling up at the sky.
“It’s deep,” I say.
“So?” He comes upright, treading water.
Ugh. He’s going to make me say it. “I can’t swim,” I mumble.
“What?” He swims over to me, pushing himself between my legs, and sliding his steaming hands up my naked thighs. I stare at his hands, and I don’t answer. “What did you say?” He squeezes.
I try to meet his eye, but my glance darts sideways, landing on the gold cuff on his ear. “I can’t swim,” I repeat, flushing slightly as my eyes drop back to my lap. I’m a grown woman. I should know how to swim, but I never learned.
“Oh.” Samite pulls himself up out of the spring. “Next time we come, I’ll teach you,” he says. Next time? I stiffen at that. What next time? There’s only one tiny thread tethering him here. The lamp. He would never go back on a bargain. But he doesn’t have to deliver it in person, and once he’s made good, snip. There will be nothing connecting us and no reason for him to come back.
He stands and offers me his hand. We walk over to my preferred pool.
“This is the best one,” I say as we descend the natural stair steps that lead us down into chest-deep water. Its proximity to the source makes it extra hot, much hotter than the big pool. Samite notices the temperature and gives me another of his delighted smiles, the ones that seem to shoot straight into my heart.
“I’m melting,” he says and gives a happy little groan as he sinks in up to his ears. Same.
We soak and sigh. Muscles I didn’t know were tense release one by one until I’m boneless and weightless. Samite pulls my puddle towards his. It feels entirely natural for my legs to wrap around his waist and for his arms to wrap around my back. My head fits against his shoulder like we were made for this. Our bodies relax by another degree, and we fuse together.
He kisses my shoulder, and I nuzzle his neck, and for a while, we’re too content for more than snuggling and soaking. The steam rises in billows around us and the clouds sail by overhead.
“Do you want to try floating?” Samite breaks the long silence.
“Hmmm?” I ask as I lift my head to look at him.
“It’s the first thing they teach you when you’re learning to swim. Unless you’re born with a connection to water, trusting it to hold you up will feel very unnatural. It just takes a bit of courage to work through that. Do you want to give it a try?”
I’d rather just stay wrapped around you, I think to myself, but out loud, I agree. I’m not a coward, and don’t want him remembering me as one when he leaves here.
He guides me with light touches and murmured instructions. I like the sound of them, and they distract me just enough that on my third attempt, I lean back, stretch out, and relax just enough. My hips don’t sink, and I don’t tip sideways. I’m doing it.
“Nicely done,” he says and leans over to kiss me, a light brush on my lips. “Next time, I’ll show you how to tread water.” He says, and I start to sink.
We finally get out and towel off, and I hand Samite his clothes. He notes the folded garments and tilting my chin up with his finger, gives me a deep kiss that sets my head spinning. “You’re welcome,” I say with a loopy grin.
As we walk back to the cabin, Samite slips his hand into mine and laces our fingers together. So much of his warmth travels through his touch that the heat of the pool stays with me the whole walk back. We’re in a warm bubble that the evening chill cannot penetrate.
“I thought you’d be more upset about a two-day delay.” I say, and I know there’s a question in there somewhere, but even I’m not sure exactly what I’m asking.
“I thought so too,” he answers, and if I had to describe his expression, I’d say he looks mildly perplexed. “As much as I need to get back, saying goodbye today was—” He trails off, squeezing my hand, and he’s quiet for a while before he speaks again.
“While we were floating, I pictured myself walking into my hotel room to find my investment egg gone, and it didn’t feel the way I thought it would. It would take years, maybe a decade to rebuild my business portfolio, but—” He shrugs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if my money is gone, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll earn it back some way or another. I’ve started small before. I can do it again. I might enjoy it, actually.” He tugs my hand, pulling me to a stop.
“Give me your number,” he says. “I’ll buy a new phone as soon as I get into town, and you’ll be the first contact I add.” He kisses my cheek before snuggling his nose at my temple.
“I don’t have a phone.”
He pulls back, and his eyes narrow. “The same way you don’t have a washing machine?”
“No,” I snort, wanting to be offended, but his suspicion is valid, and it’s past time I apologized. “I’m sorry I lied about the washer, but you were annoying me, and I thought it was hilarious and served you right.”
“That’s not a great apology,” he says.
“It’s not,” I admit, “but it might be the best one you’re going to get.” I tug on his hand to start us walking toward the cabin again.
“No phone,” he muses.
“Nope.” I got rid of it along with everything else, my apartment, my car, my self-respect. I even cut up my library card, and I love that place. It’s a great big old building right in the center of town, and it has the cutest little reading nooks all throughout. I suppose I thought it was symbolic. I was cutting myself off from the town, but in hindsight, it was a needlessly dramatic gesture. If anything, I should be spending more time at the library now that I’m dead broke.
“What about the CB? Can I call you on that?” he asks.
“No. That’s not how they work.”
He keeps pushing, asking how the other residents keep in touch with the outside world, and I have to explain that there aren’t many. Most of the cabins are rentals or occupied seasonally, not year-round, and those who come up here aren’t trying to keep in touch. They come here to ‘unplug’.
“They cut themselves off on purpose? Why?”
I shrug. Lots of reasons, but I don’t feel like getting into them.
“I suppose if you’re in the right company, the rest of the world doesn’t matter,” he says almost to himself. “But our problem remains,” he adds with a frustrated grumble. I reply with a noncommittal wordless noise. He doesn’t say anything else, and when I glance over, I can tell he’s deep in thought. I like him like this. Like when he lost himself in the bonfire, something about being near him when he’s pensive warms me deep inside. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
As soon as we arrive at the cabin, I head straight to the kitchen to start on dinner, but it’s not long before Samite comes up behind me and starts kissing the side of my neck. His hands run over my hips, and it turns out neither of us are very hungry, not for food.
He picks me up and carries me to bed. I bounce as he drops me onto the mattress, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that tells me I shouldn’t move. He undresses himself first as I watch, eating him up, my mouth watering.
Then he starts on me, undressing me slowly, kissing me all over with little pecks as he whispers dirty things against my skin about the places he wants to lick, about the parts of him he wants to put inside me. When I’m naked, not an inch of me hidden, he guides my body, turning me over and laying me face down on the bed. He kisses the nape of my neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles.
He works his way down my spine with more little kisses, inch by inch. His hands run over my back, my shoulders and arms, never pausing at any of my imperfections, and it’s not long until my awareness of them is entirely gone. His nails rake lightly, sending tingles racing along my skin, and with every breath that leaves my body, I melt further into the bed.
When he reaches my hips, he palms both my ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them like dough, before he leans in and bites. By the sting, I know there’ll be a mark on the round of my ass, and I’m already looking forward to giving him a matching one.
He spreads my cheeks and licks me and follows it with teasing little flicks of his tongue. My breath hitches. His hand dips between my legs, and I spread them wide, thinking he’s going to sink a finger into me. But he goes for my clit. He rubs little circles over and around it. A shudder runs through my body, followed quickly by another.
His fingers continue to rub steadily even as my hips start a gentle rock against his hand. His tongue licks again at my back door with longer and longer strokes. The shudders are coming closer together and little moans escape me, one after the other. I’m a quaking puddle, a jiggling gelatin.
His tongue prods, and I’m panting into the sheets, flushing head to toe. I’m right on the edge, my insides tightening even as my limbs are loose and useless. He circles his tongue, round and round my back entrance, matching the quickening motion of his fingers on my clit. Intensity peaks. My toes curl as my mouth pops open in a wordless groan, and that’s it. I come undone, shuddering against the bed with delightful little spasms.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says with energy of a demon who’s just getting started.
He abruptly lifts my hips, positioning me ass-up, face-down and a thrill runs right through me, followed by an aching need to be filled, and not with his tongue or fingers, which is where this is going, I’m certain. No. I want him pounding into me, growling and tugging my hair as he comes. But we’re all out of condoms, and if I stay in this position a second longer, I’m going to beg him to fuck me without one. I don’t mean a cute little beg, either. I’m on the verge of going full-on wanton temptress, wiggling my concha right in his face, and offering up my soul for the feel of his cock sinking into me. He just might give in, too, even if a part of him doesn’t want to take the risk.
I flip over, rising to my knees, and I push him down. “It’s my turn,” I say.
He falls flat and stretches out on the bed, willingly toppled with an eager grin. I still owe him some teeth marks on his ass, but first I want to get those eyes smoking. I will never get enough of that.
He likes my tits on him. We’ll start with some of that, maybe tease his balls a little.
“I’m going to play with you now,” I say. “And when there’s smoke pouring from those beautiful black eyes of yours, you’re going to be good and flip over for me, so that I can bite that perfect ass.”
“Yes, Chef.”
When I wake up the next morning, light streams through the window. My head is on Samite’s chest, and his arm is wrapped around my waist. We’ve gotten really good at snuggling, and I have to push away an upsetting thought about how empty this bed will feel without him.
I lift my head, and he greets me with a smile and a peck on the nose.
“Meet me in town for New Years,” he says. “We’ll go to the Truthfire Festival together. It’ll be fun, and after, we’ll figure out the phone thing.” There’s a glow about him that’s more than just the morning sun, and a knot forms in my stomach. Until I have a new job, I can’t afford a phone. There’s nothing to figure out.
“I thought you were heading home for the holiday,” I say, resting my head back on his chest.
“I want to see you again,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t you want to see me?” he asks, but it’s not a real question because he’s clearly not expecting a no. But that would be my answer. No, I don’t want to see him again. What I want is to never stop seeing him. I don’t want him to leave, but he has to, not just to find out what happened to his money but to get back to his fancy life and his business deals.
And me? I’ve got nothing. No job, no phone, no way to visit him, and no way to stay in touch. Six months ago, I was on my way up. I’d paid my dues in a brutally tough industry. I’d risen through the ranks, run kitchens for other chefs, and finally, finally I was getting my shot to unleash my own creative vision and prove what I could do. If he’d asked for my number then, I would have tattooed it on his body. But now? With no dream and no professional kitchen to attach my name to, what am I? Nothing.
Until I’ve figured out how to pick myself up from rock bottom, I’m just dead weight. No good to anyone. His life is too big. It would never fit inside this tiny, remote cabin that has somehow become my whole world. If he’s thinking we can make this work, that we can somehow keep this going, he’s wrong. The moment he leaves the mountain, this burn is over.
“You should stick to your plan and go home to be with your family.” His body tenses under me. “The roads might not be clear by then anyway,” I continue quickly. “I’ll probably be stuck up here. It’d be better if you just go home.”
I hear his intake of breath and know that he’s going to argue with me. To stop him, I plant my mouth on his, sealing it with a kiss.
We spend the morning in each other’s arms, or on each other’s faces. “Is everything alright?” Samite asks me a few times.
“Perfect,” I say and kiss him again. No need to talk when there’s fuel left to burn. Hotter. Brighter.
“Slow down,” he says. “We have time.” But we don’t. Our burn is coming to an end. Fire is magical but it doesn’t last.
Tuesday arrives without me wanting it to. My heart aches so sharply it feels like I’ve cracked a rib.
“Come with me.” Samite’s hand cups my cheek, and I have to clamp down on a sob that’s clawing at the back of my throat. I want to go with him.
“To where, your hotel?” I force a laugh. “No. This is the end of our burn.”
“We’ve got to get a move on!” The park ranger yells, but Samite doesn’t budge. He’s searching my face.
“I don’t understand—” he starts to say, but I cut him off.
“This is what you wanted. So, ándale vete. It’s time to go.” I give him a little shove.
He gives me one last confused look before he turns and walks away. He doesn’t look back as he climbs into the snowcat.
They pull away, and at first, I don’t realize I’m following. I walk along the tracks until the yellow cab disappears over a ridge far in the distance, and finally, I look around to see that I’m a half-mile from my cabin. I turn around and, hunching against the bitter cold, I head back alone.