“Too lazy.” I keep my pace, thrusting deeper and deeper, not quite satisfied unless I feel like I’m tearing her apart.

“Mal,” she begs, although she is being fucked really hard and not very pleasantly. “Just a bit more.”

I deliberately slow down, putting her through delicious torture. I can feel her legs shaking again, and know she will enjoy her climax so much more if it comes gradually. I move in and out of her, watching as her skin blossoms in goosebumps as I give her what must be the best orgasm of her life by the look of her O-shaped mouth.

Once I’m done delivering the goods, I finally let go, pump into her a few more times, and find my own release.

I collapse beside her, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the dead hum of the air conditioning and our in-sync breaths.

“Let’s stay here for the entire week.” Rory is grinning at the ceiling, her eyes glossed over.

I roll over and throw an arm over her midriff, kissing her temple.

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my pumpkin carriage turns into dust come midnight.”

“I’ll let you bum a ride in my Honda, in that case.” She laughs.

“Because I’ve got shite to take care of back in Tolka,” I amend, grinning.

“Define ‘shite’,” she presses.

I make a sizzling, steak-on-a-frying-pan sound, trying to keep it light, but I still avoid answering.

She has the right to know. I can’t deny that anymore.

“No, you’re keeping me in the dark. Again.” She removes my arm from her body ever so promptly. “What’s in Tolka, Mal? Why do you need to go back? Where do you go when you randomly disappear?”

If I thought she could handle the truth, I might consider telling her. But I know, with a clarity that makes me want to heave and throw up, that she would turn around and walk away if she found out. And I’m not ready for her to go. Not yet.

Maybe she’ll eventually leave me.

It’s an option I’m not eager to entertain, though I force myself to try to come to terms with it.

But even so, I still have a few good weeks in me—a few weeks of screwing her, picking her quirky, somewhat twisted brain, and enjoying whatever she has to give. A few weeks of remembering what it means to be alive. A hit of my favorite drug after years of being sober. Never mind what going cold turkey again might do to me.

“Answer me, Mal.”

I stand up and walk toward the bathroom, stark naked.

“You’re a dick,” she huffs from the bed.

“Evidently,” I deadpan, slamming the door behind me.

“You can’t keep things from me forever,” she calls. “The truth always catches up with you.”