Page 55 of Molt

Her finger traces the line of my mouth and every nerve in my body catches fire.

“Did you kiss me first?” she asks.

“Which time?”

“The first.”

“You did.”

She smiles. “Of course I did.”

“You were impatient.”

“Was I?”

I laugh.

She smiles.

And for a few seconds, we’re not cursed. We’re not dying. We’re not standing beside a tooth that crawled out of her hand. We’re simply a man and a woman standing too close in a bathroom at two in the morning.

Then her hand slides beneath the collar of my shirt.

Skin touches skin.

The memory hits. Hard.

Lenora gasps.

I see candlelight.

She sees it too.

A bedroom. 1897 her straddling my lap. My hands around her waist. Her forehead pressed to mine as she slowly rides my cock.

She whimpers as I thrust into her.

“Fuck Lenora, you’re always so goddamn tight.” I groan as her body shivers in my hold.

My fingers dig into her hips as she rolls them then tightens her cunt around my length.

“I’m going to cum, August.” She whines as I reach between us and pinch her clit.

Then the memory changes.

Me and her laying on a blanket in front of a fire place watching the flames curl up the chimney.

There’s no horror–no blood.

Just us.

“You’ll get tired of me,” she whispers.

“Never.”

“Everyone does.”

“I’m not everyone.”