Page 84 of Shatter

"You too." My voice has gone low and thick. "Can I?"

She nods.

I take the hem of my shirt where it hangs off her and lift it slowly, over her ribs and her breasts.

She raises her arms, and it's gone.

My hands stop, and I look at her.

Soft everywhere, curved everywhere, the flush crawling up her chest, her nipples drawn tight in the cool air.

Her hair's come loose, copper and blonde tangled on my pillow.

"Gods." It's the only word I've got. "Anni."

She laughs, low and shaky, and her face goes pink.

Her left wrist fits in my hand.

I turn it over, slow, so the scar faces up, the long pink line Colin Dufresne left on her.

My mouth finds it.

I kiss it from the heel of her hand to the crook of her elbow, every inch, and she shivers so hard the bed shakes.

When I look up, her eyes are wet.

She pulls me down to her.

Her mouth finds mine again, slower now, and I let her set the pace.

Skin against skin for the first time, her breasts soft against my chest, her heartbeat knocking against my ribs like it's trying to get through.

I kiss her jaw, then the freckles scattered along her collarbone, and she arches up into my mouth with a small, broken sound.

Her hands roam down my spine and back up again, slow, like she's learning the map of me.

My hand stays on her waist.

It doesn't wander until she takes my wrist and drags it lower, over the soft curve of her belly, to the waistband of her underwear.

"Please." Her breath catches against my mouth. "Espen, please."

I slide my fingers under the cotton and find her slick and hot, and she gasps my name into my shoulder.

I stroke her slowly until her hips rock up into my hand and her nails bite half-moons into my back.

"I want you." She pulls back far enough to look at me, her eyes dark and wet. "All of you. Now."

The box is in the nightstand drawer.

I reach over her and open it, and she turns her head and sees it.

The cellophane's still on.

She stares at it.

Then her face breaks open, and she's laughing into my shoulder.