Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Ian drives me home after we drop everybody off at the airport, following a disturbing phone number exchange among the guys and a few tears from Mara and Sadie. I’m definitely feeling more like myself, because I send them through TSA with a stern “Stop whining” and gentle slaps on their butts.

“Try not to fall into a glacier for at least six months, okay?” Sadie yells at me from within the roped area.

I flip her off and limp back to Ian’s car.

“I see why you love them so much,” he tells me while driving back to my place.

“I don’t. Love them, that is. I just pretend to avoid hurting their feelings.”

He smiles like he knows how full of bullshit I am to the very milligram, and we’re quiet for the rest of the ride. The oldies radio station plays pop songs that I remember from the early 2000s, and I stare at the yellow glow of the streetlights, wondering if I, too, am an oldie. Then Ian slows down to park at my place, and that relaxed, happy feeling wanes as my heart picks up speed.

I told Sadie and Mara that I’d see if he’s interested in going out with me, but it’s easier said than done. I’ve propositioned plenty of people, but this?.?.?. it feels different. I’m not going to be good at it. I’m going to be total, utter shit. And Ian will realize it immediately.

“You could?.?.?.” I start. Then stop. My knees suddenly look incredibly interesting. Works of art that require my most dedicated inspection. “I was thinking that?.?.?.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you upstairs,” he says. He’s wearing jeans and an ocean-blue shirt that matches his eyes and contrasts with his hair and—

It’s scary, how attractive I find him. The depth of this crush of mine. I liked him since the very start, but my feelings for him have been growing steadily, then exponentially, and?.?.?. what do I even do with them? It’s like being handed an instrument I never learned how to play. Being asked to step onstage at a concert hall utterly unprepared.

I take a deep breath.

“Actually, they fixed the elevator. And this new cast is easy to walk on. So, no need. But you?.?.?.” You can do this, Hannah. Come on. You just survived polar bears thanks to this guy. You can say the words. “You could come up anyway.”

A long silence follows, in which I feel my heartbeat in every inch of my body. It draws out till it gets unbearable, and when I cannot help but glance up, I find Ian looking at me with an expression that can be described only as?.?.?. sorry. Like he knows very well that he’s going to have to let me down.

Shit.

“Hannah,” he says, apologetic. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Right.” I swallow and nod. Push the weight in my chest to the side for an unspecified later. God, that later is going to be bad. “Okay.”

He nods, too, relieved at my understanding. My heart breaks a little. “But if you need anything, anything at all—”

“—you’ll be there. Right.” I smile, and?.?.?. maybe I’m not 100 percent yet, because I’m starting to feel teary all over again. “Thank you, Ian. For everything. Absolutely everything. I still cannot believe you came for me.”

He cocks his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just?.?.?.” I could bullshit an answer for him. But it seems unfair. He’s earned more from me. “I just can’t believe that anyone would do that for me.”

“Right.” He sighs and bites into his lower lip. “Hannah, if that changes. If you ever find yourself able to believe that someone could care about you that much. And if you wanted to actually?.?.?. have dinner with that someone.” He lets out a laugh. “Well?.?.?. Please, consider me. You know where to find me.”

“Oh. Oh, I?.?.?.” I feel heat creep up my face. Am I blushing? I didn’t even know my body was capable of it. “I actually wasn’t asking you to come up just for?.?.?. I mean, maybe that, too, but mostly?.?.?.” I screw my eyes shut. “I expressed myself poorly. I was inviting you up because I would love to have dinner. With you,” I blurt out.

When I find the guts to open my eyes, Ian’s expression is stunned.

“Are you?.?.?.” I think he forgot how to breathe. He clears his throat, coughs once, swallows, coughs again. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I mean,” I hurry to add, “I still think you won’t like it. I’m just?.?.?. really not that kind of person.”

“What kind of person?”

“The kind that people enjoy being with for anything that isn’t?.?.?. well, sex. Or sex related. Or directly leading up to sex.”

“Hannah.” He gives me a skeptical look. “You have two friends who dropped everything to be with you. And I assume sex wasn’t involved.”

“It wasn’t. And I—I would drop everything for them, but they’re different. They’re my people, and—” Shit, I really am about to tear up. What the hell, you almost die once and your mental stability gets all fucked up? “There are plenty of people who would disagree. Like my family. And you?.?.?. You’ll probably end up not liking me.”

He smiles. “Seems improbable, since I already like you.”

“Then you’ll stop. You—” I run a hand through my hair, wishing he understood. “You’ll change your mind.”

He looks at me like I’m just a bit crazy. “In the span of one dinner?”

“Yes. You’ll think I’m a waste of your time. Boring.”

He’s starting to just look?.?.?. amused. Like I’m ridiculous. Which?.?.?. I don’t know. Maybe I am. “If that happens, I’ll just put you to work. Have you debug some of my code.”

I laugh a little and look out of the window. There are no cars at this time of night, no one walking their dog or taking a stroll. It’s just Ian and me on the street. I love it and hate it. “I still think you’d get the most out of this if we fucked,” I mutter.

“I agree.”

I turn to him, surprised. “You do?”

“Of course. You think I don’t want to fuck you?”

“I?.?.?. Kind of?”

“Hannah.” He unbuckles his seat belt and angles himself toward me, so that I have no choice but to look him in the eyes. He looks earnest and nearly offended. “I have thought about what happened in my office every day for the past five years. You offered to go down on me, and I just?.?.?. embarrassed myself, and it should be the most mortifying memory I have, but for some reason it’s turned into the axis every fantasy of mine spins around, and”—he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose—“I want to fuck you. Obviously. Always have. I just don’t want to fuck you once. I want to do it a lot. For a long time. I want you to come to me for sex, but also want you to come to me when you need help with your taxes and moving your furniture. I want fucking to be only one of the million things I do for you, and I want to be—” He stops. Seems to collect himself and straightens, as if to give me space. To give us space. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to crowd you. You can?.?.?.”

He pulls back a few inches, and all I can do is look at him openmouthed. Shocked. Speechless. Absolutely?.?.?. yeah. Did this really happen? Is it really happening? And the worst part is, I’m almost positive that his words have dislodged something in my brain, because the only thing I can think of saying in response to all he said is: “Is that a yes on dinner?”

He laughs, low and beautiful and a little rueful. And after looking at me like no one else ever has before, what he says is, “Yes, Hannah. It is a yes on dinner.”

---

?????????“Um, I could make us a?.?.?.” I scratch my head, studying the contents of my open fridge. Okay, so it’s full. The problem is, it’s full exclusively of stuff that needs to be cooked, chopped, baked, prepared. Stuff that’s healthy and doesn’t taste particularly good. I am now 93 percent sure that Mara was the one who went shopping, because no one else would dare to impose broccoli on me. “How does one even?.?.?. I could boil the broccoli, I guess? In a pot? With water?”

Ian is standing behind me, his chin on top of my head, chest hovering right behind my back. “Boil them in a pot with water,” he repeats.

“I would salt them afterward, of course.”

“You want to eat broccoli?” He sounds skeptical. Should I be offended?

No, Ian. I don’t want to eat broccoli. I’m not even hungry, to be honest. But I have committed to this. I am a person who is capable of having dinner with another human. And I will prove it to you.“I could make a sandwich, then. There’s lunch meat over there.”

“I think those are tortilla wraps.”

“No, they’re— Shit. You’re right.”

I sigh, slam the door shut, and turn around. Ian does not take a step back. I have to lean against the fridge to be able to look up at him. “How do you feel about Froot Loops?”

“The cereal?”

“Yeah. Breakfast for dinner. If I still have milk. Let me check—”

He does not. Let me check, that is. Instead he envelops my face with his hands and leans over to me.

Our first kiss, five years ago, was all me. Me reaching out. Me initiating. Me guiding him. This one, though?.?.?. Ian sets everything. The rhythm, the tempo, the way his tongue licks into my mouth—everything. It lasts for a minute, then two, then an uncountable length of time that blurs into a mess of liquid heat and trembling hands and soft, filthy noises. My arms loop around his neck. One of his legs slides between mine. I realize that this is going to end exactly like our afternoon at JPL. Both of us completely out of control, and?.?.?.

“Stop,” I say, barely breathing.

He pulls back. “Stop?” He’s not breathing at all.

“Dinner first.”

He exhales. “Really? Now you want dinner?”

“I promised.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I’m trying to—to show you that—”

“Hannah.” His forehead touches mine. He laughs against my mouth. “Dinner is?.?.?. it’s symbolic. A metaphor. If you tell me that you’re willing to see where things go, I believe you, and we can—”

“No,” I say stubbornly. The urge to touch him is nearly painful. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. “We’re having our symbolic dinner. I’m going to show you that—what are you doing?”

He is, I believe, turning around to pluck two grapes from the same cluster I half ate this morning. He presses one against my lips till I bite into it, pops the other in his mouth. We both chew for a while, eyes locked. Though he finishes before I do, starts kissing me again, and—a mess.

We’re a mess.

“Done eating your dinner?” he asks against my lips. I nod. “You still hungry?” I shake my head and he picks me up and carries me to the—

“Wrong door!” I say when he tries to enter the bathroom, then the closet where I keep the vacuum cleaner I never use and the one pair of spare sheets I own, and by the time we’re on my bed we’re both laughing. Our teeth clack together when we try and fail to keep kissing as we undress each other, and I don’t think that anything has ever been like this before, intimate and sweet and so much fun at the same time.

“Just—let me—” I finish taking off his shirt and stare at his torso, mesmerized. It’s pale and broad, full of freckles and large muscles. I want to bite him and lick all over. “You’re so?.?.?.”

He has undone my cast. He sets it aside, next to the pajama bottoms that I threw on the floor this morning, then helps me wiggle out of my jeans. “Red? And spotty?”

I laugh a little harder. “Yup.”

“That’s what I—”

I press him down till he’s lying on the bed. Then I straddle him and peel off my top, ignoring the slight sting in my ankle. This should be familiar ground to me: bodies against bodies, flesh against flesh. Just seeing what feels good and then doing more of it. It should be familiar, but I’m not sure it is. Being here with Ian is more like hearing a song I’ve listened to millions of times, this time with a new arrangement.

“God, you look so— What works best for you?” he asks between breaths. “For your ankle?”

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t really hu—” I stop myself as something occurs to me. “You’re right. I am injured.”

His eyes widen. “We don’t have to—”

“Which means that I should probably be in charge.”

He nods. “But we don’t have to—”

He shuts up the moment my hand reaches the zipper of his jeans. And he stays silent, breathing sharply, staring mesmerized at the way I undo it, slow, methodical, determined. His boxers are tented. He is hard, big. I remember touching him for the first time and thinking how good the sex was going to be.

I just didn’t think it would take us five years to get there.

“Hannah,” he says.

I reach inside the slit of his boxers to cup him. The second my fingers close around him, his nostrils flare. “Yes?”

“I don’t think you understand how— Fuck.”

He is hot and huge. Closing his eyes, arching his neck before looking at me again with a half-warning, half-pleading expression. He finds me sitting on his knees, his cock spasming in my grip as I lean over. “Hannah,” he says, even deeper than usual. “What are you?.?.?.”

I start by licking the head, thoroughly, delicately. But he feels smooth and warm against my tongue, and I immediately get impatient. I flip my hair so it’s not in the way and seal my lips around him, suck gently once, twice, and then?.?.?.

I hear a growl. Then the sound of something ripping. With the corner of my eye, I notice Ian’s large hand fisting the sheet. Did he just tear my—

“Stop,” he says, pleads, orders me.

My brow furrows. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not—” I tighten my grip around his length, and I can almost hear his teeth grind. His cheeks are bright red. Mars Red. “We can’t. Not the first time. We need to do it in a way that won’t make me?.?.?.”

I press a soft, lingering kiss at the base. He inhales once, audibly, from his nose. “So what you’re saying is?.?.?. you don’t want to come?”

“It’s more—shit—about keeping my dignity,” he rushes out.

“Dignity is overrated,” I say before running my teeth up his length to take the head in my mouth again. This time, he seems to just give in. His hand slides through my hair, cups the back of my skull, and for a second he keeps me there. Pulls me closer. Presses me against him until I feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat. I yield to Ian, enjoying the feeling of him losing control, the salty flavor, his trembling thighs, the helpless way he tugs at my hair to get me to take more, deeper, better—

Suddenly, it’s all upside down. I’m being dragged up his body, flipped on my back, pinned to the bed. One of his hands can hold both my wrists above my head, and when I look up I find him caging me. I first notice the panic in his eyes, then how close he was to coming, then the sheer relief that he managed to stave it off.

“Hannah,” he says. His tone is laced with command.

“What?”

His cock twitches against my abdomen. “I think I’ll be in charge now.”

I pout. “But I—”

“I’m sorry, but—it’s happening. I’m going to fuck you. I’m not going to come in your—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just leans forward to kiss me, and by the time he’s done, I’m nodding, breathless.

“Do you have condoms?”

“No. But I’m on the pill. We can do it without anything if you’re not giving me gross STDs. But I trust that you wouldn’t save me from the walruses just to have me die of chlamydia, so—”

I think he likes the idea of us doing it without anything. I think he loves the idea, because first he kisses me breathless, then he gets to work on taking everything—every last layer—off both of us.

The truth is, I can’t remember the last time I was fully naked with someone. When I’m having sex—the type of sex I usually go for—there always tends to be the odd irremovable layer. A bra, a tank top. Not-quite-all-the-way-off panties. My partners have been the same, with boxers twisted at their ankles, skirts pulled up, still-cuffed open shirts.

I’ve never dwelled too much on the thought, but the lack of intimacy behind the encounters is crystal clear now. Now that Ian is draped over me, sucking at my breasts as if they are ripe fruits, his tongue sweet and rough against the pliant underside, alternating between too much and not enough.

He spreads my legs open with his knee, positions himself right between them, and I expect him to slide in in one smooth move. I’m certainly wet enough, and the way he grips my waist betrays his eagerness. But for long moments he just seems satisfied to nibble on my tits. Even though I can feel his erection, hot and a little wet, rubbing against the inside of my thigh whenever he shifts. It leads to me gasping and him groaning, something deep and rich rising from the pit of his chest.

“I thought you said you wanted to fuck?” I breathe out.

“I do,” he rumbles. “But this?.?.?. this is good, too.”

“You can’t”—a sharp intake of breath—“you can’t like my tits this much, Ian.”

A soft bite, right around the hard point of my nipple. My spine shoots up from the bed. “Why?”

“Because—they’re?.?.?. No one ever has.” I don’t want to mention that my breasts are nothing to write home about—he probably already knows, since they have been in his mouth for the better part of the last ten minutes. He seems to get it, anyway.

“You have the most perfect little tits. I always thought so. Since the first time I met you. Especially the first time I met you.” He sucks on one while pinching the other. He is—precise. Good. Enthusiastic. Filthy. “They’re as pretty as the Columbia Hills.”

A choked laugh bubbles out of me. It’s stupidly nice to have someone compare my body to a topographical feature of Mars. Or maybe it’s just nice to have someone who knows the Columbia Hills tugging at my nipples and staring at them like they’re the eighth and ninth wonders of the universe.

“This,” he murmurs into the skin trailing up to my sternum, “this is the Medusae Fossae. It even has these pretty little freckles.” His teeth close around my right collarbone. It would be hot even if the head of his cock weren’t starting to brush against my pussy. It’s wetness meeting wetness, a lot of mutual eagerness, a mess waiting to happen. I band my arms around Ian’s neck and pull his huge shoulders into myself, like he’s the sun of my very own star system.

“Hannah. I didn’t think I could want you more, but last year, when I saw you at NASA, I?.?.?.” He is slurring his words. Ian Floyd, always calm, levelheaded, articulate. “I thought I’d die if I couldn’t fuck you.”

“You can fuck me now,” I whine, impatient, pulling his hair as he moves lower. “You can fuck me however and wherever you want.”

“I know. I know, you’re going to let me do it all.” He exhales a ticklish trail along my rib cage. “But maybe I want to play with the Herschel Crater first.” His tongue dips inside my belly button, tasting and probing; but when I begin to squirm and pull him up, he follows meekly, as if aware that I can’t take much more. Maybe he can’t take much more, either: his finger parts my swollen labia to slip around my clit, a slow circle with a little too much pressure. Except that it might be just the right amount. I’m dissolving now, in a pool of coiled muscles and sticky pleasure.

Okay. So sex can be?.?.?. this. Good to know.

“This one,” Ian pants against my mouth, no pretense of kissing now. My mouth is slack with pleasure and he’s just stealing air from me, sucking bee stings into my lips and groaning his approval into my cheekbone. “This one right here is the Solis Lacus. The Eye of Mars. Getting all worked up during dust storms.”

He has perfect hands. Perfect touch. I will explode and scatter everywhere, a meteorite shower all over the bed.

“And the Olympus Mons.” It’s his palm massaging my clit now. His fingers slip into me wherever they find an opening, until the tension inside me is so sweet, I’ll go insane. “I really want to come inside you. Can I?”

I shut my eyes and moan. It’s a yes, and he must be able to tell. Because he grunts just as soon as the head of his cock begins to nudge inside me, a little too large for comfort, but very determined to make space for itself. I order myself to relax. And then, when he hits a perfect spot inside me, I order myself not to come immediately.

“Or maybe it’s the Vastitas Borealis.” He’s barely intelligible. Doing those little thrusts that are designed more to open me up than to fuck me properly, and yet we’re both this close to orgasm. It’s a little scary. “The oceans that used to fill it, Hannah.”

“There is no—” I try to ground myself. To find a place inside of me that is safe from the pleasure. I end up only digging my good heel into his thigh, trying to comprehend how such spectacular friction can exist. “We don’t know that there ever really was an ocean. On Mars.”

Ian’s eyes lose focus. They widen and hold mine, unseeing. And then he smiles and begins to move for real, with a little whisper in my ear.

“I bet there was.”

The pleasure crashes over me like a tidal wave. I close my eyes, hold on to him as tight as I can, and let the ocean wash over me.