Chapter 24

"And then,well, you've seen this one before?—"

Dell had barely opened the door to his bedroom before Mae was on him.

He stumbled back at the force of her, a hand reaching for the wall to steady themselves, a laugh tumbling from his mouth into hers.

"Hi," she said, before swallowing his laughter down, commanding his lips with her own, swimming her tongue inside his mouth, her hands underneath his T-shirt.

"Mae," he managed to say after a minute, pulling away. "I want to go slower this time."

"Yeah," Mae breathed, eyes blown out, mouth so very pink. "I want to see you."

But even with the best of intentions, somehow the next ten minutes went by very fast, clothes shed without grace, hands moving with fervor, until he was on his back and her hands were on him, guiding him inside, and she was sinking down, down, eyes fluttering closed, sounds escaping her throat, tiny gasps and long breaths and it was only when she was seated, only when she started a slow, languorous rhythm, leaning over him to kiss his chest, his shoulders, bellies pushed together, that Dell caught his breath.

Not completely. But enough to breathe, to blink his eyes wide open and look.

He had been in such a hurry when he'd entered the ADU, taken over by such a desperate need, that he hadn't been able to fully absorb the details of her. When Dell had taken off Mae's shirt on that counter, revealing she was braless, Dell's main thought had been TITS. But now he took the time as Mae moved over him to run his hands over her shoulders, taking special care to investigate her left arm. The one with the tattoos. All the black lines and color.

"Incongruous," he said with a soft smile.

She smiled back.

"Incongruous does it for you, huh?"

"Yeah." He met her heavy-lidded eyes. "It does."

He'd spent enough time with her now, had cast enough glances at her arms to already know most of the tattoos, every flower, every trailing leaf and vine. But he had never had a chance to kiss them before. Had never had a chance to bite her tattooed shoulder, until now.

Her skin was salty underneath his tongue, soft underneath his teeth. She whimpered as he made his way down her arm, past the lavender and poppies and forget-me-nots, the barbs of all the stems and thorns in between. Until she lifted his own arm, removing it from where it caressed her side, to bring his hand to her mouth. His head dropped back onto the pillow as she kissed his fingernails, one by one.

"They're starting to chip," he rasped, wishing it hadn't been weeks since his last manicure, wishing they were fresh for her.

"They're perfect," she said before sucking his pinky into her mouth. Each of his fingers followed, each digit wrapped inside her tongue until he couldn't help but push up into her, even deeper inside, until she was moaning around his thumb.

"Dell," she whispered, eyes closed as she finally let his hands drop. "Slow."

And Dell tried; he really tried to listen. To do his part.

But then Mae found a spot. A spot where the friction on her clit must have been just right. Where he was hitting her inside just so. Whatever was happening, a sharp gasp escaped her throat as her mouth dropped open, as those ombré eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. It was a sound Dell heard in a place deep inside himself, deeper than his own pleasure, a sound he would never forget.

"Oh, fuck," she whisper-screamed. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."

Dell tried to lift his hips, to meet her halfway, but she smacked his arm.

"Don't," she breathed, moving against him abruptly, shockingly fast. "Don't you move. This is perfect. Perfect. Oh god."

"What are these?" Dell tried to grasp the pendants of her necklace in his fingers as they bounced against her chest. "These flowers. Do they mean something?"

"Dell. You cannot seriously be asking me this now."

"I want to know. I've always wanted to know."

"Oh god don't move. They're the state flowers of all the places I've lived. Fuck."

Dell dropped his hand and didn't move, only held onto her hips as she rode him, as she kept saying fuck over and over, barely audible, high pitched, a sloppy pleasure-filled symphony, until she was shouting and then suddenly silent. Her face was cherry red, forehead creased, and Dell could only look at the palette of her as she came, the pink of her hair and red of her cheeks, the pink of her mouth and the red of her tongue, the gold pendants quaking on her chest, the pastels of the tattoos caging his body in, and as he came soon after all he could think about was how she looked like dessert, like a sticky summer treat, like a spring garden showcase.

"Fuck me," Mae shouted as she collapsed on top of him, her breasts smooshed against his, her breath hot on his neck. "Oh god Dell that was so good."

"I'm glad," he murmured, arms wrapped around her back, holding her close, the way he always wanted to hold and be held, after. "I'm so glad."

* * *

On Monday, the glass in the picture window of Bay Books was finally replaced. Mae hesitated only an hour or two after the workers had left, and then she put up her flags once more.

On Tuesday, Mae and Dell fucked in the office.

She hadn't planned that particular chain of events, but Dell had taken to sneaking up behind her as she arranged and rearranged books on her shelves—Dell had installed four more of them; there were only three to go; there was so much space, now, for her to play with her books—and kissing her neck, wrapping his arms around her belly. It was a rather rude trick, she thought. She really did have a lot of work to do.

It was his fault that all the neck kissing inevitably led to Mae grabbing him, pushing him back, back, away from prying eyes, until they landed at her desk, until she was somehow in the same position she'd found herself in the first time they'd fucked, sitting on an inappropriate surface, Dell's thick body between her knees.

And as he slowly slid to his own knees, as he stripped her and then kissed her—breasts, stomach, thighs, the center of her—a tiny part of her brain held up a red flag.

Not in your store, it said. Not here, not on this desk.

Because she had told Liv she would die here. And if something went wrong with this, if something broke between her and Dell?—

She wanted this store to be hers.

But as Dell broke her apart with his tongue, as he pushed her down and produced another condom from his pocket, as he eased inside her once more, the red flag disintegrated, tore into tiny shreds.

Because ever since Dell had set up his power tools outside the back door, just yards away from where he was currently inside of her, ruthless and almost painful in the middle of the day, Bay Books had become a bit his, too. Maybe it had always been a bit his. Maybe Mae couldn't fully imagine, now, not sharing every estimate and invoice with him. Not talking through every new idea and design with him. Not visiting the lumberyard together. Maybe, whenever she had a new idea, she thought, we could do this. And maybe at first, that we had meant Jesus. Because it had always been so easy to feel Jesus here, in this town, inside this old building. Maybe the we had often meant Vik.

But maybe whenever she thought we now, she actually meant Dell. Maybe she had meant Dell for a while.

"Shit," Dell muttered, soft and shaky in her ear, and he gave a final thrust, accompanied by that low, guttural sound he made just before he came.

He stayed there after, forehead pressed against her neck, after she navigated a hand between their bellies and rubbed herself over the edge, his beard prickly against her collarbone, his breath gusting down her chest.

"Which is which," he said while she was still shaking; eventually, she realized his hand was once more holding the pendants on her necklace. She brought her own sticky hand up to clumsily clasp around his.

"Flowering dogwood," she said, eyes drooping closed. "North Carolina."

Dell's fingers twisted underneath hers, holding another tiny flower.

"Blue violet. Wisconsin."

"Rose," Dell murmured, and Mae smiled.

"Yeah, that's the easy one. New York."

"So this weird one must be?—"

"Oregon grape."

Finally, Dell let the pendants drop. Focused on Mae's fingers instead. Brought each one to his mouth, licked them clean.

* * *

On Thursday, Mae found her perfect centerpiece New Releases table at the flea in Florence with Olive. It was scratched, and a darker wood than her shelves, but it was the perfect size and had the perfect dramatic legs and she thought she might paint it, turquoise or pink or blue, something to match the rug and Gemma's murals and the waves of the ocean.

Olive owned an even bigger truck than Dell, and she wrapped the table in a packing blanket and secured it to the bed. And even though it was dark by the time they got back to Greyfin Bay and they were both sore and tired and the table was heavy as an anvil, Olive helped Mae get it through the front door of 12 Main, until it stood on the rug in front of the window. Until it was home.

* * *

"Hey," Mae said on Friday night, almost casually, as if she wasn't currently riding his dick. "If I ever found someone I wanted to fuck on the side, or…have something else with, would you be cool with it?"

Dell's brain, and his pelvis, stuttered to a stop. Mae grunted at the halt in rhythm.

"Sorry," he said automatically.

"Nah, I brought that on myself," Mae said, before readjusting her position over him and restarting her own rhythm. Her nipples tickled against his skin. This was Dell's favorite position with Mae. Fucking her against countertops was hot, but it also hurt his back. He liked her like this: resplendent in her own power.

"Sorry," Dell said again as he tried to bring his brain back online. He knew he should have had a better response to this question ready to go. He knew it was hypocritical if he didn't—if he couldn't?—

But the thought of Mae moving this way with someone else made him want to die.

"It's okay, mon cherie," Mae whispered after a minute, and his heart tripped over itself. "You don't have to be okay with it. Or have an answer right now."

"But…" He sucked in a breath as he attempted to find words at the same time Mae was doing…this. "I'm pretty sure I do, Mae."

"No." She leaned down and kissed his neck. "It's not a zero sum game. You don't have to be okay with it." She lifted herself back up. "I don't have anyone or anything specific in mind, for the record; I was just curious. But I asked it poorly."

The flowers against her chest moved, a gentle sway as she slid against him.

"Every circumstance is different. It's probably a question that only really deserves a thoughtful response when there are details, you know? Oh." Mae's eyelashes dropped against her cheeks as she found a good spot. "Oh fuck, please ignore me."

"No," Dell smiled at her, even if she couldn't see. "I find I can't ever ignore you, Mae."

Mae's eyes opened just enough to smile back at him. Until Dell pushed up into her, and her breath hitched, eyelids drooping low once more.

"How are you so…" Dell searched for the words as his brain fought to go offline once again. Rain slashed against the window above their heads. "So good, and open, about all of this."

"Oh, I truly don't know shit," Mae said, voice temporarily breezy again, and Dell laughed. "Fuck, that feels good. Fuck. I just…" Her mouth opened as she picked up her pace. Pink. So much pink. "I've just maybe been reading a lot," she finally wheezed, and Dell smiled again.

"Yeah." He leaned up to kiss her neck, this time. "Me too." And then, "Ask me again, if you ever need to, okay?"

"Okay." The pink spread across Mae's chest. "Okay."

* * *

"Remind me to work on my core so I can do this better next time," Mae panted on Sunday night. Or perhaps it was technically Monday morning. Time, in general, had started to go fuzzy for Mae. "I'm pretty sure I have one of those, somewhere in there."

Dell wheezed a strained laugh.

"Think"—wheeze—"you're doing just fine."

Mae was appreciative of the encouragement. Because while she had been into it from the moment Dell brought out his toy and harness, she hadn't actually done this before. And while it was working for her—there was a grooved lip of the vibrating toy that fit against her just right, bless its engineers—she was also sweating in a likely unsexy way, and her thighs were shaking, and she worried she kept fucking up the rhythm.

But her chest glowed each time Dell made another sound. Each second that he was clearly all in on this. That he trusted her with this at all. She dug her nails into his ass cheeks, earning herself another groan.

"Faster, Mae," he growled. And then, a second later, like the fucking angel Dell was on the inside: "If you can." And Mae leaned down to kiss his spine.

"Okay, but if I go much faster," Mae huffed out, re-gripping Dell's hips, "This thing—I'm gonna?—"

"Yeah, me fucking too, Mae; that's why I'm asking you to do it," Dell ground out into his pillow, and Mae half wheezed, half laughed before she took a shallow breath and gave it her all. Dell's arm moved underneath himself; his other hand, holding the controller to the toy, clicked it up a notch.

"Oh fuck," Mae managed to say before her vision started to go black. It was a wild thing, everything about it completely out of control; so physical and ephemeral all at once, an absolute mess.

Dell had to help her out of everything, after. Mae wasn't sure she would ever move again. Except to move her lips, to say "oh my god" over and over again, until Dell laughed, and she shut her mouth, suddenly embarrassed. Until he kissed her so very gently, until he said "I know" and "thank you" into her ear.

Some minutes later, somehow, Mae found herself cozied under the blanket, cheek resting on Dell's shoulder. Blinking her eyes, she could just see over Dell's chest into his en suite bathroom, the toy and harness cleaned and drying on a towel on his countertop.

"Huh," Mae heard herself murmur. "An excess of dicks really can be fun sometimes. By no means necessary, but fun sometimes."

Dell rumbled a tired noise of assent. He kissed the top of her hair.

"In these particular instances, yeah. Otherwise…I've always been kind of take ‘em or leave ‘em, myself."

Something inside Mae paused. She made herself stir further awake, pushing back until she could see Dell's face.

Maybe she was reading too much into things. Maybe the hunches she'd always had were misguided. She should probably keep her mouth shut.

"Can I make an observation? One I probably wouldn't make if I wasn't extremely sex drunk?"

Dell shrugged, smiled at her. That barely-there Dell smile. His eyes were half closed.

"Sometimes I wonder," Mae said slowly, "if you aren't completely cis."

Dell's mouth, to Mae's immense relief, only slid deeper into his smile. His eyes closed completely.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I'm not."

Mae held her breath. Waited for him to say more.

"Sometimes I wish I had nice tits," he said suddenly. "God, your tits are incredible."

Mae honked out a possibly inappropriate laugh, immediately smothering it with a hand. But Dell only kept grinning, his eyes remaining closed.

She reined herself in. And slowly, carefully, she moved herself on top, straddling him again. God, she loved being on top of Dell.

She moved her hands toward his breasts. Caressed their sides, molded them in her palms until they lifted, curved and soft next to each other.

"Funny," she said. "I've always thought you already did."

Dell had opened his eyes, just the tiniest bit, to look up at her. After a moment, he lifted a hand, threaded his fingers into her hair, pulled until she acquiesced, dropping her head down for a kiss. And even as every muscle in her body ached, something deep in her belly still stirred as Dell stretched the kiss, as his tongue swirled with hers, both lazy and with intent, soft, soft, soft.

Until her limbs truly did threaten to give out, and she worried she might suffocate him, and she collapsed back to his side, molded herself there, forehead against his neck, arm across his stomach.

"Would you want…to explore different pronouns or anything, ever?"

Dell waved a tired hand. "Nah. I don't…I don't want to deal with all that."

"That's okay." Mae kissed his collarbone, unsurprised.

But a minute later, Dell spoke again.

"Maybe…" The words came as slowly as Mae's just had. "Maybe if you're ever around the house, talking to the dogs about me…"

Mae smiled against his skin.

"Yeah?" she whispered.

"Yeah. Maybe you could use they then."

Mae pulled back to see his face once more.

"So you're they to the dogs."

Dell smiled back, more relaxed than Mae had ever seen him.

"Yeah," he said. "I like that."

And then he added, "And you."

"Yeah," Mae whispered. "The dogs and me."

* * *

By the following Tuesday, Mae was spending every night in Dell's bed.

She hadn't fully meant for that to happen, either. But somehow, she had learned where the dogs' food was, how much they each took, which bowl belonged to Crosby, and Stills, and Nash, and Young. She learned how Dell took his coffee. Had memorized the shapes of his scars. Some mornings, before they headed into the shop, before either of them said a word, she curled herself inside a blanket on his leather armchair, drinking a mug of tea, looking through the sliding glass door at the mist through the trees, and listened to Dell play her favorite songs on his guitar.

* * *

On Wednesday, Dell installed the last bookshelf.