I was dead on my feet and Lochlan pulled me down into his lap with enough force that I couldn't pull away, arranging my legs so they were on the sides of his, then putting his legs up so I was pinned there. He made short work of my sundress and what little else I had on (a bracelet, a necklace that he fussed with for a moment before leaving) and then he was whispering a mile a minute, pushing inside me, pulling me down hard onto him before lifting me up slightly, a rhythm that seemed to match the waves for its slow molasses-crawl. I couldn't hear him, I couldn't focus, it was abrupt and fierce and overly-warm and I just wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rested my head against his ear as he did all of the work and reaped all of the benefits too.
I can't hear you- I tried to tell him but he didn't seem to notice.
Can we slow back down- I implored but again, no one's paying attention.
He finally took me by the arms and pushed me down on my back, coming with me, face to face. Attention paid, at long last.
You're not listening, I told him. Borderline angry now, not really interested in finding out the litany of words he left in the night. Does it matter if a Lochlan speaks in the forest and no one is there to hear him? Is he talking to me, to himself or to God? If he's talking to me, why wouldn't he wait for a response? If he's not, why is he doing it out loud?
It's not important, Peanut. He resumes a tough pace and I have to fight to keep up again. His hands are vise grips, his heart is iron and his teeth are steel-numb, gritted closed and pressed against my temple as he pulls us into a whirlwind finish, both of us gasping for breath, both of us overheated and red-faced, both of us now annoyed with the other.
What was it?
A magic spell to keep you safe from the devil.
Will it work?
I think so.
Why didn't you do it before, then?
I do it every fucking day, Bridge.