I brought my lips to his.
He opened to me, his hand cradling the back of my head, pulling my mouth hard against his.
Heat spiked my blood.
Lust.
Life.
I wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but when we broke apart, I knew it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Needed more. If I only had minutes left on this planet, I would damn well make them count.
“I know how I want to go out,” I whispered.
He tilted his head to the side, studying me, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “And our friend on the other side of that camera?”
I glanced up at the lens peering down at us. “Let the bastard break out his popcorn and Raisinets.”
I thought Kirk’s little grins and sideways looks were sexy before, but I didn’t have words to describe his expression now. He pulled me tight against his body and kissed me again, hard, needy. Beyond the river water, his skin still smelled of that Armani cologne, and a warm scent that was all his own.
I breathed him in, wanting to take everything about this man deep inside.
Our hospital gowns were off in seconds, and our battered bodies intertwined. At first we just clung to one another, kissing, probing. A dusting of hair covered his chest, and I ground my breasts against him, the sensation zapping through my nipples like an electric charge.
Then I was pushing him back on his bed and climbing on top of him.
He was erect, and I rubbed against him until I was wet enough to take him inside. I came on my third stroke, waves shuddering through me. I arched my back, still thrusting, and he buried his face in my chest.
I hardly knew Jonathan Kirk. And now I never really would.
But right then, he symbolized everything to me.
Sensation.
Connection.
Life itself.
I wanted to explore all of him, feel things I never had before. I wanted this to last forever, and knowing it wouldn’t made each second, each moment, each thrust and sigh and whimper all the more profound.
I sensed the muscles in his thighs tensing, trying to hold back the coming release, and slowed my motion.
Nuzzling my breasts, he looked up at me.
“What do you like most?” I breathed.
His smile was a wicked thing. “Let me taste you.”
“Me first.”
I moved down his body, littering kisses over his chest, his belly, my hair fanning over him in my wake. I trailed my tongue up the length of him, then took him full in my mouth. I tasted myself on him, the flavors and scents mingling, intoxicating.
We were good together, me and him. I’d sensed it from the first. So much alike, yet different enough to add spice. It was a cruel joke that our time together would be so short.
I didn’t let myself think of that, though, but only of the sensations. The feel of him in my mouth. The hair on his legs rubbing rough on my skin.
Our first time together.
Our last time together.
When he’d reached his climax, he found my arms with his hands, guiding me upward until I was straddled over his mouth. He teased me at first, going too slow, pulling back, torturing me with gentleness, until the tension built and built and I was thrusting myself on him, trying to capture his fluttering tongue, begging for release.
“Please …” I gasped. “Please.”
He grabbed my hips, pulling me closer, taking me firmly.
Devouring me.
I shuddered, the pleasure so intense it was almost pain, the first ripple in a building, rising wave that reduced me to nothing but pure sensation.
I could only hope the taste of me, the sound of my screams, gave him as much satisfaction as he gave me.
When my leg muscles could take no more, I moved back down his body and brushed his lips with mine.
He peered at me, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright.
I slipped next to him in the bed and fitted my body against his.
“You were amazing,” I breathed. “Just as I thought you’d be.”
“You, too.”
I shook my head slowly, the sadness creeping in. “I wish we had more time …”
“Time?” He grinned. “Babe, we got the rest of our lives.”
His hand moved between my legs and began to stroke.
I had no idea how my body had any more to give, but again I began to respond, despite the specter of death around me.
Or maybe because of it.
Sex affirms life.
He shifted, moving on top of me, keeping his weight on his elbows. I wrapped my legs around him, sighing as he entered me, burying my face in his neck as he began to thrust.
We were the only two people in the world.
Only one of us would see tomorrow.
I couldn’t think of a better way to go out.
When we finished, we held each other.
Held each other, and looked at each other.
The afterglow faded.
Dread crept back in.
The looking at each other became watching each other.
I saw it first, and it felt like a punch to the gut.
Just a small bruise on the back of the hand.
But it hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Small. Black. Harmless looking.
Then it began to grow, spreading out, taking only a few minutes to double in size while we both silently stared.
The nosebleed came next. A trickle at first. Then a steady stream.
“Aw … Chandler …” Kirk said.
I reached for the IV needle.
Hooked up the morphine.
Tried to be brave.
“It’s okay,” Kirk said, staring at me so hard he must have seen my soul.
The whites of his eyes were bright red.
Subconjunctival hemorrhage.
“It’s not okay,” I said. “Not at all.”
I held his head to my chest.
After that, things happened quickly. The progression of the virus, which normally took days, unfolded in under an hour, right in front of my eyes.
Coughing.
Coughing blood.
Vomiting blood.
Kirk didn’t despair. He didn’t complain. He didn’t cry. He didn’t do any talking, other than two softly whispered words.
“Kill him.”
