Dawn's Night (VI)

The elevator doors parted onto the Suite with a soft click and a breath of conditioned air, rich with the faint trace of peach from the hidden diffusers and something fresh, like citrus, that Andy could never quite place. It was home, by now, ever since Laura had moved in. The warmth of the place made the chill of the Adirondacks fall away in an instant. He stepped out with Dawn, who let go of his hand only at the last possible second, her cheeks still tinged with the pink of the mountain cold.

Laura was waiting on the couch, a heavy book open in between her laps and twin glasses of some kind of juice perched on the end tables. Her faces were in full study mode, chins in hands, black hair a half-wild halo. Andy caught her watching them the second the elevator doors began to open, both sets of electric blue eyes, and the way her posture went from alert to weightless in a single heartbeat made it clear she’d been waiting, probably for hours.

She closed the book with a practiced one-handed snap, marking her place with a folded sheet of paper, and stood in a single, easy motion. The smiles that lit up her faces were pure, high-voltage Laura—too big for her frames, reckless in the way that meant she didn’t care who saw.

She crossed the Suite in five quick steps, aimed straight at Dawn—both of her, in perfect sync, the same bright-eyed momentum in two sets of legs. For a second Andy wondered if she’d go for a handshake, or one of those polite “nice-to-meet-you” hugs you save for relatives. She didn’t. Laura wrapped four arms around Dawn’s shoulders and hugged her hard enough to make Dawn’s bunny ears dip, and Andy watched Dawn’s expression flicker as she registered the warmth coming from two directions at once.

“Dawn! You made it back! How was the date?” Laura said, her voice one sound from two mouths, and in the same breath she reached out—one hand from each side—and reeled Andy in by both sleeves, so all of them were squished together for a second.

Dawn laughed, a sound that came out more surprised than anything, and gave back a hug that was two parts affection and one part “am I allowed to be this happy right now?” She was the first to pull away, ears swaying, but her smile lingered, a shade shyer than usual.

Andy tried to think of something clever to say but Laura was already moving—she steered them both toward the couch with a casual authority, then detoured to the drink cart before anyone could object. She reached for the decanter, pouring two glasses of wine for Andy and Dawn before she’d even asked, and by the time they had sat, Laura was back, both bodies handing out the glasses with a little flourish.

“Now,” she said in sync, tucking her knees up on the couch next to Dawn and to Andy, “tell me everything. Don’t hold back. I have nowhere to be.” She said it with the kind of smiles that made it clear she wanted every single detail.

Dawn looked down at her drink, then at Andy, then at Laura again. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” she said, a little abashed.

Laura grinned. “Start anywhere. First thing that comes to mind.”

Andy watched Dawn weigh her answer, eyes darting sideways to gauge if this was a test or a trap. It wasn’t. Laura waited, patient and bright, the book forgotten behind her.

“Okay,” Dawn said, drawing out the word. “We went to Berwyn first. I showed him my dad’s house, and my brothers—Luis tried to interrogate Andy, but he didn’t crack. And Sebastian made us watch like, an hour of his Bears highlight reel. But it was good.” Her face glowed as she relived the moment. “They liked Andy. A lot. Even when they pretended not to.”

Laura snorted. “Luis is the older one, right? Does he still have that thing about grilled cheese with ketchup, or did he finally grow out of it?”

Dawn stared at Laura, eyes huge. “How did you—”

Laura tapped the sides of her heads, eyes twinkling. “You told me once, when we were talking about your family. You’d be amazed what gets stored up here.”

Dawn lost it, laughing hard enough to nearly spill her drink. “He does. It’s a family tradition.”

Laura beamed at the both of them, then settled in, glass balanced on her knee. “What next?”

Dawn’s face softened. “My abuela’s house. A year ago. We… It was a lot. I picked a day I knew she had been alone, and I got to introduce Andy to her. I got to say goodbye. It felt real.” Her eyes went shiny, not quite tearing up, but close. “She made pasteles and everything. And she called Andy ‘my handsome new nieto’ and tried to feed him until he died.”

Laura nodded, suddenly serious. “Grandmothers always know. It’s a rule.” She listened, not talking over, letting the silence expand just enough for Dawn to fill it herself.

Dawn blushed, but there was a pride in it, too. “Thanks. It was… better than I thought it would be. Hard, but good.” She looked at Andy, and the gratitude there was so naked he almost had to look away.

Laura turned to Andy, not missing a beat. “So. Did you survive the interrogations, or are you just faking your sanity right now?”

He snorted. “You should see Dawn’s family in action. I was outmatched before I even set foot in the door. If it was a trial by fire, I failed spectacularly.”

Dawn winked. “But you get bonus points for surviving the Bears footage.” Her smile was all teeth now. “That was the hardest part. He doesn’t even like football.”

Andy raised his glass. “For you, I’d watch three hours of preseason.”

Dawn raised hers, eyes a little watery now, and clinked it against his. Laura joined in, and for a moment, the three of them just sat with it, a little square of warmth against the winter outside.

Laura asked, “So what did you do after Berwyn?”

Dawn looked to Andy, then back at Laura. “The Adirondacks. Cabin in the woods, snow up to here—” she gestured mid-thigh, her face brightening at the memory “—and just… quiet. Andy made a fire, and cooked. We sat and watched it snow. It was perfect.”

Laura’s eyes flickered with something like envy, but it was gentle, not sharp. “That sounds like heaven.”

Dawn’s voice went quiet, almost reverent. “It really was.”

Andy looked at Dawn, saw the last hour of the day written on her face—her bare feet tangled in the blanket, the sleepy curve of her lips, the way she leaned toward Laura without thinking about it. “It was a good date,” he said, and he meant it.

Laura rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re supposed to say that.”

Dawn made a noise, half protest, half laugh. “He means it.”

“I know,” Laura said, and squeezed Dawn’s hand again.

Dawn leaned her head on his shoulder, and Laura curled up on the other side, so the three of them made a neat, warm arc on the couch.

They didn’t talk for a while. Laura sipped her drink, watching the light from the fire bounce off the windows, and Andy let himself rest, the tiredness of the day finally settling in. It was the kind of quiet that only felt possible when all the clocks were broken, when there was nothing left to do but let it be.

Laura was the one who broke the quiet, as she usually did. “Let’s take this upstairs,” she said, two voices in chorus. “Clear night, so the observatory deck should have a view.” She grinned at Dawn, then at Andy, daring either to object.

They did not.

Andy let Laura lead, her hands still joined with Dawn’s, the second Laura trailing a half step behind as if to keep the energy contained. They took the winding staircase, Dawn’s ears and Laura’s double shadow flickering on the steps, and emerged onto the deck, cold but perfectly still.

Above, the sky was dusted with a million pinpricks of light, and the constellations looked close enough to pick out of the air. Andy saw how Dawn tilted her head back, eyes wide with honest wonder. Laura didn’t watch the stars; she watched Dawn, studying every reaction and banking it for later.

The deck was empty except for a cluster of padded lounge chairs and a gas fire pit already burning low against the chill. Laura guided them toward the center cluster, waving off the nearest chairs with a hostess’s authority. “Best angle,” she said, and no one argued. Andy settled into the middle chair, and Dawn sat beside him—for about four seconds. Then something seemed to occur to her, some quiet internal calculus, and she stood, pivoted, and settled herself sideways across his lap without ceremony or comment, as if she had simply remembered where she was supposed to be.

Laura watched this with a look of deep approval and said nothing, which was its own kind of commentary. She took the chair on Andy’s other side, her second self mirroring her, and shook a blanket out over all three of them in one practiced sweep. Dawn tucked her feet up and pulled the blanket to her collarbone.

No one talked for a minute. The only sounds were the snap of the fire pit, the quiet hum of the hotel’s ventilation, and the distant hush of the sea beyond the glass rail. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t a vacuum; it was the sound of three people content enough not to fill it.

Andy could feel the press of Dawn’s body against his, the way she let her head lean more and more onto his shoulder the longer they sat. She smelled like winter, like shampoo and something sweet, and the memory of firelight.

Eventually, Dawn was the first to speak. “I love watching the stars, here.” Her voice was hushed, reverent. “Even in Berwyn, you don’t really see them. Too much light pollution, too many buildings in the way. Here, it’s like… a postcard.”

Laura smiled. “You can see the Milky Way if you squint, even with the ambient light. Or whatever passes for it here.”

Dawn giggled, the sound muffled by the blanket. “You would. You probably have a list of every constellation, too.”

Laura’s eyes gleamed. “Want a tour?”

Dawn looked up, then nodded, shy but game.

Laura pointed up, not with one finger but with both hands, mirroring each other. “Andy showed me The Great Bunny, the W-shaped one, right there—” she traced the pattern, “and next to it, I've called that constellation The Waffle. The Bean is just off to the side. You see?”

Dawn squinted, then: “Oh! Yeah. There. Wow.”

Andy followed the line, not because he needed to, but because he liked hearing Laura explain things. She made it sound like magic, not science, and he could hear the pride in her voice.

Laura kept going. “That’s the Catgirl, and over there, the Kitsune. You have to look for the faint smudge, and that’s the nebula.” She let her hand fall, the lesson finished, but her smile lingered.

Dawn’s ears flicked, and she pulled the blanket tighter. “It’s so different from the city. I used to think I didn’t care about stuff like this, but now I can’t imagine not caring.. And I like your constellations.”

Andy watched her, saw how open her face was, how the walls she built so carefully in daylight dropped away up here. She looked younger, lighter, and he felt something in his chest rearrange itself to make room for the sight.

They sat with the stars for a while, not talking except to point out the occasional shooting star or weird pattern. Laura’s heads tilted in sync, the double set of blue eyes tracking the night like searchlights.

It was Dawn, again, who broke the hush. She turned to Laura, then to Andy, then said, “I used to work the morning shift at my dad’s favorite coffee shop, back when I was in high school. I’d have to drag myself out of bed at five to help open. I hated it at the time. But now…” She trailed off, smiling at the memory.

Laura asked, “What did you hate most about it?”

Dawn laughed. “Easy. The regulars. They’d come in with their dumb jokes, their grumpy faces, and then expect you to be perky and remember their names and their orders every single time. I thought they were all insane.”

Andy grinned. “And now?”

Dawn shrugged, eyes on her knees. “Now I get it. They just wanted to be seen. It’s weird, but I miss it. The ritual, the comfort. Even the stupid jokes.” She looked up, suddenly earnest. “I think, its what drew me to the job at The Harrington. Being able to help.”

“I know so,” he said, and meant it. Then he turned to Laura. “Dawn will keep everyone in line, when this is over. She’d make sure we don’t forget when band practice is, or when to buy the flowers.”

Laura nodded, the gesture multiplied across both heads. “You’ll run the place in a year.”

Dawn laughed again, delighted by the idea.

They shared stories for a while—Dawn talking about her father’s never-ending quest for the perfect espresso, Laura sharing the time she and Andy broke into the planetarium after hours in middle school to see the stars projected on the big dome. Andy chipped in with a story of his own: the night he and his uncle Ralph camped out on the roof of his old house to watch the Perseid meteor shower, and they both fell asleep and nearly froze before dawn.

The fire pit snapped and popped, and above them the sky turned darker, more brilliant with each minute.

At last, the conversation drifted into a quiet, easy silence, all three of them just staring up, as if the universe had finally run out of questions to ask.

It was Laura who spoke next, her tone shifting from gentle to ceremonial, the way she always did before something important. “Andy,” she said, both voices as one. “I want to give you a heads up. Tomorrow morning, I’m triggering Dream Date number two.”

Andy sat up, a little startled. “You’re sure? So soon?”

Laura nodded. “It’s time. And I want you there, fully.” She looked him in the eye, not as a dare, but as a request.

Dawn looked between them, more excited than surprised. “Where are you going this time?”

Laura smiled, slow and a little mischievous. “He’ll find out when it’s time. That’s the rule.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Andy. “No hints. You’ll find out tomorrow, just like everyone else.”

He pushed a little, feigning complaint. “You’re really going to make me wait?”

Laura rolled her eyes, then reached over and swatted his arm—light, playful, but with enough sting to make her point. “What’s the point of a surprise if you ruin it?”

Dawn, watching them with undisguised joy, said, “I love this. I love that you two are both such nerds about it.”

Andy grinned. “We can’t help ourselves.”

Laura was already looking at the stars again, her face gone soft. “I want it to be perfect,” she said, almost to herself.

Dawn, catching the note of seriousness, said, “I’m excited for you.” She nudged Andy with her knee, then, to Laura: “But you have to tell me afterward. I want to hear every detail. You promise?”

Laura reached over, took Dawn’s hand, and squeezed it. “Promise,” she said. “But tomorrow, it’s just for Andy.”

Dawn nodded, happy. “He’ll report back. He always does.”

The stars stayed bright, but the cold finally crept in enough for even Dawn to shiver, and after a little while she stretched, arching her back until her ears drooped and her nose scrunched up. “Okay,” she said, reluctant but honest. “I think I’m running on fumes now.” Her smile was slow, sleepy, and contented.

Laura gave an approving nod. “That means you did it right,” she said. Then she looked to Andy, and the look in her eyes was pure mischief. “Lead us home?”

He let Dawn off his lap, stood and offered a hand to each of them. Dawn took it first, tucking her arm through his. Laura followed, looping hers on his other side, so the three of them walked together down the spiral staircase, Dawn’s tail trailing against the rail. Laura’s double presence hovered just behind, almost like a shadow that hadn’t decided which direction to fall.

They made it to the Suite in easy silence, the way people do when the day is over and the world’s not asking for anything new. They crossed the long carpet to the master bedroom, Dawn still holding Andy’s arm, Laura pacing just ahead.

Halfway down the hallway, Dawn slowed, looking at Laura like she was working up the nerve to say something that could shift the gravity of the whole night. She bit her lip, then tried, “Laura? Would you want to…?” She let the rest hang, but the look in her eyes was naked and hopeful. “I mean, if you’re not too tired?”

Laura paused mid-stride, her faces turning back in perfect sync. For a moment, both sets of blue eyes glinted with a complicated blend of longing and regret. “I would love that more than anything,” she said, no hint of lie in the sound. “But I can already feel my eyelids closing. If I tried to keep up with you two, I’d be snoring before it got fun, and I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

Dawn looked down, bashful but not hurt. “You sure? It’s… I just think it would be really nice. After a day like this.”

Laura’s smiles—on both bodies—softened into something vulnerable and real. “I want it, Dawnie. But tonight should be about you. I saw the look on your face when you came back. I remember how you held Andy’s hand, and how you kept looking at him, like if you let go for even a second it might all vanish.” She reached over and tucked a strand of Dawn’s hair behind her ear, gentle as a sister. “You deserve a night that’s just for you.”

Andy watched the exchange, moved by how much grace there was in Laura’s refusal. He wanted to say something—maybe promise Laura a rain check, maybe thank her—but Dawn beat him to it, turning and hugging Laura fiercely, arms tight around her waist.

“Thank you,” Dawn whispered, and this time her voice wobbled just a little.

Laura squeezed back, then, breaking the hug, cupped Dawn’s cheeks in her palms and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re allowed to be selfish, you know,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll make it a party. But tonight, let him take care of you.”

Dawn’s eyes went wide, and she glanced at Andy, as if to ask, “Is this really allowed?” He nodded, grinning, and squeezed her hand.

Laura lingered a second longer, then turned to Andy and kissed him on the cheek, her lips warm even through the cold air. “Don’t let her distract you with snacks,” Laura whispered. “She’ll try. But if you’re patient, it’s worth it.”

Dawn let out a sound that was half protest, half giggle, and even Laura’s other self broke into laughter at the look on her face.

Then, as if remembering an important detail, Laura said, “Oh, and Dawn?” Her tone was casual, but the meaning was sharp as a tack. “Don’t feel too bad about me sleeping alone. Whatever Andy does to you tonight, I’ll feel every bit of it. Exactly like I was in the room.”

Andy groaned. “That was on purpose.”

Dawn’s face went full red, her ears flattening straight back, caught between mortified and delighted. “You’re not going to make me nervous at all, huh?” she squeaked.

Laura just grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Absolutely not. Have fun for me.” She winked at both of them, then with a flourish, peeled off toward her own room, calling, “Goodnight, sweethearts!” over her shoulder, followed by a flying kiss that Dawn pantomimed catching midair.

Andy and Dawn lingered for a moment, both a little giddy from the exchange.

“She’s the worst,” Andy said, but he was smiling so hard it didn’t land.

“She’s the best,” Dawn said, giggling, then pulled Andy by the hand the rest of the way to the bedroom.

At the threshold, she paused, turned, and gave one last, lingering look down the hall after Laura.

Then, with the kind of anticipation that made her whole body vibrate, Dawn stepped inside, Andy following, both of them ready to see what it was like when a night was just for them.

---

The door clicked shut, and Dawn turned to face him with the particular expression of someone who has been waiting all day to do exactly this. She reached up, undid the top button of her blouse, then stopped. Let him look. Did the second. Stopped again, head tilting, watching his face the way she always did when she was collecting data. The third button she undid with one hand, the other braced on her hip. By the fourth, she was biting her lip to keep from laughing at the look on his face.

“You’re not going to rush me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

She finished the last button and held the blouse closed for a moment, just to be cruel, then let it fall open. Her chest—full, perky, enormous—had been working against the fabric all evening, and the sight of it made him forget what he’d been about to say. She shrugged the blouse off one shoulder, then the other, let it slide. She angled herself, deliberate, letting the lamplight paint her skin gold.

“They’re all yours tonight,” she said, and cupped both hands under the curve, bouncing once for effect. Her ears flopped, then stood to attention.

“You look incredible,” Andy said.

“I know,” she said, but her voice wobbled just slightly on it, and the wobble gave her away. She reached down, unclasped her jeans, and turned around, looking back at him over her shoulder as she eased them off her hips with a slow, rolling motion. She stepped free of them, turned back, and stood there in just her underwear, arms slightly out, chin up. Then she hooked her thumbs in the waistband, drew them down, and stepped out of them without ceremony, leaving the whole trail of it scattered across the floor like a path she had no intention of retracing. She crossed to him in two strides, grabbed his collar, and kissed him hard enough to set his teeth against his lip.

Stripped for the Master! +3
First! x2

He tasted her, the salt of sweat, the bite of whiskey from the deck. She didn’t let go, even as she broke the kiss and leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “I’ve been thinking about this since you made me sit still by the fire,” she whispered. “Do you know how much that drove me crazy?”

Andy smiled. “I had a suspicion.”

She shoved him gently onto the bed, and he landed with a bounce. She climbed up after him, straddling his thighs, the motion effortless. For a second, she just looked at him, her head cocked, eyes bright. Then she set to work on his shirt, unbuttoning each one with exaggerated slowness, her hips grinding a little each time she popped a new button loose.

He reached for her, but she caught his wrists, pinning them against the bed. “No, no,” she said, “I want to see if I can get you to squirm first.”

Andy did, at the touch of her fingers, at the way she stared into him, unblinking. Her hands skimmed his sides as she freed the last button, then slid the shirt open, palms flat against his chest. Her nails traced the line of his ribs, and every pass sent a ripple through his skin.

She let her fingers linger, then dipped lower, finding the buckle on his belt. She paused, just for effect, then undid it in one smooth movement, dragging pants and underwear off at once. She let her hand find him, wrapped around the length of him, slow and deliberate. Her palm was warm, and the way she held him left no doubt about who was in control.

Andy inhaled, his own hands fisting in the sheets. “You’re not going to make this last, are you?”

Dawn grinned, feral. “Not if you don’t want me to.” She started stroking, easy and measured, her gaze never leaving his face. Every motion was a question, and she waited for him to answer each one with the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes closed and then opened, the way his hips lifted, involuntary.

Halfway through, she went still, head tilting just slightly—Andy recognized it immediately as her “ping” face. She blinked, then smiled wider, and, without any warning, leaned down and took him in her mouth. The suddenness of it sent a jolt through him, and he gasped.

She only bobbed once, twice, before coming up, her hand resuming where her lips left off. “You wanted that, right?” she asked, voice feather-light.

Andy nodded, lost for words.

“Good,” she said, and did it again, this time lingering, swirling her tongue, her lips sealing with perfect pressure. She alternated between mouth and hand, each time checking his reaction like she was taking notes.

He tried to hold out, but she was merciless, her rhythm unrelenting, her gaze never leaving his. When the tension coiled too tight, she’d ease off just enough to keep him teetering—her fingers light, her strokes maddeningly slow. She kissed him then, her mouth hot against his, her tongue tracing his lips before diving in, letting him taste the salt of himself on her. He groaned into the kiss, his hips twitching, desperate for more, but she only pulled back with a smirk, her hand still working him in that infuriating, perfect rhythm.

Until, finally, she decided he’d waited long enough. Her grip tightened, her pace quickened, and she whispered against his lips, ”Come for me.” The words were all it took—his body obeyed, pleasure crashing over him in waves. He gasped as he spilled over her fingers, his release painting her belly in warm streaks. Dawn giggled, delighted, her free hand brushing through it before bringing her fingers to her lips, tasting him with a wicked grin.

Edged the Master! +1 VP
Cumshot! +2 VP

“Your turn,” she whispered, and before Andy could respond, she reached behind herself, guided him to her, and lowered herself down onto him in one impossibly smooth slide.

She was wet, more than he expected, and she let out a moan that was half surprise, half triumph. She sat there, taking the fullness of him, her hands braced on his chest, her eyes closed. For a long second, neither of them moved. The tension wound so tight Andy thought he might snap.

Then Dawn started to move, rocking her hips in tiny circles, each one making him feel every inch of her. She opened her eyes, locked onto his, and held his gaze while she rode him, slow and deep.

Andy’s hands went to her hips, holding on, not to control but just to keep from losing himself. She rolled, pressed, ground, every movement tuned to what she felt from him.

She leaned forward, so her breasts hung over his face, the skin soft and flawless. He reached up, took one in each hand, kneading, and she whimpered, the sound pure and sweet.

The “ping” came again—he could see it, the way she went still, then shifted her rhythm, slowing down, drawing it out. It was like she could read his mind, every thought, every want. She grinned at him, sweat dampening her forehead.

“Unfair,” he said, but it was a compliment.

She laughed, breathless. “All’s fair. It’s literally in the rules. I just never thought of using it like this before.”

They moved together, the pace rising and falling like the ocean outside. Dawn came first, her sound sharp and sudden, her whole body seizing around him—and that was all it took, the clench and shudder of her pulling him under too. He buried himself deep and held there, shaking, her name somewhere in his throat. For a moment they were both gone, tangled in it. Then she went soft against him, her head finding his shoulder, both of them wrecked and breathing hard.

He wrapped his arms around her, and for a while, they just lay there, her body draped over his, his heart hammering in his chest.

But after a minute, she stirred, kissing his neck, then chest, then stomach, lower and lower until she found him again.

This time, when she took him in her mouth, she didn’t stop, didn’t slow. She worked him with hands and lips, greedy, insistent. He groaned, fingers in her hair, and when he came, she swallowed, licking her lips after.

Blowjob! +4 VP
Swallowed! +2 VP

But she didn’t pull away fast enough; the last pulse caught her by surprise, and a streak of it hit her cheek, then another onto her chin. She squealed, delighted, wiped it up with a finger, and licked it clean, looking at him with pure, unfiltered joy.

Facial! +2 VP

Andy, overwhelmed, could only watch, breathless.

She crawled up and collapsed onto his chest again, her whole body trembling with aftershocks, both of them spent.

They didn’t move for a long time, just holding each other, letting the world settle around them.

Dawn’s head was nestled under his chin, her arms looped tight around his ribs. She hummed something tuneless, content. He stroked her hair, feeling the softness, the life in it, and wondered how the hell he’d gotten so lucky.

After a while, she tilted her head up, chin propped on his chest, and said, “You know, I think I could get used to being wanted like this.”

Andy kissed her forehead. “Get used to it. I’m not letting you go.”

She smiled, lazy, then closed her eyes and let herself rest, warm and safe.

The silence after was thick and warm, their bodies sprawled at odd angles atop the blankets, the lamp above the bed casting everything in a soft-edged, forgiving haze. Andy lay on his back, heart just starting to come down, and Dawn draped across his chest, her ear pressed to his heartbeat as if double-checking that it was real.

They stayed like that for a long time. Every so often, Dawn would stir, make a soft, wordless sound, then burrow closer as if she might lose him to the air itself. He stroked her hair, and the rhythm of it soothed them both.

Eventually, she tilted her head up, chin on his sternum. “You know,” she said, “I was afraid this would feel weird. Like, after everything today, maybe it would be too much.” She paused, searching for the right words. “But it doesn’t. Not even a little.”

Andy smiled, thumb sweeping her cheek. “That’s because it’s not too much. It’s exactly right.”

She beamed, then lowered her head again, drawing lazy patterns on his chest with her fingertip. The line wandered, circled a nipple, then drifted down his stomach, where she let it rest just above his navel.

He watched her, memorizing the softness in her face, the way her eyes creased when she smiled, the contented droop of her ears. “You’re beautiful,” he said, meaning it more than ever.

Dawn made a skeptical face. “You say that like I don’t have mascara streaked across my cheek and sex hair pointing in seven directions.”

He took her face in his hands. “You’re beautiful,” he said again, each word heavier.

She shivered, but not from cold. “Don’t do that,” she whispered, voice breaking just a little. “You’re going to make me fall even more in love.”

He kissed her forehead. “Promise?”

She giggled, then turned the sound into a kiss, slow and deliberate, her lips moving over his, her body pressing down, pinning him to the bed. He let her take the lead, her mouth hungry but not rushed. She moved over him, kissing his neck, his jaw, the curve of his shoulder.

When she reached his chest, she looked up, mischief in her eyes. “I know it’s not a thing for you,” she said, “but I want to try something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Dawn sat up, straddling his waist, her breasts—full, proud, a miracle of engineering—hanging just above his face. She grabbed them, mashed them together, and lowered herself so the soft flesh enveloped him. Then, with a kind of gleeful, nerdy precision, she jiggled them back and forth, burying his nose between them. He was caught by surprise for a moment, then leaned into it eagerly, rubbing his face between the soft globes.

He laughed so hard he almost choked, and she cracked up too, both of them giggling so hard the bed shook.

“Had to try it,” Dawn said, voice bright. “It’s a rite of passage, isn’t it?”

Motorboated by the Master! +2 VP

He pulled her down, kissed her again, this time messier, deeper. “Just so you know,” he admitted, “It is exactly my thing.” She rolled with him, so that now she was on her back, and he was above, braced on his forearms.

She let her legs fall open, wrapping them around his hips, and the motion brought them skin-to-skin, chest-to-chest. She hooked her ankles at the base of his spine, locking him in place.

He started kissing her neck, working his way down, slow and deliberate. She sighed, then gasped, her hands in his hair, guiding, pleading. He found a nipple, circled it with his tongue, then bit gently, and she arched up into him, breath catching.

He drifted lower, kissing her belly, her hips, the inside of her thigh. She was already wet, and when he kissed the spot just above her clit, she whimpered, the sound shooting straight through him.

He took his time, mapping every reaction, every twitch, every shiver. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her heels thumped against the mattress, and she muttered his name in a half-prayer, half-command.

When he slid two fingers inside her and flicked his tongue over her clit, she came apart instantly, body tensing, then shaking as she climaxed. He didn’t stop, just eased her through it, holding her steady until she sagged back against the pillow, breathless and wrecked.

5-Time Combo! +3 VP

She pulled him up, kissed him, then looked him in the eyes. “I want you,” she said, the words heavy with need. “Now.”

He lined himself up, pressed in, and she gasped his name, louder than before.

He set a slow, deep rhythm, watching her face every time he pushed in, watching the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip, the way her cheeks flushed red.

Halfway through, he took her wrists, pulled them above her head, and pinned them to the bed with one hand. She moaned, arching up, her whole body tense.

He whispered, “You’re mine,” and her pupils went wide, her hips lifting to meet every thrust.

There was a moment—a flash of it—when he felt the “ping” that was not his own. It was a need, sharp and clear: he needed her to say it, out loud.

Dawn felt it, too. She stared up at him, her voice a bare thread: “I’m yours. Andy, I’m yours. I have been since the first day you made me laugh.”

He lost all control, pace turning urgent, desperate. She met every thrust, her own voice breaking into his name, her legs wrapped so tight he could barely move.

They came together, the world spinning out for a few perfect seconds, then snapping back as they clung to each other, shaking, undone.

He held her until the tremors faded, until her breath evened out, until neither of them could move. Even then, he didn’t let her go.

Dawn, eyes closed, face streaked with tears and sweat, whispered, “I love you, Andy.”

He kissed her, soft. “I love you, too, Dawn.”

They stayed locked together, her body still trembling with aftershocks, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Even as the urge to move, to shift, to let the world back in returned, neither of them made the first move.

Eventually, the fatigue caught up with them, a tide that neither could resist. Andy reached down and tugged the comforter over their tangled bodies, and Dawn, still floating on the last aftershocks of their marathon, snuggled in close, her head pillowed on his chest, one arm draped across his stomach. Her leg found its old familiar home, thigh thrown across both of his, anchoring her there.

The room was dark now, the only light the faint city glow filtering through the thick curtains. They lay that way for a long time, silent but not asleep, just letting the warmth and the nearness fill them up.

It was Andy who broke the quiet, the question coming out of nowhere, gentle but freighted. “Why do you want to marry me?”

Dawn blinked, surprised, and for a heartbeat Andy thought she might not answer at all. She lay so still, leg draped over his, face burrowed in the crook of his shoulder, that he could have believed she’d missed the question. But then her hand traced a lazy spiral over his chest, the gesture winding tighter and tighter as she lined up the words.

“You really want to know?” she said, voice muffled by the comforter and by the nearness of him. She didn’t wait for a yes; she already knew he did.

She drew her arm up and pillowed her cheek against his sternum, so her eyes were pointed at the ceiling, as if she could puzzle it out by counting the recessed lights. “I think it’s because… you’re the first person who’s ever wanted to take care of me,” she said. “Like, really take care of me. Not because it’s a job, or an obligation, or because you thought I’d pay it back someday.” Her finger tapped against his chest, a slow, methodical rhythm. “Every guy before you, even the nice ones, always needed me to rescue them from something. Or they wanted me to run their lives for them, because I’m good at it. And I did, every time. I never thought it could be any different.”

Andy kept quiet. This felt like the kind of answer that needed air, not interruption.

She went on, her voice gaining certainty. “And then I met you, and you—” Here, she paused, and the tapping went faster, just for a second. “You made me sit still by the fire tonight. You made me let you do everything for once. And you didn’t make a big show of it, or ask me for anything in return. You just… wanted to.” She swallowed. “No one’s ever wanted to take care of me before. Not even my family. I was always the backup mom, the crisis manager, the one who got things done. And I loved it. Still do. But I didn’t know how much I wanted this until you gave it to me.”

She tilted her face up so she could see his eyes, and he saw the shine in them—bright and honest, not sad but so open it was almost too much. “That’s why,” she finished. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Even when I tried not to want it.”

Her face went shy, suddenly, and she pulled the blanket higher, hiding her chin. “Is that dumb? I know it’s not supposed to be about who makes you feel safe, it’s supposed to be about passion and chemistry and…” she trailed off, embarrassed, “all that other stuff. And they’re there, too, but this…”

Andy shook his head. “It’s not dumb,” he said, and meant it. “And you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Dawn looked at him, searching for any trace of joke or performance, and found none. She let out a shaky breath and said, “Do you still want to marry me?” It came out tentative, almost scared, and that vulnerability undid him more than anything else she could have said.

He answered without hesitation. “I do. I absolutely do. And not just because you’re beautiful, or because you’re fun, or because you probably have a list of the top 10 restaurants in each major US city, complete with phone numbers and referrals.”

She laughed, wiping a stray tear with the heel of her hand. “You’re such a nerd.”

He smiled, and cupped her face in his hand, thumb tracing the arc of her cheek. “I want to marry you because you love harder than almost anyone I’ve ever met. Because even when you’re terrified, you don’t hide from it. You bring people together. You make every room feel like home, just by being in it.” He thought of her with his family, her with the harem, even the way she’d welcomed Laura with nothing but grace. “Today, I got to see what it looked like when you let yourself be cared for. And I can’t remember the last time I wanted something for someone as much as I wanted that for you.”

Dawn’s face went very soft, all the sharp edges worn away by the force of his words. She pressed her forehead to his, her hands threading through his hair, and said, in a voice so quiet he barely heard it, “I love you, Andy Cooper.”

He kissed her, slow and deep and so gentle it felt like a promise. “I love you too, Dawn Moreno.”

They held that kiss for a long time, neither of them in a rush to move past it. When they parted, Dawn tucked herself in even closer, folding her leg tighter around his thigh, her fingers tracing idle circles on his shoulder. They lay like that, the silence warm and heavy and absolutely safe.

After a while, Dawn murmured, “I wish we could stay here forever.”

Andy said, “I know,” and let the truth of it settle between them. But he knew, even now, that the world was going to keep spinning, and there would be challenges, and debts, and all the chaos of whatever tomorrow brought.

He listened to her breathing, slow and even, and felt the weight of her head on his chest. As the room dimmed and the last of the day’s adrenaline faded, Andy found his own eyes drifting shut, and he let the darkness take him, one hand curled protectively around her back.

Dawn was already asleep, her face pressed to his heart, her whole body gone soft with trust. She didn’t dream of snow, or of her family, or even of the hotel. She dreamed only of him, and in the dream they stayed here, like this, forever.

Achievement Unlocked (Andy): The Innocents!