For a moment, it's as if time stops; the world stands still.

He's waited so long…only days, but it feels like an eternity. He can no longer restrain himself. Slowly, deliberately, he brings his rough lips to her neck, tongue flicking her soft, tender skin.

She moans, and melts in his arms. He carries her to their bedrolls. Rough clacks, the clink of a buckle. He removes her armor, more hastily than he intends. She reaches for him…she wants him to remove his. He practically tears off his armor, in his haste to touch her.

He straddles her, careful not to injure. Control yourself.

On all fours, he lowers, kisses her, savors the sensation of her smooth lips yielding to his passion, her soft, wet tongue flicking, hesitantly meeting his own. He trails wet kisses down her neck, tasting her skin: salty sweat, the dust of the miles they traveled together, and something else…something tantalizing, something unmistakably female. He smells her hair, and a groan of longing escapes him. "Mmmm…" Oh yes. Even in his wildest dreams, he never thought…

Senses heightened, he becomes aware of everywhere their bodies touch. He can feel…oh, he can feel the heat of her soft breasts against his chest, nipples rock-hard, separated only by two thin t-shirts.

She puts her hands on his waist, tugging upward. Tugging off his shirt.

Leaning back onto his heels, he crosses his muscular arms, grasps the shirt at the hem, and tears it over his head.

She gasps at his naked chest in wonder, enraptured. She caresses his tight abdominals, no fear or disgust at touching his rended, uneven leathery body, tracing the boundaries of where rough skin broke away to smooth muscle. He shudders deliciously, overcome with pleasure at the sensation of her smooth fingertips trailing down, to his belt line. She squirms beneath him, struggling to remove her own shirt, desperate to feel his chest against her own.

His hands explore beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. Like most women in the wasteland, Olivia doesn't wear a brassiere. He kneads her soft mounds, breathing heavily, heart pounding in his ears. He tips her upward, one rough hand on her back, and she deftly peels off her top and tosses it away. He eases her back down to the floor, nuzzles her hair, and nibbles her ear lobe.

She gasps breathlessly, kneading his rippling back.

"Charon," she whispers. "I need you."

Everything swims out of focus. His groin tightens; aches painfully. In a near daze, he undresses her, spreads her legs, and runs his hands up and down her body. Every touch is electric; his fingers eliciting delicious shudders from her. Her eyes close, mouth half-open, her low breathless moans are sweet music to him. Nuzzling her breast, he licks her dusky nipple. Shivers of delight run up and down her spine, the feeling of her quaking with desire for him – for him – drives him to slow, to savor this moment. Glancing up at her face, he takes her nipple in his mouth and gently, ever so gently, nips her. She gasps, shudders. His hand strokes her soft pubic curls, searching below, sliding between her warm, wet folds. Hesitantly, he presses a coarse finger against her entrance, and slips it inside her.

She arches her back, a strangled mewl escaping her lips. He could feel – oh yes – the center of her moisten, and briefly tighten around his digit as she bucks against him. He slips out of her and rubs her clit, smiling as she grasps the bedding, grinding her hips against his calloused hand.

He stops, and stands, slowly. She opens her eyes to meet his. So clear, blue, piercing – desperate to feel him inside of her. A clink of a belt buckle. The unmistakable sound of metal teeth, unfastening. A rustle of clothing, as his pants fall to the floor, revealing him. All of him.

And then - and then – her hand is grasping him, massaging his engorged shaft. She creeps forward, on hands and knees, and smoothly, expertly, takes him into her mouth. Her eyes close, and she moans with him in her mouth, licking, sucking. He grasps both sides of her head, savoring the sensation of his hands in her hair as he guides her, back and forward. Looking down at his worn, tattered hands in her golden mane, he nearly loses control. He gently pushes her away, and their eyes meet. Her eyes – heavily lidded, bedroom eyes, he thinks – her lips parted, pouty, swollen in response to intense desire. He lowers himself to his knees between her legs, and she lay back, drawing him with her. Softly, she whispers…"Oh, Charon…please."

Slowly, he parts her silken folds with his swollen member. He plunges into her, and she envelops him, as if they were made for each other. Her warm, moist interior spasms rhythmically, and she curls her legs around his thighs, thrusting her hips forward to meet his. She wants all of him.

He gasps at her tightness, her wetness, her willingness.

Pressing their bodies together, he thrusts slowly, but raw physical need overcomes the remainder of his self-control. Growling, he plunges into her, deeper, rougher, faster. Her whole body shakes. Her low moans become throaty screams of ecstasy, echoing against the walls of the empty factory floor.

His thighs burn with exertion, bringing him closer, closer, and then…she bucks, shudders beneath him, her muscles inside squeeze him tighter than he ever felt possible, pulsing, pulsing – she comes with an explosive, animal cry, and unable to hold himself back from the brink, his guttural shout follows, releasing himself deep inside of her.

Sweaty, panting, spent, he rolls to the side of her, on his back. He gradually feels himself soften. Turning to her, wrapping a heavily muscled arm around her chest, drawing her to him, he thinks,

I could get used to this.