The cat greeted him by sharpening at his jeans, clawing to be let up into his well-trained arms. Had it not been the first few days of his return, she’d have been there already. Being so, however, his attention and arms remained elsewhere.

Already at my hips, his hands pushed me through the kitchen, and his shirt in mine came over his head with one motion. He’d been away for the better part of a year, and I couldn’t feel his heat close enough.

We’d been so fucking patient that I’d been fantasizing all evening, nearly losing my cool as we walked from his family’s reunion. A stern, if reflexive, grasp shook me back to the reality that it could cost us both a lot more than that moment.

He paused, pulling my phone and wallet from my jeans for better access and tossed them to the table. We stumbled together with the fervor of lost time, like the clock might roll back if we gave it all now. Bumping into the dresser and then into the bed with laughter, we were free, finally, to acknowledge each other.