Because they did not want to wake Han, their sex was quieter now, and there was something about this quietness, this holding sound in, the pressure. She pressed her fingers harder into Jeremy. Something deep inside her was more thrown. From behind it was almost unbearable, but she asked for it. Sometimes she cried into a pillow, and when she felt him nearly forget her, faster and much harder, light spiked behind her closed eyes, and after they came, she was pristine, desireless.
Usually, she fell asleep quickly. But some nights she would lie there, whispering with Jeremy. Some nights, he dozed first, and as she had not since the early days, she lingered on his taut belly, the crease in his pelvis. There were short grays in his hair now. She counted them.
At these times, she would hold his arm, shake him awake, and he would be confused. She would say his name. She would roll onto him. She kept her knees tight to his ribs. And when her thighs were very tired, she disciplined herself from the scream.