He stood suddenly, barely breaking the kiss, our bodies clinging together, his grip tight enough that he lifted me up with him easily. Sometimes I forgot how strong Jin was. It was a few staggering steps, but my feet barely touched the ground as we moved. I was dimly aware we were at the entrance of his tent as canvas hit my back. My feet found the ground long enough to stumble inside.

My head bumped something – a hanging lamp. We broke apart as I cursed. Jin laughed, rubbing the spot at the back of my head. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’ My breathing was shallow. I was very aware that we were alone together in such a small space.

‘You’re very graceful. It’s one of the things I love about you, Bandit.’ He reached past me, steadying the lamp I’d struck, releasing me just for a second. Just long enough to set a match to the small amount of oil left in the light. The tent was filled with a warm glow. And I could see him now, more clearly than in the dark of the desert, the faint stubble on the planes of his cheeks, the way his dark hair fell into his dark eyes, the way his broad shoulders rose and fell in his white shirt when he breathed, revealing his tattoo. We’d known each other long enough that I was used to him now, but in this moment it was like I was seeing him for the first time again, fascinated by him without entirely knowing why. When his hands came back to me, they were gentler, pushing my hair away from my face so that he could look at me. ‘God above, you’re beautiful,’ he breathed.

‘You don’t believe in God,’ I reminded him, my voice low.

‘Right now, I think I just might.’

I needed more of him. I slid my hands under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up. He shifted obligingly and tried to lift it over his head. But the tent’s ceiling was too low. He dropped to his knees, pulling me down with him. His shirt came off in one smooth motion, and he discarded it to one side.

I had seen Jin half-undressed a hundred times. But everything felt different now. And for the first time since that day in the store in Dustwalk, I was keenly aware of how much of him there was. He was a whole kingdom of bare skin and ink under my hands. I leaned close to him, tracing the outline of the sun over his heart.

I felt the ragged exhale of breath into my hair as I did. He lifted my face and kissed me again, curling his fingers into the fabric of my shirt. Neither of us spoke as his hands ran the length of my sides, pushing the cloth up. My stomach rose and fell under his callused thumbs; his fingers grazed my ribs one by one. My breathing came harder as his thumbs brushed higher, and then in one quick motion, a break in our kiss, my shirt was over my head, away from my skin, landing in a tangled pile with his. And there was nothing between my skin and his hands.

I suddenly felt shy, intimidated by the certainty of that movement. ‘You’ve done this before.’ I tried to keep my tone light, joking. But it was too late for that. The skin of his stomach was pressed to mine as we breathed. There was nothing left between us. No lies or pretence or secrets.

‘Yes,’ he said seriously. He traced a scar on my shoulder with his thumb, one of the places my aunt had cut the iron out of me. He was being careful – careful not to cross any lines I didn’t want crossed. He met my eyes steadily. Like he did when we stood in Ahmed’s tent planning something, or in a fight, checking what the other one was doing as we moved together. His dark gaze was serious. ‘Does that bother you?’

I wasn’t sure whether it did or not. That there had been other girls before me, girls who were better at this than I was. Jin had worn my sharper edges smooth in the year since we met. But now I felt them there, still under my skin, holding me back from him just a moment longer. ‘Does it bother you that I haven’t?’

He let out a short huff of air, a relieved laugh that tangled into my hair. ‘No.’ His thumb had moved away from the scar on my shoulder now, and it ran the length of my jaw, mapping it out like I was uncertain territory. ‘But if you don’t—’ He cut himself off, like he was picking the right words. ‘I meant what I said about saving the good liquor. I’m planning on surviving tomorrow.’ He pressed his mouth to the dip in my throat. ‘And now I’m planning on you surviving, too. We don’t have to do anything tonight. This isn’t our last night. You and I, we’re going to get tomorrow, and the next night, and a thousand nights after that. For now, it can be enough that I am yours.’ He kissed me gently. ‘All that I am I give to you, and all that I have is yours. Because the day that we die, it’s not going to be tomorrow.’

He said it with the certainty of a Demdji truth-telling even though he was entirely human. His calmness always tied me together – like he was holding me firm in a sandstorm. He was sure, I realised. He was sure that he wanted me. And I was sure that I wanted him. And it was more than a want.

I leaned in, struggling to hold myself together inside my own skin when I felt like I might shatter out of it if I touched him again. But I would break apart entirely if I didn’t. I pressed a kiss against his mouth softly and felt him smile against me. ‘I’m yours,’ I offered back. I traced my mouth along the line of his jaw. ‘All that I am I give to you.’ I dipped my head, my mouth exploring his collarbone and the lean, muscled line of his shoulder. ‘All that I have is yours.’ I felt his hand curl into a fist against my bare back. Like he was grasping for something to hang on to, to anchor himself. But all he could find was skin. Finally I leaned my mouth against the tattoo over his heart. ‘Until the day we die.’