Page 88 of Running Feral

I’m not exactly writing poetry over here, but I think he knows what I mean. It’s enough to make him smile, anyway. A slow, syrupy smile, just like the rest of this. With one hand on the back of my head, he urges me into a kiss.

His thrusts are slow and steady, as well. We share a constant, sloppy kiss, and let the rhythm build a little at a time, until I’m riding him as hard as my body wants me to and we’re both too breathless to do anything more than graze our lips together.

“Good?” he asks.

“Good.” I nod, then bring his hand to my cock. “More, please.”

He strokes me in time with his thrusts, and I feel myself approach the precipice of the orgasm that’s been teasing me for so long.

“As much as you want, baby. As much as you want. Now come for me.”

Finally, his words push me over the edge. I stiffen, my body tightening around his cock as I spill ropes of hot cum over his fingers.

Gunnar’s watching me so closely, I can almost see the way his eyes light up as I ride out my orgasm in front of me. He holds me close, fucking into me a few more times, still not too hard, but with more desperation than he let himself before. Then I get to watch him unravel as well, while I feel his cock pulse inside me.

The moment seems to go on forever, but I think that’s a trick of my mind. Like I’m trying to savor it.

I know this doesn’t mean we won’t have any sex-trauma disasters in the future, but I’m okay with that. This time was perfect. Other times will be perfect, too.

I have Gunnar. That’s the only thing I care about. Like he said, the rest of it is window dressing.

When he finally takes in a full, gasping breath, the first thing he does is touch my face again and look me in the eye.

“Good?” he asks. It feels like code, now. We’ve said it so many times.

“Good.”

My forehead thunks to his again, and we both breathe in each other’s air.

Gunnar sighs, all the unspoken fear he was holding back going with it, before he replies with a smile.

“Good. Fucking perfect.”

Epilogue

Three Months Later

“Ithink they’re teaching her to cheat,” I say to Gunnar as we walk to the car.

“She’s not cheating, you just suck at mahjong.”

He’s laughing at me. His face isn’t, but he is on the inside. I can always tell.

“That’s racist. You’re all being racist.” I point at him over the car when we both move to our respective sides. “Them for forcing the old Asian lady to play a Chinese game, even though she’s not Chinese, and you for making fun of me for losing.”

I hold a straight face the entire time we’re getting inside and sitting down, but the second the doors close, Gunnar bursts out laughing. It’s too infectious to hold out, and when he pulls me in toward him and kisses my cheek, still laughing through it, I can’t help but smile as well.

“Sure, baby. You’re right. The whole world is against you.”

“Prick,” I mutter under my breath, pulling away from him even though I’m still smiling.

I can’t let him think he’s right about everything, even though he almost always is. It’ll go to his head.

He was right about the stupid nursing facility, and that still pisses me off. I didn’t think she’d want to go, but as soon as I had asked her, she told me there was no question about it. She was going.

I can’t watch you kill yourself to take care of me anymore, Apo. Your mother let us both down. I’m not letting you down, too.

She sold her car, plus the trailer and the land she owned, in the end. I never thought she’d part with it. She’d lived there since before I was born. She didn’t want to hang on to something previous only to watch me rot inside it, she said.

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