Page 119 of Fake As Puck
I slide out and back in slowly, making her squirm under me. “A couple year?” I ask.
She nods, but I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I got her pregnant right here right now. I work my hips faster, loving the idea that she’s already agreeing on kids, on marriage, on being with me.
“It’s always been you,” I mutter into her hair.
She grabs my face and kisses me. Then she rolls me onto my back and rides my cock. She takes off her shirt, and I hold her waist, enjoying seeing her like this.
“West,” she moans. “Faster.”
I pound into her until we’re both seeing stars, and I come undone.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in her narrow bed, and I realize I’ve never felt more content in my life.
“Your bed’s really small,” I say eventually.
“I warned you.”
“My legs are dangling off.”
She looks down and giggles. “You can sleep on the couch if you want more space.”
I shake my head, pulling her closer to me. “I don’t want more space.”
“No?”
“I want to be exactly where I am.”
She curls closer to me, fitting perfectly against my side, and I think about how different this is from my house in Seattle.
There, everything’s pristine and organized and designed to look good. Here, everything’s lived-in and personal and real.
There, I have a king-size bed in a room that could fit her entire apartment.
Here, I’m sharing a twin bed with the woman I love, and I wouldn’t trade places with anyone.
“Liv?”
“Mmm?”
“I love your apartment.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it. I mean it.”
“It’s so different from your place.”
“It feels like you. It feels like home.”
“My tiny studio apartment feels like home to you?” she asks, confused.
I whisper, “You feel like home to me.”
She goes still against me, and I wonder if I said too much. She’s quiet for a long time, and I can feel her thinking.
“Will we survive long distance?” she says finally.
And it’s quiet again because how do I answer that? I don’t know what we’ll survive through, but I know it’s worth a try.
