“I want to see him swing,” Wren says.
I support them as best I can. “I know. But we need you safe and well more.”
“It’s gonna work, River. I promise. A coroner can only guess a window of time. In twenty-four hours, they won’t be able to…guess with any accuracy.”
“I love you,” I say. “More than anything else, Wren.”
Wren sighs and smiles. “I love you too. Can we…wait until tomorrow…to celebrate this nightmare… being over?”
I nod in agreement. “I think that’s the best idea you ever had.”
EPILOGUE
CATFISH
Iwake slowly, at first, thinking the feel of Wren’s mouth on my cock is a dream. But as I open my eyes and take a deep breath, I feel their slick heat around me, sucking on me slow and lazy like they’ve got nowhere to be.
And as my cock gets into the game, getting longer and harder with every suck, I swear I could die happy.
The light’s barely started leaking through the blinds, and the house,ourhouse, is wrapped up in early-morning quiet. I lift my head slightly, propping my hand underneath so I can watch the rhythmic bob of Wren’s head beneath the covers.
They remembered. I told them once, that if they ever wanted to use me this way, I’d be more than happy to wake up to the pleasure of it.
“Fuck,” I mutter groggily as I come to my senses. Pun intended.
I grab the corner of the bedding and toss it back before brushing their hair from their face.
They look up at me with a sleepy smile, lips still wrapped around my cock. They pull off it long enough to murmur, “Morning, River,” then slide right back down to it.
I sigh and grip the sheets with one hand.
It’s messy, and slow, and perfect. Wren’s period started yesterday, and they explained how it makes them feel dysphoric and how they’re unlikely to want sex; I just wanted to know they were comfortable and had all the supplies they needed.
So, this is an unexpected boon.
Wren grips my cock firmly and begins to stroke as they move their mouth. They play with it. Just keeping the very tip inside and using their fist to provide the friction. Then, they take it so far down their throat, they gag.
Everything feels good.
Selfish, even.
I wrap their hair around my fist so I can watch, my hips beginning to move to meet them. Knowing I don’t need to make sure Wren has already come, I lean back and let the thrill of it race through me.
I fucking love the way Wren’s lips look around my cock. But I love the tender way they look up at me even more.
And when I come, it’s with a groan I can’t contain.
Wren swallows as I do, before easing me down. When they’re done, they reach for their water glass next to the bed and take three deep chugs before putting it down and flopping onto my chest.
The sheets tangle around our limbs, the air warm with the scent of sex, and Wren’s breath hitting my throat in puffs. Soft light creeps in through the ranch house window, slanting gold across the messy bed and long stretch of Wren’s firm thighs.
Nothing beats waking up to morning sex with Wren.
Or evening sex.
Or afternoon sex.
We slept harder than we intended. It’s five days since Wren was caught by a ricocheting bullet. They needed stitches—which they hated—but nothing more.
