"My hippocampus is filing a formal complaint," she pants, "while my vagina is writing thank-you notes in calligraphy. Do you know—oh god right there—do you know what the pregnancy probability is for unprotected sex during peak ovulation?"
"Tell me," I growl, thrusting up to meet her rhythm.
"Thirty—fuck—thirty percent. We're playing reproductive roulette with—oh my god I'm going to—"
The orgasm hits her hard—I feel it in the way her whole body locks up, the way she bites my shoulder to muffle her scream, the way she pulses around me so tight I see stars that have nothing to do with the desert sky. I follow immediately, couldn't stop if I wanted to, filling her while the city watches from below, adding another load to what she graphically described earlier as "a fertility clinic's worth of genetic material."
We stay frozen for a moment, both panting, her forehead pressed against mine. I can feel myself leaking out of her already, making a mess of my bike's seat that I'll never clean because I'm apparently sentimental about terrible decisions.
"That was—"
"Incredible," I finish.
"I was going to say reproductively irresponsible," she corrects, but she's smiling, that post-orgasm softness that makes her look younger. "But yeah, also incredible."
"Another round of fertility roulette," she adds, like we haven't been playing this game since the first night. "During peak ovulation. My egg is probably doing a victory dance right now."
"We never do anymore."
"We should."
"We won't."
"No," she agrees, settling against me properly now, her back to my chest as we look at the city. "We won't. We're disasters with a death wish and apparently a breeding kink."
My phone buzzes.
Dylan:Need advice about school. Can we talk?
My nephew. The one good thing I've managed not to destroy. Yet.
Tomorrow. Breakfast
Dylan:Cool. Bringing homework
Of course you are
Lena reads over my shoulder. "Nephew?"
"Sister's kid. Nineteen, too smart for his own good, thinks I'm cooler than I am."
"You're raising him?"
"More like preventing him from following my footsteps." I pause, then add, "His mom died when he was ten. She was my sister. Club violence."
She turns to look at me, those eyes cataloging this new information with medical precision. "That's why you understood. About my parents."
"Death by MC lifestyle is its own special kind of tragedy."
She kisses me then, soft and understanding, and it's more dangerous than the unprotected sex we just had. This is how hearts get involved. This is how disasters become destinies.
We ride back toward the city, her arms wrapped around me, her body pressed against mine, and I can feel my cum leaking out of her onto my bike. She shifts, whispers in my ear, "I can feel you dripping down my thighs. It's going to soak through my jeans. Your DNA is literally everywhere."
It's only later, after I've dropped her at her apartment with a kiss that turned into fingering her against her door until she came again, that my phone buzzes.
Ghost:Her bro saw you at the overlook
Ghost:With her
