Page 85 of Gorgeous Misery

When my cock slips into her pussy we both moan.

She feels so good, I want to spend the rest of my life inside her.

She urges me to go fast. To fuck her hard. But we’ve tried that a couple times and it’s too much for her to handle, so I don’t do that. I go slow. I push deep instead. I make her gasp as I fill her up and then I pull back and do it again.

She drags her nails up and down my back because she knows me, same way I know her, and this drives me crazy. She likes to drive me crazy.

I kiss her a little bit harder and she bites me. A moment later, I taste blood, but I don’t stop and I don’t go faster.

One day maybe I will fuck her hard.

But then again, maybe I won’t.

It doesn’t matter to me.

I will take Wendy Gale any way I can get her.

She lifts her legs up and begins fucking me back. I let her, but only for a few moments. I kiss her as I pull out and then she’s squirming around on the bed, trying to put my cock in her mouth so she can suck me off as I come.

I want to come inside her, but I don’t. Won’t.

There are no kids in our future.

Not genetic ones anyway.

She can’t take birth control. The hormones are very bad for Zero girls. And yeah, I could use protection, but the condom might break and we can’t even take that small chance that she gets pregnant.

There are no abortions in Wendy’s future either—her mind would not recover from something like that—so if it happens, it happens.

And it can’t happen.

We settle next to each other on the bed when we’re done. She snuggles herself up to me, assuming the position, her head on my shoulder, her hands on my chest, one leg possessively over my hip.

I know she’s sad. She’s always sad after we have sex.

But I also know what to do to make her feel better.

“Dear Wendy…”

She huffs. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Dear Wendy,” I say again. “It has been eight months, four days, seven hours, and eight minutes since I last saw you and I miss you terribly.”

“Dear Nick. I’m gonna start writing Dear Nick letters.”

“Bitch, do not tease me like that.”

She giggles.

“I would kill for a Dear Nick letter.”

“Well. I’ll write some then. You need to make a little drop box outside your house.”

“Our house,” I correct her.

“Whatever. That way I can drop them off when I’m passing by.”

We’re both silent as we think about this. How our lives have been for the past seven years. Well, we were always two ships passing in the night while she was growing up too, but it was different. I didn’t write her any Dear Wendy letters until her eighteenth birthday. Because that was the year I thought there would be no Dear Wendy letters in her mailbox when she came home for her birthday and that could not happen.