“Keep going.” She senses my hesitation and I fucking hate myself for that. “Please don’t stop.”
I grab her breasts again, kissing and sucking on one nipple while I caress the other one into a tight little peak. She bucks again. Her hand is pumping my cock now. Her breathing is picking up and when I glance up to look at her face, her eyes are closed and her mouth is open.
I lean up and kiss her. I can’t help it. Her tongue crashes into mine and then she’s grabbing my hair and I’m mostly on top of her, and I know this is pushing things, but when we get here, to this place, every single time I lose interest in living. I just want more.
We writhe on the bed, her hands on my face as we kiss. I slip my fingers down her shorts, right between her legs, and she gasps into my mouth. “Keep going. Keep going,” she begs.
I have no intention of stopping, but I take a breath and ease us down again using soft, slow fingertips over her clit. She hisses, arches her back and draws up her knees to give me better access.
I push a finger inside her and she holds her breath. It’s enough to make her come. Wendy is easily pleased in the sex department. She gushes over everything I do to her. But even so, I want to do more. I want to make it all special each time.
“Oh, God, Nick. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
She has nothing to worry about. I push her knees together, then slip her shorts and panties down and over her legs, tossing them into the corner with my shirt. Then I open her up again. I spread her knees wide and position myself between her legs and watch her face as I lower mine down to the smooth, soft skin on the inside of her thigh. Every time I find myself in this position, I have an overwhelming urge to bite her. Not hard, or anything. I just want to nip that skin and make her yelp a little.
But I don’t. It would ruin everything if I did.
Instead I kiss and suck my way up her inner thigh as my fingers part the lips of her pussy so that when I’m out of leg my mouth can cover her and my tongue can slip inside.
She’s moaning, “Oh, shit. Oh, shit.”
She likes being licked, so I take my time here. She comes, maybe even twice, but she never gets tired of sex. We don’t have enough sex to get tired of it, but even if we were getting it on the regular, I don’t think we’ll ever get tired of sex.
I know I won’t. I want to possess Wendy every minute of every day.
Her hands grip my hair, urging me to keep licking. Like she’s reading my mind and this is a gentle hint that I’m thinking too much. I twirl my tongue around in a slow circle, then nip her, just a little, with my teeth.
She hisses, then laughs, her hips squirming. I slowly push two fingers inside her, easing them deeper and deeper as I watch her face. Her breathing is ragged now, her back still arched, her neck stretched taut. I pump my fingers in and out and then her muscles contract around them as she lets go. A small gush of warm liquid spills out past my fingers and drips down into the palm of my hand.
“Now you.” She says it again. Insisting. “Now you.”
I would stay here between her legs for hours if she’d let me. But she’s come several times already and she won’t settle until I’m inside her and get my release too. So I crawl my way up her body, pausing to suck on her breasts and kiss her neck. Then I knee open her legs as she takes my cock in her hand and guides me to her entrance.
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.
But of course, there were letters that year.
I don’t understand the letters. I’m just glad she had them.
Wendy and I were a little team when she was a kid. She helped me, I helped her, but trust me when I say this, we were not in love. There were no secret looks between her and me when she was fifteen. She didn’t flirt with me and I certainly didn’t flirt with her. She started hating me at thirteen, I guess. It’s a typical girl thing. I looked it up. I was a little hurt when she started throwing me attitude but that was nothing compared to how she felt about me when I sent Lauren away. She wanted to kill me and it took almost three years for her to forgive me for that.
Even on her seventeenth birthday, right after Chek died and she was at her most vulnerable, she still didn’t really like me. She was still mad about the change in our previous routine. Because she didn’t know that I was gonna send Lauren to live with Sasha. I couldn’t tell her. She had a job to do when that was going down.