Page 57 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

“Damn,” he panted. “And I was hoping for a certificate or a rosette.”

I was already primed and ready by the time he wrapped a hand around my leaking cock. I cried out as I came, not caring what Lake’s neighbors might think, and taking a primal pleasure in the cum that splashed across his chest. My orgasm triggered his, Lake shuddering and coming within seconds.

I collapsed against him, breathing hard, and grinning at the emptiness of Lake’s mind. What bigger compliment could there be?

“What’s so funny?” he asked sleepily.

I got rid of the condom before answering, curling up beside Lake and running my fingers through the sticky mess on his chest. “Nothing. Everything.”

“Deep.”

“No historical anecdote to share? Something about jesters and their role in medieval courts, maybe.”

Lake rolled to face me, capturing my hand. “What’s history?” That made me smile more. “You’re staying tonight, right?”

“Yeah.” I had neither the energy nor the inclination to get dressed and worry about getting home.

He propped himself up. “Can I ask you something?”

“I won’t marry you yet. It’s too soon.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve spent a few nights here.”

“I have.”

“I haven’t noticed you having any nightmares. Do I sleep that deeply? Because you can wake me up, you know.”

“I don’t have them when I’m with you.” It was such a simple truth to tell. Yet, it was also momentous. And Lake’s pleased—bordering on smug—smile said he felt the same. I shoved him, and he fell back laughing.

For someone who’d said they didn’t know how to be happy, I was doing a pretty convincing job of it. Maybe I needed to never leave this bed. Lake and I could just exist in three states of being: before sex, during, and after.