Page 88 of Pot Shot
“What are you doing?”
I grin up at her incredulous face. “Barely left a scar.”
“Oh myGod.” Nomi swats at my head.
“I’mamazing.” I whistle, eyeing my work. “First time stitching up labia, too.”
“Julian!”
“And under great personal duress.” I sit upright on my knees, grip her by the hips, then yank her flush against my hard cock. “Do you know how badly I wanted to do this to you? Pull you to the edge of the examining table and stick my dick in you?” I slide my cock up and down between the halves of her pussy, teasing us both. “I almost resigned from the medical profession over it.”
She laughs breathily, her smile loose and lazy. “I wanted you, too.” Her hands slide over mine where I squeeze each of her knees, tugging me toward her. “I thought I was going insane.”
“You felt it, even then.”
After a second, she nods, her eyes earnest and maybe, a little scared. I fall over her, cradling her shoulders in my arm, gathering her perfect body to mine. She works a hand between us, grips my hard cock. I moan into her hair, and she aims it lower, poising it just right. Together, we breathe, our chests expanding as if bracing for impact. The impact of what this means, maybe. Of how this is rewriting my DNA in real time. Of life before, now, andafter, as we set this alchemical reaction in motion and see if it makes gold.
I push in, she clasps my face in her hands, staring into my eyes as she cries out in pleasure, and it is—it’sgold.
A thousand glimmering shades ofgold.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NOMI
The first thing I’m cognizant of ishappy. The emotion stretches luxuriously within my body as I blink toward consciousness, without me fully understanding why or where it came from. The warm cocoon wrapped around me feels safe and complete, putting me at perfect temperature equilibrium in the cold air whirring from the window unit. I just had the best sleep of my life.
Perhaps wildest of all, I feelhungry. Not from weed and not the false hunger that sometimes precedes a Crohn’s attack, either. Just pleasantly, normally, hungry. A body asking for what it needs. I let my eyes flutter shut and relish the feeling.
With chronic illness, you learn to notice and celebrate the brief interludes where nothing hurts and everything’s working as it should. Then you systematically interrogate everything you did, looking for answers to finally escape the locked dungeon of your disease. But as my sleepy brain trawls over the food I ate yesterday, the strain I vaped, it doesn’t add up. A greasy, decadent spread of boardwalk food doesn’t make me feel like this.
The warm pressure at my hipbone materializes into a hand, flexing one finger at a time. The cool tip of a nose burrows into my hair, warm breath cascading across my neck, coalescing into a word as soft as my pillow.
“Nomi.”
His hand skims down the slope of my stomach, pinkie brushing the edge of my dark, unshaved curls, lighting up my entire core with a giddy rush.
Julian.
That’s what’s different. I don’t believe Julian and his magical cock fucked my disease away or anything, but maybe giving in to these feelings that have been building within me for months released a stress my sensitive body has struggled to handle. There’s also fascinating evidence that orgasms activate your parasympathetic nervous system, inducing a state of calm at the biochemical level, which can in turn dampen the damaging impacts of increased cortisol so common in those who suffer from inflammatory bowel disease. Simply put, Julian didn’t fuck me cured, but hemighthave fucked me chill.
Maybe he’s my doctor, after all.
He draws me against him. I’ve never fit so perfectly anywhere in my life as I do in the crescent moon of his strong, sheltering body.
Spooning.I finally get it.
“Good morning.” I turn so that my cheek brushes his lips. My hand caresses his stubbly jaw, and he kisses my palm, drawing a fingertip into his mouth and gently sucking. I exhale a soft rush of air as his hand travels lower, finding my split and stroking the quickly swelling bud there. I press greedily against his palm, delighted with how much of me can be covered by one of his long, graceful hands. He slides down until the heel of his palm presses against my clit, slipping his middle finger inside of me, then another, stretching me deliciously as he strokes into me. His thick erection nestles between the halves of my ass, waiting to explore me next as I tremble against him.
“Nomi, Nomi, my Nomi…” he whispers into my hair, then licks the back of one ear. His hips grind against me while he works me, easily, with his hand. “I was so afraid it was all a dream.”
I come hard, sandwiched between the pressure of his hand and the wall of his groin. “Can I, baby?Please?” he asks into my ear, and I moan out a desperateyes. God, I love it when he begs. Before the shudders are done, he flips me onto my stomach, rolls on a condom, and enters me from behind. My muscles clench and release around the sudden presence of his cock, the orgasm renewed, heightened, amplified, his palm reaching around to press hard against my clit once again as I rock against him, around him,with him. He pushes deeper and deeper still, as if he’d lose himself in me if he could.
Up until now, we’ve both tried to be quiet, but when he comes, he releases a straight-up roar. We collapse against the mattress in a heap of limbs, then he rolls onto his back, and I curl into his arms, my cheek pressed against his chest.
“How am I supposed to live now?” He idly brushes my hair back from my face. “How am I supposed to get out of this bed and eat breakfast? Go to work next week? How am I supposed to do anything else, ever again?”
I laugh into the divot between his pecs, where the hair is softest, completely blissed out. I feel almost stoned from the rush of serotonin and dopamine flooding my body. “I don’t know. How have you coped with this issue in the past?”
