Amnesty: Genderfuck Challenge
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ray/Ray, allusions to existence of F/K/V
Length: 2650ish words
Notes: I blame
brooklinegirl for providing me with the most fantabulous mental image, here. Thanks go, as ever, to
nos4a2no9 , for invaluable help with gender pronouns and female masturbation- my beta has everything!
Summary: Girl!RayK. Tatty jeans. A white vest. No shoes. Boxing gloves. RayV. C'mon, something's gotta happen!
“Fucking fight me, Vecchio!”
I dodge again, feeling the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. Kowalski’s got her fists up again, moving freely, easily, all this pent up energy and anger. Christ, Kowalski’s practically humming with it, like one of those tuning forks Benny carries everywhere with him. This bright sharp note, mixing with the smell of blood in the air, with the feral smile and the wild eyes, with his- fuck, with her- grace, the way Kowalski seems to flicker as she moves.
Another punch to my jaw, just a jab, a stinging blow, meant more to make me angry than do anything. I don’t let it do anything to me though. I don’t hit women. I don’t give a fuck how Kowalski got this way, but the fact remains that he is a she, with breasts, slender shoulders, a narrower waist, and a smoother face. She can bitch all she likes, but she’s not gonna come to me for whatever Fraser can’t give her. I give her the pleasure of seeing me rub my jaw, don’t bother to hide the wince.
“What’s your fucking problem, Vecchio? You scared or something? Not man enough?”
Ok, I have to laugh at that, ignoring the way Kowalski’s eyes narrow, and her lips thin. They’re softer looking than before, redder, fuller. Her cheekbones are higher, and her lashes darker. She could be called pretty, if she wasn’t wearing a ratty vest and jeans, hair still short and damp with sweat. If she wasn’t so tense. I guess that’s the thing- she wants to punch out the tense, wants to take it out on something that will push back. And Benny won’t push back, not when Kowalski’s so fucked up. Women still make him go all rabbitty-eyed, however much he tries to hide it. Benny’s still terrified of making a mistake with them, and now he’s got this weird thing of loving Kowalski, knowing her, but not being able to act like he knows she wants. He won’t shout back, won’t let himself be snarky, or let his guard down, so Kowalski’s living with a stranger who’s in love with her.
Benny can comfort her, he can go out and buy her chocolate at two in the morning, be rational and stroke her back, do goofy, wonderful things like make her cards with twigs and leaves sewn onto them, or make love to her, slow and sweet, but he can’t deal with this energy, this need. He can’t push back and shout when Kowalski wants it, needs and Kowalski knows not to punch him, because no force on earth will make Benny hit back, and she still wants to play fair. There’s a lot stopping her from tipping him over, but with me? Since this has happened, Kowalski’s been circling me like a wild animal, sniffing me out, seeing how far she can take this. Driving me wild with holding back. So Kowalski comes to me, and expects me to push, and punch, and hurt and be hurt, to be the bad guy, the thing she can hate when she runs her tongue over her split lip, or looks at her black eye in the mirror.
“I don’t hit women,” I tell her, feeling like a broken record. That’s pretty much all I’ve said to her all evening, right from when she showed up at my apartment, took her shoes off, threw a pair of gloves at me and put her own gloves on, doing that fancy foot crossing thing Benny does when he boxes, only it’s more like dancing with her. I keep my hands by my sides, keep looking into her eyes, wondering how the fuck else I can calm her down without getting my jaw broken, cause she may not have all the wiry mad-dog strength she used to, but she’s got the technique and the anger to punch her weight. She jerks her head to the side, grin wolfish, and I get ready to dodge again, expecting another punch.
She rips the gloves off, using her teeth, letting them fall to the ground with two thuds. I stay still, noticing the strapping around her knuckles for the first time, the bandages over her left hand- I guess walls didn’t punch back hard enough- but I’m relaxed, not braced at all. She grins again, and I feel something that isn’t quite fear going through me. She takes a step closer, close enough for me to smell her, crowds me, backs me up against the wall, then reaches up and wraps her hand around my throat, pressing just hard enough for breathing to be constricted. Her whisper is husky, dark. She’s started smoking again; her voice is slightly cracked.
“What would it take for you to hit me, huh? What would it take for you to grow a fucking spine and hit me back? Do I hafta go find myself a fucking stranger who’ll do what you’re too fucking chickenshit to do, Vecchio?”
I see red, hit her hand away and spin us around so she’s against the wall, then shake her a few times, a warning. “There is no fucking bravery in hitting a woman, Kowalski,” I say quietly, too angry to shout, my hand shaking. If she knew how much I- she has to know about Pa- Christ, her eyes are dark, glazed over slightly. It’s frightening how it feels like her stare is stripping away my skin, my flesh, muscles, sinews, bones, all that anger, that stuff she can’t get rid of like she used to, can’t punch things, shout a bit, get into a barfight. She told me it was like being trapped in her own head, her skull feeling too small for all the thoughts she’s having, and fuck, I hope to God she switches back soon, cause something’s gotta give, and when it does-
“I’m not a fucking woman, Vecchio.”
She struggles, and I press in closer, my hands still keeping her shoulders in place. I knock her feet apart, press in closer still until my thigh’s in between hers, bring it up a little. She moans. “Yeah, and how do you explain that, huh?” I take my hands off her shoulders, kiss her, and it’s like kissing Kowalski as a guy, but softer, not as rough despite her teeth, her force. The anger’s no different- she always seems angry when we kiss, when we fuck, when things get so tense we have to purge it all away. The three of us, it’s a balance, Benny evening us out, giving us one of those lever things- a fulcrum. Yeah, he’s what we push against.
The bruises on my face have gone down to a dull ache, cutting through my need, giving it an edge. I put one of my hands on her hip, hold the back of her head with the other and grin into the kiss as her hand snakes around and grasps my ass, same as ever. She’s moving, rolling her hips against my thigh, and I love it when she starts letting go and dancing, when she’s panting, spine arching, hips thrusting, so I move too, dip my fingers just under the waistband of her too-loose guy jeans. She’s going commando, no change really; she’s only wearing a bra because Frannie’s so damn persuasive. I flick open the buttons of her jeans, smoother than I usually do. She’s almost whimpering, hands clenching and unclenching, movements frantic, needy.
Her breasts are pressing into me, nipples hard. She’s so damn hot, like a furnace, and it’s just so hard to keep control, to hold back with her, but I just- I can’t help trying. Can’t help thinking she’ll break if I’m too rough. Stupid, this is Kowalski, but I guess I’m as scarred as Benny, but in a different way. Vegas- it-
She breaks the kiss, panting. “Get a fucking move on, Vecchio, time’s a wasting.”
“Why should it be me? You’re being all ‘I’m not a woman’, so you take the initiative a bit, Kowalski. Make a couple of decisions. Be empowered. Go for it, uh, sister.”
For a moment I think she’s gonna hit me, but instead she pushes me away, walks towards the bedroom, swaying her hips, and those jeans may be loose on her waist, but her ass fills them just right. By the time I get there, her vest is on the floor and she’s lying there, jeans open, white cotton bra a sharp contrast against her golden skin, one leg canted to the side. I can hardly breathe, she’s that damn beautiful. My hands are shaking as I unbutton my shirt, no need for control now, cause Kowalski wants the same thing I do. She’s stroking herself, hand outlined in denim, eyes half closed. She still has those long, strong fingers, that wideness at the knuckles. She dips in to herself, a slow tease, then circles her clit, unable to stop her hips jerking at the pressure when she moves too suddenly. Her toes are curling and relaxing as she moves, head thrown back baring her slender neck. The way her hand’s moving, she’s done it before, and I have to wonder if Benny knows, if he helps, and seeing them together when Kowalski was a guy was hot enough, but god, seeing them like this-
I shake myself, get away from the images of them together, then shrug off my shirt and take off my trousers, letting them fall to the floor next to Kowalski’s vest, then get onto the bed, crawl so my head’s level with her breasts, then lick her collarbone, the saltsweet taste of her the same as ever. I kiss a line down to the edge of her bra, trail my fingertips along her stomach until I feel the muscles fluttering, loving the moans she’s making, loving how she doesn’t know whether to move into me or move away.
She’s taking off her bra, scowling at it like Benny did with the pantyhose, then throwing it into the corner. Then she’s shimmying out of her jeans, one hand gripping the back of my neck, keeping me close, close enough to hear her heartbeat as I lick and nip and suck, seeing how badly I can make her lose it, how long it takes until she’s got enough to push against. Small breasts, with that skin on the underside that’s warm, always warm, a crease I lick along, the taste there different somehow, darker. Stronger saltsweat taste on the skin between her breasts- she must have gotten some exercise, been out running, trying to pound away the antsiness under her feet. Pink nipple, hardened. I circle it with my tongue, mirroring her movements on her clit and her hand tightens on the nape of my neck, and she’s arching, moving into me. I guess she’s not quite used to how sensitive she is yet, because it doesn’t take much before she’s hitting me upside the head and telling me to ‘quit fucking playing, you dickwad’. I lift my head, grin at her then blow on her nipple, cooling the wetness there, laughing softly as she arches again. Works when she’s a guy, too. Some things don’t change.
I move down, lick the pale skin on her slightly rounded belly. Too damn skinny still, however much Benny tries to feed her. Whenever I go over there, stay the night, he’s putting more food on Kowalski’s plate when her- his, as well’s- back’s turned. I tell him he’s turning into my mother. I love Kowalski’s hipbones, that dip in them, the softness she’s gained on her hips so she’s not as fiercely skinny as Kowalski used to be. I love licking the skin over the bone, down into the dip. Used to drive Stella mad, in good and bad ways. Bad ways towards the end, but Kowalski’s just mad in the good way, swearing a fucking blue streak, tugging me back up so we’re level then hooking one of her legs over mine.
She kisses me, the taste of cigarettes, whisky and coffee in her mouth. Her hands are running up and down my back, nails digging in, only my boxers separating us now, the cotton feeling more like a second skin as she rubs against me. She’s murmuring against my lips, words like ‘fuck’, and ‘hurry’. Words like ‘please’, and I sit up, reach across to the nightstand and grab one of the condoms I can leave out now I’m not living with Ma.
My hands are shaking as I fumble with the wrapper, and Kowalski isn’t helping, she’s stroking down my chest, pinching my nipple so the pleasurepain nearly makes me drop the packet, then her nails are raking down my skin, leaving welts to match the bruises she gave me. I take off my boxers, roll the condom on, thanking fuck Kowalski didn’t decide to interfere with that as well, then push her back onto the bed, kiss her again as her legs wrap around me so I’m positioned at her entrance, wanting so damn badly to push, to take, trying to hold back. She has other ideas though, tightening her legs and lifting her pelvis slightly so I’m buried in her, and she’s groaning into my mouth, then it’s a slick smooth slide, her heat around me incredible. So close, so together, skin on skin, feeling like we’re being tied to each other and flung apart at the same time. I support myself on one arm, bring the other hand down to where we’re joined and stroke her clit, barely brushing it, tempted to tease her some more, until Kowalski nips my lower lip in warning, growling in between kisses, “Just fuck me already, Vecchio. If I wanted a fucking tea party, I’d have asked Turnbull.”
I start picking up speed. She’s moving under me, never still, all clean lines and shifting grace, with a beauty that made both of us fall so damn hard for him we could barely see the ground we fell towards. Her mouth’s on the side of my neck, licking and sucking, getting me hotter, getting me so worked up all I can do is move into her, her teeth are scraping my skin, and her legs are clamped around me in a grip I’m sure will bruise, and she’s strong, and hot, and there. I can feel the moment her orgasm starts; her fingers dig into me and she gasps, head hidden in the hollow of my neck, even her calf muscles tighten, and she’s making soft whimpering noises that she muffles against my skin. I keep moving, keep on moving as she arches, coming off the bed, her mouth open in a silent cry, eyes squeezed tight shut. Hung suspended before she comes, that silence, that nothingness feeling like it’s gonna suck me in, then she’s moving again, a short cry like she’s dying then gasping back to life, her walls fluttering against me, a steady pulse that grows weaker as she relaxes back on the bed, kissing me lazily now, kissing me as I come, stroking my back as I come down, shaking.
She’s tired now, tender, her eyes clearer somehow like she’s decided something, won a battle with herself. I pull out, put the condom in the wastepaper basket and switch off the bedside light, then take her into my arms, spooned up against her. Her breathing slows, and I feel myself drifting.
“Hey, Vecchio,” she says, just as I’m about to drop off. I grunt in answer, and she punches me lightly on the arm. “You’d better not be going to sleep.”
I pull her closer and weave my fingers with hers against her belly, then murmur into her hair. “Honestly Kowalski, you are such a fucking girl.”
Pairing: Ray/Ray, allusions to existence of F/K/V
Length: 2650ish words
Notes: I blame
brooklinegirl for providing me with the most fantabulous mental image, here. Thanks go, as ever, to
nos4a2no9 , for invaluable help with gender pronouns and female masturbation- my beta has everything!
Summary: Girl!RayK. Tatty jeans. A white vest. No shoes. Boxing gloves. RayV. C'mon, something's gotta happen!
“Fucking fight me, Vecchio!”
I dodge again, feeling the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. Kowalski’s got her fists up again, moving freely, easily, all this pent up energy and anger. Christ, Kowalski’s practically humming with it, like one of those tuning forks Benny carries everywhere with him. This bright sharp note, mixing with the smell of blood in the air, with the feral smile and the wild eyes, with his- fuck, with her- grace, the way Kowalski seems to flicker as she moves.
Another punch to my jaw, just a jab, a stinging blow, meant more to make me angry than do anything. I don’t let it do anything to me though. I don’t hit women. I don’t give a fuck how Kowalski got this way, but the fact remains that he is a she, with breasts, slender shoulders, a narrower waist, and a smoother face. She can bitch all she likes, but she’s not gonna come to me for whatever Fraser can’t give her. I give her the pleasure of seeing me rub my jaw, don’t bother to hide the wince.
“What’s your fucking problem, Vecchio? You scared or something? Not man enough?”
Ok, I have to laugh at that, ignoring the way Kowalski’s eyes narrow, and her lips thin. They’re softer looking than before, redder, fuller. Her cheekbones are higher, and her lashes darker. She could be called pretty, if she wasn’t wearing a ratty vest and jeans, hair still short and damp with sweat. If she wasn’t so tense. I guess that’s the thing- she wants to punch out the tense, wants to take it out on something that will push back. And Benny won’t push back, not when Kowalski’s so fucked up. Women still make him go all rabbitty-eyed, however much he tries to hide it. Benny’s still terrified of making a mistake with them, and now he’s got this weird thing of loving Kowalski, knowing her, but not being able to act like he knows she wants. He won’t shout back, won’t let himself be snarky, or let his guard down, so Kowalski’s living with a stranger who’s in love with her.
Benny can comfort her, he can go out and buy her chocolate at two in the morning, be rational and stroke her back, do goofy, wonderful things like make her cards with twigs and leaves sewn onto them, or make love to her, slow and sweet, but he can’t deal with this energy, this need. He can’t push back and shout when Kowalski wants it, needs and Kowalski knows not to punch him, because no force on earth will make Benny hit back, and she still wants to play fair. There’s a lot stopping her from tipping him over, but with me? Since this has happened, Kowalski’s been circling me like a wild animal, sniffing me out, seeing how far she can take this. Driving me wild with holding back. So Kowalski comes to me, and expects me to push, and punch, and hurt and be hurt, to be the bad guy, the thing she can hate when she runs her tongue over her split lip, or looks at her black eye in the mirror.
“I don’t hit women,” I tell her, feeling like a broken record. That’s pretty much all I’ve said to her all evening, right from when she showed up at my apartment, took her shoes off, threw a pair of gloves at me and put her own gloves on, doing that fancy foot crossing thing Benny does when he boxes, only it’s more like dancing with her. I keep my hands by my sides, keep looking into her eyes, wondering how the fuck else I can calm her down without getting my jaw broken, cause she may not have all the wiry mad-dog strength she used to, but she’s got the technique and the anger to punch her weight. She jerks her head to the side, grin wolfish, and I get ready to dodge again, expecting another punch.
She rips the gloves off, using her teeth, letting them fall to the ground with two thuds. I stay still, noticing the strapping around her knuckles for the first time, the bandages over her left hand- I guess walls didn’t punch back hard enough- but I’m relaxed, not braced at all. She grins again, and I feel something that isn’t quite fear going through me. She takes a step closer, close enough for me to smell her, crowds me, backs me up against the wall, then reaches up and wraps her hand around my throat, pressing just hard enough for breathing to be constricted. Her whisper is husky, dark. She’s started smoking again; her voice is slightly cracked.
“What would it take for you to hit me, huh? What would it take for you to grow a fucking spine and hit me back? Do I hafta go find myself a fucking stranger who’ll do what you’re too fucking chickenshit to do, Vecchio?”
I see red, hit her hand away and spin us around so she’s against the wall, then shake her a few times, a warning. “There is no fucking bravery in hitting a woman, Kowalski,” I say quietly, too angry to shout, my hand shaking. If she knew how much I- she has to know about Pa- Christ, her eyes are dark, glazed over slightly. It’s frightening how it feels like her stare is stripping away my skin, my flesh, muscles, sinews, bones, all that anger, that stuff she can’t get rid of like she used to, can’t punch things, shout a bit, get into a barfight. She told me it was like being trapped in her own head, her skull feeling too small for all the thoughts she’s having, and fuck, I hope to God she switches back soon, cause something’s gotta give, and when it does-
“I’m not a fucking woman, Vecchio.”
She struggles, and I press in closer, my hands still keeping her shoulders in place. I knock her feet apart, press in closer still until my thigh’s in between hers, bring it up a little. She moans. “Yeah, and how do you explain that, huh?” I take my hands off her shoulders, kiss her, and it’s like kissing Kowalski as a guy, but softer, not as rough despite her teeth, her force. The anger’s no different- she always seems angry when we kiss, when we fuck, when things get so tense we have to purge it all away. The three of us, it’s a balance, Benny evening us out, giving us one of those lever things- a fulcrum. Yeah, he’s what we push against.
The bruises on my face have gone down to a dull ache, cutting through my need, giving it an edge. I put one of my hands on her hip, hold the back of her head with the other and grin into the kiss as her hand snakes around and grasps my ass, same as ever. She’s moving, rolling her hips against my thigh, and I love it when she starts letting go and dancing, when she’s panting, spine arching, hips thrusting, so I move too, dip my fingers just under the waistband of her too-loose guy jeans. She’s going commando, no change really; she’s only wearing a bra because Frannie’s so damn persuasive. I flick open the buttons of her jeans, smoother than I usually do. She’s almost whimpering, hands clenching and unclenching, movements frantic, needy.
Her breasts are pressing into me, nipples hard. She’s so damn hot, like a furnace, and it’s just so hard to keep control, to hold back with her, but I just- I can’t help trying. Can’t help thinking she’ll break if I’m too rough. Stupid, this is Kowalski, but I guess I’m as scarred as Benny, but in a different way. Vegas- it-
She breaks the kiss, panting. “Get a fucking move on, Vecchio, time’s a wasting.”
“Why should it be me? You’re being all ‘I’m not a woman’, so you take the initiative a bit, Kowalski. Make a couple of decisions. Be empowered. Go for it, uh, sister.”
For a moment I think she’s gonna hit me, but instead she pushes me away, walks towards the bedroom, swaying her hips, and those jeans may be loose on her waist, but her ass fills them just right. By the time I get there, her vest is on the floor and she’s lying there, jeans open, white cotton bra a sharp contrast against her golden skin, one leg canted to the side. I can hardly breathe, she’s that damn beautiful. My hands are shaking as I unbutton my shirt, no need for control now, cause Kowalski wants the same thing I do. She’s stroking herself, hand outlined in denim, eyes half closed. She still has those long, strong fingers, that wideness at the knuckles. She dips in to herself, a slow tease, then circles her clit, unable to stop her hips jerking at the pressure when she moves too suddenly. Her toes are curling and relaxing as she moves, head thrown back baring her slender neck. The way her hand’s moving, she’s done it before, and I have to wonder if Benny knows, if he helps, and seeing them together when Kowalski was a guy was hot enough, but god, seeing them like this-
I shake myself, get away from the images of them together, then shrug off my shirt and take off my trousers, letting them fall to the floor next to Kowalski’s vest, then get onto the bed, crawl so my head’s level with her breasts, then lick her collarbone, the saltsweet taste of her the same as ever. I kiss a line down to the edge of her bra, trail my fingertips along her stomach until I feel the muscles fluttering, loving the moans she’s making, loving how she doesn’t know whether to move into me or move away.
She’s taking off her bra, scowling at it like Benny did with the pantyhose, then throwing it into the corner. Then she’s shimmying out of her jeans, one hand gripping the back of my neck, keeping me close, close enough to hear her heartbeat as I lick and nip and suck, seeing how badly I can make her lose it, how long it takes until she’s got enough to push against. Small breasts, with that skin on the underside that’s warm, always warm, a crease I lick along, the taste there different somehow, darker. Stronger saltsweat taste on the skin between her breasts- she must have gotten some exercise, been out running, trying to pound away the antsiness under her feet. Pink nipple, hardened. I circle it with my tongue, mirroring her movements on her clit and her hand tightens on the nape of my neck, and she’s arching, moving into me. I guess she’s not quite used to how sensitive she is yet, because it doesn’t take much before she’s hitting me upside the head and telling me to ‘quit fucking playing, you dickwad’. I lift my head, grin at her then blow on her nipple, cooling the wetness there, laughing softly as she arches again. Works when she’s a guy, too. Some things don’t change.
I move down, lick the pale skin on her slightly rounded belly. Too damn skinny still, however much Benny tries to feed her. Whenever I go over there, stay the night, he’s putting more food on Kowalski’s plate when her- his, as well’s- back’s turned. I tell him he’s turning into my mother. I love Kowalski’s hipbones, that dip in them, the softness she’s gained on her hips so she’s not as fiercely skinny as Kowalski used to be. I love licking the skin over the bone, down into the dip. Used to drive Stella mad, in good and bad ways. Bad ways towards the end, but Kowalski’s just mad in the good way, swearing a fucking blue streak, tugging me back up so we’re level then hooking one of her legs over mine.
She kisses me, the taste of cigarettes, whisky and coffee in her mouth. Her hands are running up and down my back, nails digging in, only my boxers separating us now, the cotton feeling more like a second skin as she rubs against me. She’s murmuring against my lips, words like ‘fuck’, and ‘hurry’. Words like ‘please’, and I sit up, reach across to the nightstand and grab one of the condoms I can leave out now I’m not living with Ma.
My hands are shaking as I fumble with the wrapper, and Kowalski isn’t helping, she’s stroking down my chest, pinching my nipple so the pleasurepain nearly makes me drop the packet, then her nails are raking down my skin, leaving welts to match the bruises she gave me. I take off my boxers, roll the condom on, thanking fuck Kowalski didn’t decide to interfere with that as well, then push her back onto the bed, kiss her again as her legs wrap around me so I’m positioned at her entrance, wanting so damn badly to push, to take, trying to hold back. She has other ideas though, tightening her legs and lifting her pelvis slightly so I’m buried in her, and she’s groaning into my mouth, then it’s a slick smooth slide, her heat around me incredible. So close, so together, skin on skin, feeling like we’re being tied to each other and flung apart at the same time. I support myself on one arm, bring the other hand down to where we’re joined and stroke her clit, barely brushing it, tempted to tease her some more, until Kowalski nips my lower lip in warning, growling in between kisses, “Just fuck me already, Vecchio. If I wanted a fucking tea party, I’d have asked Turnbull.”
I start picking up speed. She’s moving under me, never still, all clean lines and shifting grace, with a beauty that made both of us fall so damn hard for him we could barely see the ground we fell towards. Her mouth’s on the side of my neck, licking and sucking, getting me hotter, getting me so worked up all I can do is move into her, her teeth are scraping my skin, and her legs are clamped around me in a grip I’m sure will bruise, and she’s strong, and hot, and there. I can feel the moment her orgasm starts; her fingers dig into me and she gasps, head hidden in the hollow of my neck, even her calf muscles tighten, and she’s making soft whimpering noises that she muffles against my skin. I keep moving, keep on moving as she arches, coming off the bed, her mouth open in a silent cry, eyes squeezed tight shut. Hung suspended before she comes, that silence, that nothingness feeling like it’s gonna suck me in, then she’s moving again, a short cry like she’s dying then gasping back to life, her walls fluttering against me, a steady pulse that grows weaker as she relaxes back on the bed, kissing me lazily now, kissing me as I come, stroking my back as I come down, shaking.
She’s tired now, tender, her eyes clearer somehow like she’s decided something, won a battle with herself. I pull out, put the condom in the wastepaper basket and switch off the bedside light, then take her into my arms, spooned up against her. Her breathing slows, and I feel myself drifting.
“Hey, Vecchio,” she says, just as I’m about to drop off. I grunt in answer, and she punches me lightly on the arm. “You’d better not be going to sleep.”
I pull her closer and weave my fingers with hers against her belly, then murmur into her hair. “Honestly Kowalski, you are such a fucking girl.”