“Save that for later. I want you in kissing distance,” Jake said. “Lie down on your back.”
There would be a later. He believed it. He felt too good not to believe it. And what did later matter, when there was now to contend with? As requested, Solomon lay down on his back while Jake moved—slowly and gingerly, very aware of the toy—over him. His arousal hung between his legs, thick and heavy, and Solomon couldn’t wait for Jake to bear down on him, into him, until he could lose himself in feeling Jake all over, inside and out.
“God, when you look at me like that—” Jake said and then groaned as he entered in one long thrust. “Fuck.”
The fullness of it burned through him, pushing away all other thoughts. Jake kissed him hard. Sol wanted this—the long, hot slide of it, the in and out of it—and nothing else, forever. He wanted Jake to feel it, too.
Concentrating through the onslaught of sensation, he moved the toy. He was cautious with his first few strokes, delicate, and then Jake grunted and said, “Would you please fucking fuck me?” and Sol laughed and did as he was asked.
It was easy to fall into the same rhythm. They moved together, and after a while, it felt so right Solomon no longer had to think about it, like they’d fallen into each other’s orbit and this was the natural state of things. Here, there was symmetry. The same sensation passed between them, a closeness that intensified with every shift and stroke and kiss. They accelerated together, Jake speeding up and Solomon matching him. Jake reached between them and wrapped his hand around Solomon’s dick, which was slick and dripping, and brought him off with a couple of rough caresses.
Solomon arched into Jake’s touch and shuddered through his orgasm, a burst of sensation as sudden and all-consuming as lift-off, and he felt Jake come inside him in a few long pulses.
“Fuck,” Jake said, then kissed Solomon’s cheek, slid his cock out, and collapsed on top of him. “That was so good,” he said, his words muffled by the pillow.
“Agreed,” Solomon said. He wrapped his arms around Jake, who was pressing him into the mattress, and kissed the side of his head. “You’re getting good at that.”
“Oh, I’m getting good at it?”
“Mm,” Solomon said. “I think you need practice. A lot more practice.”
“Uh huh,” Jake said. He removed the toy, set it aside, then rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Then again, I do have a lot of free time now that my workplace has been obliterated from existence.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Solomon said. “I didn’t mean to overturn your entire life.”
“Well, I’m not sorry about it,” Jake said. “There are other jobs in the world, but there’s no other you.”
“Actually—”
“Yeah, yeah, multiverse, I know,” Jake said. “I don’t want a knockoff alternate-universe version. I want the original.”
“I want you, too,” Solomon said. “You know that, right? I want you to stay. To live here, if you’re willing, or I’ll move to be with you, or whatever you want. I want to make it work. Even if the rest of your living space is as chaotic as your workshop. Even if you sometimes drop your wet towel on the bedroom floor, which is horrifying beyond comprehension.”
“I’ll stop the towel thing,” Jake promised. “And if we stay here, which I’d be happy to do, I’ll get a separate workshop to protect your delicate sensibilities. We’ll figure it out.”
“You’re sure you want to live out here in the woods with me? You really think this can work?”
“Yeah, I do,” Jake said. “Somebody really smart once told me that in an infinite multiverse, even a one-in-a-trillion chance is a sure thing. That’s us.”
Thank you so much for reading.
* * *
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Acknowledgments
I am grateful to Ryan Boyd and Tasha L. Harrison for their editorial insights. Their suggestions made this book so, so much better.
I would also like to thank Valentine Wheeler and K. R. Collins for their early reading and cheerleading. Thank you to the members of the Liscord, whose friendship and conversation helped me get through the loneliest parts of the pandemic.
These books would not be possible without my live-in Science Consultant, for whom no question—be it about electrical wiring, space flight, or telekinesis—is too trivial or too bizarre to be considered carefully. He is indispensable to me both as a physical chemist and as a human being. His reading of an early draft left me with a dozen margin comments that just said “GRAVITY?” I did my best to address them, but any remaining errors or nonsense in this book are my own.
Also by Felicia Davin
The Nowhere
Edge of Nowhere
Out of Nowhere
The Gardener’s Hand
Thornfruit
Nightvine
Shadebloom
About the Author
Felicia Davin (she/they) is the author of the queer fantasy trilogy The Gardener’s Hand and the sci-fi romance Nowhere series. Her novel Edge of Nowhere was a finalist for Best Bisexual Romance in the 2018 Bisexual Book Awards. Her short fiction has been featured in Lightspeed, Nature, and Heiresses of Russ 2016: The Year’s Best Lesbian Speculative Fiction.
She lives in Massachusetts with her partner and their cat. When not writing and reading fiction, she teaches and translates French. She loves linguistics, singing, and baking. She is bisexual, but not ambidextrous.
She writes a weekly email newsletter about words and books called Word Suitcase, which is available at feliciadavin.com. You can also find her on Twitter @FeliciaDavin.
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