Day 168
Adam
It’s funny how dreams have a way of materializing.
When Eve first asked me about my dreams, I could tell she thought that they were simple. Basic. Realistic, if I had to put a label on them myself. And now they’re becoming real, and in a way that’s so much better than I could have ever imagined.
Our first few days in our chosen house are exactly that. A dream.
We work tirelessly to tidy it, empty it, clean it.
We start every morning with the sunrise—I still have to be the one to wake her, but it buys me those precious few seconds to watch her as she sleeps.
She’s so serene and peaceful without any projects to manage or tasks to delegate, that each morning, I consider not waking her.
I always do, of course, because I’m a greedy asshole and I can’t get enough of that smile when her sleepy eyes first open and catch sight of me.
And then we work. Until the sun has long set, we comb through the house room by room, floor by floor.
The basement is mostly empty, which is a relief, and gives us plenty of room for storage; the closets host clothes that are, surprisingly, mostly in our sizes.
It didn’t look like there were kids living in the house, and that only means there are more rooms to utilize for whatever need she might come up with later.
It’s the kitchen that truly makes her excited, though, and I know it’s because she’ll be spending a lot of time here.
She already declared she’ll be helping me in the fields as much as she can, and she’s anything if not stubborn, so I predict having to be the one who stops her from working her fingers to the bone.
No matter how hard we work out there, though, we’ll always have to feed ourselves, too.
Despite her grumble about gender roles, she beams when she scours the now-clean kitchen.
Cooking for us isn’t a motherly, doting act—it’s about survival. And my girl is a survivor.
“I’m so excited for us to have actual meals,” she sighs after we unpack all the goods we picked up in the city.
We drove further out, thinking it was best to empty the farthest supermarkets first, and leave the nearby ones stocked in case of emergencies.
Knowing her, though, the basement might turn into a stock room for every non-perishable item we could ever dream of.
“Same. We can start with some fruit tonight, though,” I suggest. “There are some apple trees at the end of the ranch. We can pick some later.”
“You can go ahead right now and I’ll finish up here.” She gestures at the bags. “Don’t take too long. We’re due for a little break.” Her grin tells me exactly what she means by that.
Every fruit under the sun is forgotten as I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder, delighting in her wild laugh as I carry her up the stairs, all the way to the bed.
Our bed.
Fuck, it still feels like a lottery win to be able to flatten her on it beneath me. To know that I’ll get to share it with her for the rest of my days.
We’ve been exhausting ourselves every day, but I haven’t forgotten my promise to claim her all around the house as a way to truly make it our own.
It’s not urgency that guides me, this time, unlike those other, needy entanglements of ours.
I kiss her reverently as opposed to devouring her; I take my time undressing her, every item falling softly on the floor.
I drink in the sight of her naked body, memorizing it, hoping to learn every dip and curve not only with my eyes but with my hands and mouth, too.
“Keep looking at me like that, and a girl might start getting all sorts of ideas,” Eve taunts, half confident, half embarrassed, at the shameless perusal of my gaze on her skin.
“Not a girl,” I automatically reply as I rid myself of my clothes, too, wanting nothing separating us when I touch her this time. “My girl.”
Her eyes soften as she looks up at me, the stark blues glistening.
I grew up scared, never at ease in my own house, wincing inside my own skin.
When I was taken away from there, the unease, the restlessness, only grew stronger and stronger with each foster home, each shuffle and move and neglect by the system.
By the time I was old enough to take care of myself, I no longer knew what being home meant. What it felt like.
Now, when I bury myself to the hilt inside her, in our bed, I know what it feels like again. Like an old melody you finally remember the words for.
I am home.
I fuck her deep and slow, taking my time, letting us both feel it.
Her hands roam all over me as if she can’t bear the thought of not touching as much of me as possible.
Her whimpers are soft, dazed, like she’s floating right on the edge, and I keep our eyes locked the entire time, not letting her fall from it without me.
“That’s it, my love,” I whisper when she finally severs the eye contact because hers start rolling back. “Yes, there you go. You’re so beautiful when you come all over me like that.”
“Adam,” she whimpers as she shatters, and I’m right there to catch her, fucking her through it the way I know she likes, only slowing down when she starts squirming.
“You okay?” My lips ghost hers.
“I love you.”
My head rears back, my heart pounding, and I halt my motions, still nestled deep inside her. Not because I fear it might not be true. Because for the life of me, I don’t know what good I did to deserve this.
She must see some awe on my face, because she’s not alarmed by my muteness. “You already knew that,” she speaks gently, despite the high pitch of her voice, her blissed-out expression.
“Maybe I did,” I finally reply, stunned. I think she’s right. For a while now, it’s been obvious what is in store for us, but I haven’t dared to hope.
Now I do. I have a home and hope and a woman who is all of those things and more, right here beneath me, my entire world shrinking to her presence in my arms.
“Fuck, I love you too,” I let out and pull back, just to push into her again, watching as both my words and my cock overwhelm her expression. “But you also already know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whimpers and tightens her arms around me. “I do.”
It’s almost like a vow, echoing between us, and the emotions flood me so violently that I have to fuck them into her, picking up speed, desperate to convey them with more than words.
She cries out to me, melting with need and want as I give her my all, overcome with the necessity of making her understand just how hard she’s taken over my world, my heart, my soul. Just how much she means to me.
She’s everything. Everything.
“Even if the world was inhabited again,” I groan. “Even if there were thousands of other girls here right now”—an especially hard thrust—“I’d still find you and choose you.”
“Promise me,” she moans and arches into me, clamping tight around my length, and I need to feel her come again, shattering beneath me.
“You’re mine.” My growl is barely intelligible in her ear. “You come for me. You bleed for me.”
“Adam—fuck—” Her whimpers are faster now, higher pitched. “Oh, god, don’t stop—”
I know what she needs. She’s still my Crazy Girl, after all.
My teeth sink into her skin, biting harder and harder until I finish the trail up to her lips, our mouths clashing together—hard, painful, messy, insane in a way only she can make me. I don’t stop until the coppery taste of blood blossoms on my tongue.
“Harder,” she begs when I tear back, looking at me pleadingly and moaning when her gaze falls on my mouth. “Oh, fuck.”
I know her like the back of my hand; she likes seeing her blood all over my mouth.
I bite her collarbone, smearing crimson all over her, making a mess.
In return, she scratches bloody trails down my back, moaning louder and louder, a stream of mangled words leaving her mouth, sounding suspiciously like, “Bite me, harder, right there—oh god, don’t stop, Adam, yours, yes, gonna come fuck fuck fuck—”
I follow her right over the edge, not letting her go, not slowing down until we’re both breathless and spent and she lets out a blissful sigh beneath me.
And then I kiss her. Again, and again, and again. It’s equal parts soft with our love and filthy with our hunger for each other, and that serenity-filled chaos is exactly who we are.
We might have eternity to spend together, but even that might not be enough.