Page 22 of The Guy Sure Looks Like Plant Food To Me
She was wet before I started, aroused from just getting me off, so when I rub my fingers through her slit they glide right in. Every ounce of authority and hardness disintegrates from her in that moment, a high-pitched whining forming at the base of her throat, growing needily with every thrust of my fingers.
“You’re so wet, Runa.” I’m both in awe and feeling a sense of accomplishment, my own desire for her growing the closer she gets to coming.
She shatters with little effort, gripping and pulling my scalp, grinding against my hand while I fuck her as deep as my fingers can go.
It’s in that exact moment when I look down at her on the bed, eyes all wild and hair disheveled, chest heaving hard with her breath, that I realize how easy it is to keep going. How addictive it is to hear her desperation, how all-consuming it can be to want to draw out her pleasure.
I never want to stop.
11
RUNA
The sun shines through the curtains so brightly, I forget I spent years begging Lessa to buy me blackout curtains so I could sleep past sunrise.You’re supposed to rise with the sun, she’d say, already knee deep in work at the crack of dawn.
“How do you like your eggs?” Meri’s voice is far too cheerful for this early hour, I groan at the realization that I’ve somehow wound up attached to another early riser.
I’ll never get those curtains now.
“Asleep for at least two more hours,” I tell her, throwing a pillow in the open door’s direction.
She giggles, the sound enough to uplift my entire mood and shift my morning around. Meri stands at the bedroom door, a spatula in hand and a tiny little half apron that only covers the skirt of her dress.
I don’t even know where she found the thing; is it hers?
“I wasn’t going to wake you, but Chewie’s been barking up a storm outside, I don’t know how you’ve slept through that.”
The smell of eggs finally hits my nose, the final key to officially ending my sleepy state. My stomach grumbles, the memory of nothing but road trip snacks for the last twenty-four hours hitting me hard as the hunger becomes impossible to ignore.
“I feel like I could eat a bus,” I stretch, rolling off the bed.
It’s when I open the window to let in some fresh air that I hear my plant crying, a desperate, painful sound that pulls at every single one of my heart strings.
“That’s a lot of eggs,” I laugh when I look at the buffet displayed on the table.
“I used the whole dozen, I want to go back into town to get real chickens.” She gives me a big grin.
“I guess that’s one way to create demand,” I laugh, in awe at the already set table waiting for me.
Meri’s breakfast is delicious, whether I’m just starving or she is a fine cook is to be determined at a later date when my judgment isn’t so skewed. Overkill with the sunny side up eggsandthe omelet, but when there’s none left over at the end, I admit I have no place to complain. The girl can have her chickens. The pancakes are fluffy and buttery, crispy at the edges and just the right height. Even the juice tastes fresher than normal, which can’t possibly be her doing because she can’t control the way the oranges grow.
No—I think this is just how it feels when you’re with the right person.
After breakfast we head over to the cauldron, the extra time he spent cooking definitely aiding in the meat falling off the bones. It takes some time, but together we’re able to clean all the bones and get them baked and dried enough to crush into powder.
We spend the rest of the afternoon digging a hole for Chewie, our sweet girl cooing gleefully at being able to stretch her roots out and grow without restraint. The pot of Williams’ soup goop gets dumped into the hole, nourishing the soil around it before we cover up her roots.
“She looks so happy!” Meri notices immediately, giving Chewbacca a scratch under her trap.
Most of it turned black overnight, the fleshy parts shriveling and wrinkling. If it wasn’t for Meri I’d be losing it, riddled with anxiety and sick to death from worry about my plant. She’s here though, gripping my hand tight and telling me it’s going to be okay.
I believe her.
Once Chewie is settled in the soil, she pulls the bin of freshly baked bones, settling on a femur and tossing it in the blender with a few cups of water.
The greyish liquid is unappealing, but Chewbacca is thrilled the minute it’s poured onto the soil.
The trap wiggles down onto the ground like it’s trying to nuzzle into the leaves, like a cat circling its bed for the perfect place to loaf.
