The Edge Of Us

Dakota and Zazie had been at it for years, the kind of love story that wears a groove in the mattress. Every night Dakota wants the same thing: her girl spread out under someone else, then she wants the pictures. Zazie keeps agreeing because she is terrified of the quiet that comes after “no.” She smiles, she poses, she texts the shots, all while the small, stubborn knot in her stomach tightens another notch. Tonight the knot wins. Zazie pushes Dakota onto the bed, blonde hair spilling across both of them, and sits right on her face. Dakota moans, but Zazie does not slow down. She rocks forward, backward, grinding until Dakota’s tongue is slick and frantic. When Zazie finally lifts off, she spins around, plants her knees on either side of Dakota’s head, and dips into a 69 that leaves them both gasping. Dakota’s fingers slide in without asking; Zazie rocks back against them, wet sounds filling the room. The phone stays face-down on the nightstand—ignored for once. They roll. Dakota is on top now, hips working in slow, deliberate circles while their thighs slide together, every movement slicker than the last. Zazie arches, grabs Dakota’s ass, pulls her closer, harder, until the bed creaks in protest and the air smells like sweat and perfume. Dakota comes first, a short, surprised laugh catching in her throat; Zazie follows right after, nails digging crescents into soft skin. When it’s over, the room is quiet except for their breathing. The phone is still there, screen dark. Zazie stares at it, then at Dakota, and for the first time in a long time the knot feels a little looser. She wonders if they might just be okay without the photos. Dakota wonders the same thing, and neither of them says a word.