A Bird in the Oven - Kata Cuic Page 0,32

off of me. Immediately, my body feels hollow and empty without his presence. My clit continues to throb long after my orgasm has faded. Another new experience, courtesy of Ollie.

His eyes are barely open as he stares at me. His body is a limp heap beside mine. “I do not know if I can perform any more today. The way I feel currently, I sincerely doubt it.”

I bite my lip and swallow the pain of realizing he’s been performing for me, the same as he would for any other woman. “You performed very well. I would give you an A plus.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up, but his eyes close and don’t reopen. “I am happy that you are happy. We are happy together again. Can we sleep together, too?”

I reach for one of his sticky hands with my own. “Yes, Ollie. We can sleep together.”

We just can’t be honest together.

12

Oliver

I have broken her. I have committed murder through a lewd sex act. At the very least, I have rendered her comatose. Typically, the person I would call in a dire situation such as this would be Liv. Unfortunately, Liv is the person I have broken.

She sleeps through me washing her sticky hands. She does not even rouse when I clean her extremely sticky genitalia. Kissing her lips provokes no response. The scent of food and drink on the nightstand does not cause her eyes to open.

I am beside myself with worry. The feeling is so great, I am genuinely considering calling my mother for aid. To be clear, my mother is not someone I want witnessing the sight of naked Liv in my bed. To be clearer, I want precisely no one to ever witness naked Liv again.

My anxiety spins greater and greater out of control until my phone sounds an alert on my nightstand. I am very far off schedule.

Hoping for a miracle—and a clearer frame of mind with which to solve this latest problem—I begin my morning routine.

I am finally to the point of tipping the pill bottle into my hand when Liv appears in the kitchen. Thankfully, she is clothed in yet another of my shirts. Her eyes are bleary, her movements sluggish, and her hair is a wild mess of tangles jutting out in odd directions.

She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I abandon my task and cross the room to throw my arms around her. “You’re alive!”

She pulls back to stare at me with an obvious look of confusion. Her gaze bounces to where I have left too much evidence on the counter. “Oh.” Her eyes close again on a sigh. “My apologies. I miscalculated. I should not have compelled you to deviate from your schedule.”

Language might not be my strongest area of understanding, but I am able to recognize these are not typical word choices for Liv. Her tone sounds robotic rather than the usually happy lilt I associate with her speech.

“You must be in severe pain.” I am quite sore, and I was not the one invaded in multiple areas, multiple times. If the invader is uncomfortable, the invaded must be even more tender. “Let me provide you with comfort. Did you eat the food I brought you? I will get you some pain medication.”

“No, thank you,” she murmurs, slipping out of my arms to walk past me toward the coffee maker that is only present on my countertop because Liv loves coffee. I brought her coffee maker over from her condo.

My hands are beginning to tremble from mounting anxiety as I watch her pour herself a cup of coffee in silence. I left coffee on the nightstand for her, but she clearly does not want to imbibe my offering. She is obviously angry with me. Perhaps I misjudged her probing questions, taking them for an admission of interest rather than simple curiosity. Though she reached orgasm, she must not approve of the ways in which I used her body for my own sensory pleasure.

“We will not engage in sexual relations again,” I promise her. “I have read about a relatively new product on the market that enables at-home insemination. I will purchase the device and be able to maintain my pledge to be your donor without the necessity of causing pain to your body.”

She raises her eyebrows over the rim of her mug. “Like a turkey baster?”

I also read that some desperate women resorted to the use of exactly that kitchen instrument. “The mechanics are similar, yes. It