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She’s always laughing, but she laughs the loudest when they make love. It always hits him hard in the heart when she laughs like that, the way she pitches up the volume as she writhers beneath him, curling her toes in the confines of the striped stockings she wears even to bed, and digs her nubby nails into his doughy sides. He can’t help but love a girl who is all smiles, especially this girl. She’s the last girl on the planet, save for the Queen, and he still can’t believe she’s his; his girlfriend, his Sugar, rocking her hips beneath him as they screw, her now unpainted lips curled into a smile around perfectly white teeth.
He likes her lips best that way. Unpainted. Free of the bright red stains she usually slicks them with, making her delicate features seem a bit more terrifying and a little less sweet. He never tells her that, though, because he knows she loves her paints, and he wouldn’t want her to give them up just to make him happy. That, and having her do away with them for good would make moments like this a trifle less special, because then he might forget. He might forget to take in the sight of her and cement it into his memory, the natural rose shade of her lips, the tiny sprinkling of freckles across her nose, now unhidden and free of layers of white powder, and the ice blue eyes that look up at him, sparkling with her feral, mischievous beauty.
She shudders beneath him, a cry like the mewling of a kitten escaping those lips that he loves, and his release follows close behind, brought on by the stiffening of her body around his shaft. Once spent, she rolls over and she curls up against him.
They kiss, her lips tasting of sweet gloss and sweat. He catches a whiff of cotton candy when she playfully presses the tip of his nose with a dainty finger. She grins and giggles when he goes cross-eyed trying to look at her fingertip.
He feels warmly foolish, and the only thing he can do in response is run his fingers through her disheveled, blond hair and pull her closer. She takes a few strands of his own black mop in her grasp, twists the dark curls between her finger and thumb, then kisses him again before settling tightly against him.
Moments pass. Her breathing evens, eyelids flutter closed. At length, she is asleep.
Zacharie reaches over slowly, so to not disturb his slumbering lover, and turns off the lamp at their bedside.
He is content, and she is safe. Life is good this way.