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I let my eyelids flutter closed, embracing my newest kink: being read to.
can’t even blame her
I’m also thinking a lot about how our bodies work.
“Maybe I can tutor you sometime,” he offers. “You know, in exchange.”
OH YEAH LETS GO
The heat of his assessing stare makes me squirm, but then the seam of my denim shorts rubs the exact right spot and I’m reminded that I liked his little poetry reading a little bit too much.
“You look good, Kendall.”
Yeah, it’s good to see you too. Yeah, I still think about you too. Yeah, I’ll let you bend me over this armchair and—
SHE IS SO SO DOWN BAD HELLO
If Vincent thinks my book sounds like a waste of time, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t laugh at me. He doesn’t shame me.
I wonder if he’s replayed our conversation in his head the way I have.
Vincent arches an eyebrow. “Yeah?” I nod and take a sip. He smiles wickedly. “And how do I measure up?”
WOAH WOAH WOAH
“Measure up how?” I ask. It feels like a dangerous question, so I pad it with: “Last time I checked, you don’t own any land in England.” “But I’m a good kisser.” My heart hiccups. “Well, that’s presumptuous of you—”
At least give him a handie under the table.
DO NOT?
I could have my hand tucked under his shirt and pressed to the soft skin just above his waistband. At least, I imagine that it’s soft. My brain is pretty good at summoning the rest of the scene: the little trail of hair below his belly button tickling the pads of my fingers. The tug of elastic as I slip my hand into his shorts. Hot skin hardening in my palm while Vincent’s dark eyes pin me to my seat and say, wordlessly, all the things I want to hear.
but reading about sex feels different from staring into a boy’s eyes and knowing you want him inside you.
what
I gesture vaguely at the way he’s lounging in the chair across from me, arms wide and legs sprawled so they cage mine.
manspreading…
“You know why I’m here, Kendall.”
Reading is so much fun, but I’m tired of feeling like all the best parts of my life have been lived inside my own head.
I’m on my fourth or fifth rewatch of the video when I realize I only have one hand on the phone. The other, which seems to have developed a mind of its own, is straying dangerously close to the waistband of my underwear.
WHAT RHE FUCK
“I told you, I’m not doing body shots.”
“You came,” he rasps. It’s too easy of a double entendre. A cheap shot, really.
well we all thought it
“I can teach you, Holiday. Just ask.”
OKAY
Do it for the plot.
BYE GET OUT
“What do you want?” he asks. You.
He was able to pick me up with only one good arm. I wonder what he could do with two.
I’d like you to handle me—
BYEEEEE she’s literally the thoughts in my head
“So, you’re the team daddy,” I say, then immediately realize my mistake. “Team dad, I mean.”
WHATTTTTTTTTTT
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that first part?”
oh of course he’s into that
“You’re a mess, Holiday. A mess. I’ve never seen you so off your game.”
“Can I close this?”
OOOOOOOOOH THEYRE GONNA GET IT
He’s reading over my shoulder—just like the night we met.
“Kendall,” Vincent murmurs. It sounds like a plea.
“No, I mean—the first one or the second one?”
THERE WAS TWO?
“Then for the sake of being direct,” he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Kendall. And I’ve read every goddamned poem Elizabeth Barrett Browning ever wrote. In three weeks. For fun.”
I WANT HIM
“What have you done to me?”
“I watched your highlight reel on YouTube,”
no let’s not mention this please
“I’m laughing because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to explode. I’ve never gotten this hard this fast.”
EXCUSE ME
He’s actually hard. Vincent is erect, pressed right where he’d slip inside me, and the heat of him seeps straight through both of our jeans and makes me immediately and humiliatingly wet.
🧍🏻♂️
“You’re the perfect size for me,” Vincent says. His eyes dip down, following the neckline of my bodysuit, and then meet mine again. He bites back a smile. “And your tits look phenomenal.”
WIAHHHHH
“Vincent.” I’m begging. Feminism is dead. I killed her, and I don’t care.
HLEPOP THAT WAS SO FUNNY WAIT THATS SO ME
I like the way he handles me. The way he positions me just how he likes. There’s something thrilling about his strength and the unpredictability of his desire. It’s not like having a dirty daydream before bed and having to come up with the whole plot yourself. I’m not alone. He’s here. He’s real. He’s participating.
“All better?” he rasps. “All better,” I confirm. “Sorry I made a mess.” Vincent groans low in his chest. “Say that again.” “What? Sorry?” Realization hits me. “Or I made a mess?” He runs his tongue over the ridge of his teeth. It makes me dizzy. “You”—I press an accusatory finger to his chest—“are a dirty boy.”
THIS IS SUCH A CRAZY INTERACTION RIGHT HERE
“If you thought that was impressive, imagine what I can do with two hands.”
WE ALL THOUGHT IT
“Show me,” I demand. “Show you what?” “Do you really need me to say
“Come on, Holiday,” he murmurs. “Use your words.” This . . . does something to me. “Stop teasing,” I say breathlessly, “and fucking touch me.”
“One or two?”
OH MY GOD?
I have no clue where he’s going with this, but I follow the order. Vincent lifts his hand and presses his palm against mine, lining our fingers up. His hand is enormous, of course. The man can palm a basketball. But it’s not until he wiggles his index finger, drawing attention to the fact that his is an inch longer and nearly twice as wide as mine, that I realize what he’s on about. Oh. Oh.
GUYS THIS IS CRAZY OH MY GOD BUT I WANT HIM
“I’m asking what you can handle, Holiday,” he says. “One finger, or two.” “Two,” I blurt. “I can do two.”
I NEED HIM SO BAD WAIT
“Good. So, I’m going to put two fingers inside you,” Vincent says as he flips over his hand gently, so I’m still holding it in mine, “and then I’m going to curl them up, like this, and you’re going to come on my hand.”
ARE WE SURE HES NOT A READER
He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’d better not stop.
But this one male’s gaze has single-handedly fucked me up.
“I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. You’re in charge here.”
#needthat
