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He didn’t love me either. I would guesstimate his feelings toward me were somewhere on the spectrum between look at this adorable little moron and shit, I forgot she existed.
Fine. I didn’t suffer from the questionable fashion sense. I owned it. Sue me for celebrating my individuality.
1) being six foot four inches of lithe, corded muscles, having floppy onyx hair, and a jawline stronger than my lifetime of New Year’s resolutions combined, and 2) having the entire bad-boy vibe down to a T—including a sports car, athletic genes, witty one-liners, a dimpled smirk, and unlaced combat boots with tight-fitting jeans stacked upon them.
To sum it up, he was a morally gray hunk who was a total red flag—my age group’s favorite color scheme.
His ballistic missile–sized erection pressed against the buttons of my yellow plaid skirt, threatening to snap them and send them past the Milky Way.
Plus…Dylan was so used to seeing Row ruining her friends like it was an Olympic sport, what was adding one more into the mix?
So I made complimentary moaning sounds I’d learned from the Pornhub University of Fake Orgasms.
my heartbeat thrashing against my eyelids like an angry woodpecker.
The briny scent floated into my nostrils, and goose bumps coated my arms.
Actually, my BFF was more the type to steal my clothes and go on a killing spree.
Hard to my soft. Tall to my short. Tan to my pale.
making it tingly and sensitive and desperate for more, felt like some kind of dark magic.
What a terribly un-asshole-y thing to say. Then again,
I definitely hadn’t planned on attacking his mouth with mine like a rabid raccoon when we’d both stared at the yolky sun crawling up the sky.
“No!” I wrenched him closer and pressed my lips to his, doubling down on that rabid-wildlife conduct.
“Sure I can.” His mouth moved over mine again, his voice velvet and smoke. “Consent is a real thing. Google it.”
furiously, it was a medical miracle my head didn’t explode.
“I want to eat you out too.” Wait, what? That didn’t sound right. Having social anxiety and literally zero filters when I was nervous sucked.
“Not, in, like, a cannibalistic way—”
Our teeth brushed together, and a wave of pleasure rolled along my spine.
I was touching him, really touching the guy who literally made women melt into a pool of hormones just by glancing at him.
He ripped his mouth from mine, eyeballing me hard. We stared at each other, panting. I had no idea
I kept my hand on his penis and rubbed a little, like I did when my cat, Semu...
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“Fuck, Dot. Your goddamn existence turns me on. Your mere breathing makes my balls tingle.” Whoa. Men
Did women know about this? We could’ve collectively prevented wars. Gone on reckless shopping sprees at Target.
smelled delicious. Of cedar, worn leather, and spices. Of an entire foreign land full of Michelin-starred restaurants, romantic chansons, glass chandeliers, and thick, dusty French books. And yet, strangely, also…like home.
His fingers were buried in my hair as he ravaged me with his expert mouth.
He tore his mouth from mine, his hooded, golden eyes of a ravening tiger studying me. “From one to ten, how sure are you? Ten is without-a-doubt confident, and one is forget-what-I-said-and-take-me-home.”
A nervous tic I’d developed when I was four and never gotten rid of. Contrary to general belief, this didn’t fall into Tourette’s category. It was a chronic tic disorder.
haircut? A guy who doesn’t even care about me and would make me sit in his dorm room and listen to his experimental techno music?”
His thick eyebrows nose-dived.
“Trust issues, and I know I’d never regret you. You’re the only guy I know who is fuckable and not a fuckup. Make sense?”
“I’m a major fuckup.” He ran his fingers over my side bangs, tucking the hair behind my ear. “But too fucking selfish not to fuck you. It’s going to hurt, you know.” He gave me a cool once-over. “The first time, anyway. It’ll get better the more times—”
“I’m not saying that to make you feel better. I’m saying that because fucking you is probably all I’ll want to do once we start.”
“I’m ready, Row. Let’s do this.” I shoved my tongue into his mouth before he could use it to change his mind.
knew his way around a woman’s body. Second, because his Adonis face was attached to some history, context, and nostalgia.
Whenever I had extreme, nervous verbal diarrhea in front of him,
his way down my throat, proceeding south, his head disappearing between my thighs.
“Just…do it.” Great, now I sounded like a Nike commercial. “And hurry up.”
sealing my pained moan with an apologetic kiss. Tears seared my eyes, and I held my breath at the sharp sting.
I was clawing at his shoulders, staring at the sun slithering behind his dark, messy hair as he drove into me, my white Mary Janes thumping against his car hood every time he pressed home.
Didn’t he know that on some level, all women lost their virginity alone?
Jesus, Dot, I could live inside this tight pussy if you’d let me, and You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking universe, no close seconds, and Watching my dick inside you is more breathtaking than Paris at night.
Row seemed to carry on forever. I was planning my 401(k) while
stabbing my poor hymen with what appeared to be his eleven-inch dick.
agony. I was worried my internal organs had gotten tangled around his penis. What if he pulled out and took my intestines with him? That thing between his legs was a health hazard.
“Somebody better hold my earrings.” Dylan’s tenor was like a pair of scissors cutting my heart into a Judas-shaped paper.
His condomed penis materialized from my body one inch at a time, wet and entirely too big to be nestled inside anything that wasn’t a lifeboat.
Row tossed his leather jacket over my torso, and that was when I remembered he’d removed my shirt and bra sometime during our sexcapade.
Also—why wasn’t I moving? Talking? Breathing? Oh. That’s right. Because my go-to during fight-or-flight situations was the third option—freeze. I’d simply turn to stone and play dead.
