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And I found a Fuji water bottle on the ground yesterday when I was pretending to come home from work, and I brought it home, cleaned it, and I’m carrying it now so it looks like I buy expensive water. Kelsey: Eeeww. Are you drinking from it? Lottie: God, no. I’m not ready to contract syphilis. It’s just a prop.
“Say it right now that you don’t want this and I’ll go back to eating my salad. If not, I’m going to eat you.” Oh. Dear. God.
Instead, he says, “From your mouth. I want to hear you say you want me between your legs.” I wet my lips, my heart racing a mile a minute. “I want you, Huxley, between my legs. Your tongue on my clit. I want to come on your mouth.”
“Don’t.” He stops his fingers. “If you play with yourself at night, I want to fucking hear it. I want to hear your moans. I want to know that you’re satisfied.”
God, he’s so hot, so tempting. I want his dick in my mouth.
“Did I or did I not have my mouth all over your cunt last night?” He twists my nipple and I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath stolen from me momentarily.
“Bend you over the side of this pool, spread your ass, and eat you out.” Oh. Jesus.
He pauses and says, “When I asked you what you’d want if it was a perfect world, you said to work with your sister, move out of your mom’s house, stick it to Angela, erase your student loans, and to have a place where you can lie in the rain without judgment.”
Ellie laughs. “Oh, okay. I was ready to strip down for you.” That was obvious. And entirely unnecessary.
In front of me is a cream-colored, vintage rock band T-shirt with Fleetwood Mac on the front, the image from their Rumours album.
“Care to go to a Fleetwood Mac concert with me?”
“Wait. This concert is in Portland.” Hope falls as I realize the mistake. He tilts up my chin and says, “I know. The jet is ready to take us once you get dressed.”
