Page 47 of The F*ck-It List

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” It’s barely more than a whisper against my skin and I shiver, the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end.

The hand on my leg moves slowly, cautiously, up until he’s curled around my hip. I pull back slightly to look down into his molten eyes as his other hand mirrors the first, gripping both my hips. Keeping his gaze intent on mine, a silent question between us, he guides my hips down in a slow, hard grind against his lap. My breath stutters out of me, my eyes falling closed as my delicate panties and the thinfabric of my leggings do absolutely nothing to block the roughness and firmness of his shorts zipper as I slide the length of my slit over him.

“August,” I breath, eyes opening again. Shit, did he even mean to do that? Or am I a creep trying to use him while he’s just waiting for me to let him up.

One look at his face confirms he doesn’t want me anywhere but where I am. Lust and heat swirl in his eyes as they bounce between my eyes and my mouth. I wonder if I should lean down and press my lips to his when he moves me again, the same sensually slow grind that ignites my nerves and has moisture pooling between my spread legs. If we stay like this much longer, he’s going to have a wet patch on his groin, and the thought pulls a moan from my throat.

His eyes widen, lips parting, then he’s moving me faster, continuously, building a rhythm that has my clit hitting a crease on his shorts in just the right way. Oh god, I’m going to get off. I can feel his hardening length trapped against his leg and I move myself back a little so I’m rubbing myself over his dick.

“Fuck,” he hisses out, his head falling back and his fingers digging into my sides so hard, I think I might bruise. That thought sends another flood of arousal to my desperate pussy. He’s no longer guiding my movements, my hips are gyrating of their own accord, humping his leg because I couldn’t possibly stop if I tried. I’m too close, too lost to the pleasure building in my centre, ready to burst.

“August, I’m going to…” I whimper.

He lifts his head, opening his eyes to look at me before wrapping his arms around me fully and burying his head in my cleavage. I wore myGood Girls Readt-shirt this morning because I thought it went withthe bookish theme of my café. But now, I’m grateful as it’s a low v-cut and my hot neighbour’s lips are brushing over the swell of my breasts, his tongue coming out to swipe between them.

“Oh god,” I cry out as my orgasm hits, a shudder of pleasure racking over my body.

“Fuck, sunshine,” he groans beneath me, his hold on me going slack and his breathing rough and moist against my skin.

Holy shit, did he just…? I pull back again to look at him but instead of sated comfort, he looks…panicked. I push away from him more, giving him space to breathe. What did I do wrong? He clears his throat and gently helps me off of him until I’m sat back on the couch next to him. Yep, there’s a large dark mark on his leg. I don’t think that’s just from me.

August stands, clearing his throat. “I, uh…I should go,” he says, then makes a sharp whistle that has Darcy standing to attention, much to Heathcliff’s chagrin.

“Oh.” He’s leaving?

Yep. He’s out the door, it clunking closed behind him, and I’m left reeling on my couch with damp panties and stubble rash on my chest, feeling like I’ve fucked everything up but unsure why.

fifteen

No. 19: Join a team

August

Yeah, I’m an arsehole. I get that. I’ve been the one to tell people on numerous occasions, I’m not trying to pretend I’m anything else. But still, I do feel guilty, which might explain why my leg is bouncing at roughly one hundred times a second.

“Jesus,” Eli gripes, grabbing my thigh and squeezing almost painfully to stop the incessant movement. “What is wrong with you?”

We’re sat on his sofa, a rugby match on the TV. It’s Wednesday and the pub is closed, and I purposefully kept the day free so we could hang out because it’s been too long, and because I have much to talk about.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I snap. Then, when he gives me a flat, disbelieving look, I scrunch my face up in guilt. “Something happened,” I mumble.

“With Bea,” he says as a fact rather than a question.

“What makes you think it’s anything to do with Bea?” I ask defensively.

“Because you’ve been falling over yourself to do nice things for her or spend time with her. Not to mention you jumped Ross Purcell for her honour, and she’s delightful and pretty and for some inexplicable reason, she seems to like you. It would make sense if you were going to be an idiot, it would have something to do with her.”

Well, that is all very true, but my sense of pride has taken a hit, so my defensive shields are up, and I have a rebuttal on the tip of my tongue when he carries on.

“Don’t bother telling me you didn’t do something stupid; you’ve been jittery since you got here and the only thing I’ve ever known to make you jitter is having to admit you’ve made a mistake. So, just fess up so we can talk it out, then we can turn on the PlayStation because this game is fucking shoddy.” He takes a sip from his can of Diet Coke, mutes the TV, and turns to face me on the couch, looking at me expectantly.

Yeah, Eli is the best person I know, which is why it’s so fucking hard disappointing him. And he’s going to be disappointed. “We kind of got off together,” I say quietly.

Eli grins, excitement and happiness for me lighting up his green eyes, and it just makes me feel worse. Slapping the back of his hand on my chest, he shakes my shoulder. “Yes, August! This is great. How did you leave things with her?”

“I should go,” I mumble, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands.

He grabs my wrist to pull me back to him, a frown replacing his earlier excitement. “No, don’t go. Talk to me, what’s going on?”