Page 62 of The F*ck-It List

August eats me out like I’m his last meal, savouring every taste and sucking at every inch of flesh available to him. Kissing at my clit and fucking his tongue into my entrance all while I’m sucking and chokingon him, tears streaming from my eyes and my hands working over his base. I’m wet and throbbing, his mouth working over me to build up the pleasure brick by brick in my core. I’m wound tight, ready to let go when I feel him thicken even more between my lips. I don’t have a problem swallowing, but with the way he’s buried so tightly in my throat, I know I’ll cough and gag at a sudden flood of cum, so I tap his thigh and he immediately retreats, slipping free from my mouth.

I get both hands on him, stroking wildly, slicked by my saliva and impossibly thick and hot in my palms. His mouth stays on me sucking furiously at my clit as two blunt fingers slide inside me, curling to rub sinful circles on my g-spot and I break, crying out and coming over his face and hand just as the first slash of cum hits my chest. Unsurprising for the weight of his sac, August comes a lot, moaning into my oversensitive pussy as he showers me with thick, creamy splashes.

I’m panting and humming, still floating high from the dizzying orgasm August drew from me. He rests his weight on his hands either side of my hips, head bowed down as he catches his own breath. From this position, his hair tickles at my pussy and I giggle. He looks down my body, and I raise my head to look back at him, but I bump it on his spent dick, which only makes me laugh harder. He’s shaking with his own mirth as he straightens and pulls me up so I’m no longer hanging off the edge of the bed. My body is floppy like a ragdoll, completely sated and unable to protest as he manhandles me to face him. Stretching over me, he lies me back down so my head rests comfortably on the bed and he lies on top of me.

“Oh no,” I cry, still laughing. “You’re going to glue us together with your copious amounts of man-seed.”

He snorts into my neck, and I’ve decided that making August laugh is my most favourite thing ever. I get a happy buzz in my chest every time he chuckles, chortles, or belly laughs, and I want to keep that buzz going for a lifetime.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, tracing lines of kisses over my neck and jaw.

“You love it.” I sigh, closing my eyes and melting into the warm afterglow.

He tenses for a second, his lips hovering above my skin and my eyes jump open again. I’m all ready to babble on about how I meant my ridiculousness and was in no way inferring that he loves me, because that would be ridiculous in itself and way too early to be thinking because we’ve not really defined what’s happening here and—

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “You might be right.” Bringing his lips to mine, he kisses me with a tenderness that does crazy things to my brain. On top of his innocent admission, my heart and head seem to be coming together to make conclusions we might not be ready for, but it feels too right to ignore them. I kiss him back, tasting myself on his tongue and pushing my chest up into his, which makes the cum between us squelch a little.

He pulls back, face scrunched, and I cackle, unable to help it with the lightness in my head and heaviness in my body making me feel so good. “I think we should clean up,” I say when I’m finally able to speak.

“You may have a point.” He digs his arms behind me to lift me with him as he stands, and I manage to contain my delighted squeal this time, wrapping around him as he walks us to the bathroom. There isn’t a hope in hell that we’d both fit in my little shower, so he putsme down and turns on the water, ducking back out to let me wash off first. He cleans his teeth with the toothbrush he’d brought over earlier and watches me as I lather up and wash away his spend, gliding my hands all over my body to rub at the sore muscles left from our swim. Despite having just come and his dick staying soft, the heat in his gaze feels warmer than the water pelting at my skin and steaming up the room.

When I’m done and step out, August is ready with my towel, wrapping me up and taking his turn to get cleaned up while I clean my teeth. I watch him too—obviously. Who wouldn’t? —and then we take turns doing private matters without an audience before we both climb into my bed, joined only a moment later by two furballs who seemed to be waiting patiently for grown up time to be over.

August grumbles at Darcy to get off the bed but I pout at him. “You can’t treat them differently, Heathcliff is aways allowed to sleep on the bed.”

“They’re animals, not children,” he tells me with a huff of annoyance I don’t buy at all. I just pout harder. “Fine,” he groans, turning off the light.

I peck his cheek over Darcy who tries to get in on the action, immediately licking August’s face where my lips had just been. August bats him away and I giggle, snuggling down and falling asleep almost instantly.

The village fete starts on Saturday and apparently, it’s a huge deal. Tourists flock to the village and all the local businesses hold a stall, which includes The Reading Nook Café, as officially named this week. Connor and I are sat at one of the mismatched tables planning what we’re going to be baking all day on Friday to sell at the fete, each with a mug in front of us. Connor drinks tea with too many sugars while I sip at my flat white.

“Ooh,” he says with a snap of his fingers. “You should make those shortbread with the candied orange peel in them that you did the other day, they were fucking legit.”

I smirk up at him from where my head is dipped over my notepad and pen. “Tell me, how can a shortbread be illegitimate?”

“What?” He scrunches his face up like I’m speaking gibberish, and I shake my head as I add his suggestion to the list. I find myself feeling nervous about the fete. Probably because so far, nothing has really gone right for the café, what with the coffee machine breaking down and the whole break in thing and all my plans for a big opening have sort of flitted out the window where I’ve been too scared to put them into action.

The café is already open, really. I just haven’t shouted out about it, wanting to ease into it in the hopes that if everyone tiptoes around it and just acts like it was always here, we won’t scare fate into dealing out another round of disasters. But the village fete with its hype and splendour seems like screaming at the top of my lungs I’m here and inviting all sorts of misfortune to come my way.

I have that uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach, nothing like the wings of butterflies that take flight every time August is in my orbit, but a stinging rumble like acid burning me from the inside out.I should take my meds for the next few days. I’ll repeat my affirmations into the mirror, tell myself the fete will be fun, that I’ll meet new people and bring in more customers, the weather’s going to be lovely, and Connor will be working the stall with me. He’s clearly excited about it, mostly because he’s also helping me with all the baking, and I’ve discovered he loves to brag about the things he makes. I’ll allow it because the cocky thing is actually really good.

“Oh,” he says even more excitedly, pulling his heavily pinned backpack up from the floor and unzipping it. “I had another idea I wrote in my maths book, hold on.” He rummages in his bag while I give him a flat stare.

“Is that what your maths book should be used for?”

He makes a non-committal sound and then curses when he can’t find what he’s looking for, his head near on disappearing inside the bag. I wait patiently, taking in the details of all the pins on the front, they’re all dark and have similar themes like fire and skulls, guns and knives. Not my cup of tea. My eyes stick when I find the one August had used to prove Connor had been the one to break into the café and ruin my books, and I feel a twinge of butthurt. Connor has been wonderful, I actually love having him around, finding his completely inappropriate language and overly cocky attitude endearing in a way I never would have thought. It stings to think that he did something so heinous for no apparent reason.

Except, there’s an identical pin right next to that one. He has two the same? I guess that’s not unheard of. It’s entirely possible he’s forgotten he already had one and so bought another, or maybe someone gifted it to him not realising he already had it. But then heappears from his bag with a triumphant smile, all goofy and excited and I know in my heart of hearts.

“You didn’t break in here, did you?” I say sadly.

His smile drops and his forehead wrinkles, like he doesn’t understand what I said, like he’s forgotten why he’s here, just like I keep doing. “What?”

“I’ll ask you just once, and I want the absolute truth from you Con,” I say seriously.

“Okay,” he says slowly, cautiously.

“Did you come in here that night and ruin all my books?”