Page 47 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

“Be a good girl and tell me what you need.” I slipped a finger underneath her underwear, touching her swollen wetness so slightly, she moaned and writhed against me.

“Please, please.”

“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

She took in a gasp of breath, and I pushed my finger harder against her.

She moaned, the sound a delicious satisfaction, and said, “Fuck me, please. I want you to fuck me.”

My cock was about to burst from my jeans. I slipped my finger lower, feeling the smooth contours of her until I reached her tight, throbbing entrance.

“How badly do you want it?” I asked, adding another finger and circling it around her.

She arched and gripped the hair at the back of my head, trying to get me to give her more. I laughed against her skin and tutted. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I want it more than anything. Please. I need you to fuck me.”

My studio door swung open and Lilly screamed, “OH MY GOD!” before fleeing and slamming the door shut, jolting Nikki so much that she pushed at my chest and scrambled across the bed until she was out of my reach. She panicked as she pulled her dress over her breasts, and down her thighs.

I trembled, blood still coursing through me, desperate for more. I needed to feel Nikki’s sweet wetness pulsing around my hard cock. I needed it more than I needed anything else.

But there she was, zipping the back of her dress, standing at the other side of the room, staring at me with those gorgeous eyes.

“I… I need a minute,” I said, closing my eyes and willing the pounding to stop.

I could hear the sounds of her breathing as she moved through my bedroom, coming closer to me.

When she spoke, what she said, as much as the tone of her voice, surprised me. “What are those hand-prints?”

My eyes flew open, and I took in the red stain; two splayed palms spread on the yellow wallpaper. I sat up and focused on the wall, willing my voice to come out evenly.

“After you passed the bar, we got drunk and you wanted to make pizzas, remember?”

I didn’t look at her. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I remember that. But I don’t remember making those hand-prints. Are they yours?”

I shook my head. “You don’t remember? You said we had to make our own, because for some weird reason, you wanted marinara sauce on your pizza–”

“It tastes better than regular tomato, you know it does.” Her defensive tone made me smile.

“Maybe I would agree with you if I actually got to taste it. But by the time we were done, it was so late, we didn’t even eat them. You fell asleep with sauce all over your hands.”

“I did?”

I stole a glance at her. Nope. She was still too beautiful to look at. I stood and tried to keep my distance as I stared at the wall.

“You did. We both fell asleep here.” I pointed at the floor.

“I remember waking up on the ground… I think. What I don’t remember is how my hands ended up on the wall.”

I cracked a smile at the memory, instantly wanting to laugh. She stepped to the wall and lined herself up, knees braced on the ground with both palms on each print.

I cleared my throat and asked, “You really… don’t remember what we did that night?”

She looked up at me with panic. “What did we do?”

“We fell asleep, and when I woke up, you were… pulling my arm. Before I knew it you were on me–”