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She mewled in response, shoved her hand between them, down her flat stomach, into the waistband of her jeans, below her thin cotton panties. Her fingers found her clit and all she had to do was apply the slightest pressure to the sticky, soaked, slippery nub and she was off, crashing and shattering, writhing and panting. She threw back her head to scream loud enough that every single family enjoying their ice cream would be scarred for life, when Ross stuck the side of his hand between her lips. She bit down hard while her hips jacked into her hand over and over and the waves of euphoria kept right on pounding through her.
It was minutes, actual minutes, before she came back down again. She wilted against the wall, thankful that it was there to catch her, even if the bricks chaffed against the oversensitive skin of her back and shoulders. She realized that she’d probably scratched herself there mercilessly while she was lost to the throes of pleasure.
“Ross,” she breathed, as she looked into his burning eyes.
She knew his face. She knew his face off by freaking heart. His face was the same one she thought of every single night before she fell asleep and first thing in the morning and in all the dreams in between. If she daydreamed during the day or spaced out, it was always him she thought of. She’d wondered what he was doing. Where he was. Who he was with, often with shards of jealousy attached, while she was away.
He had a perfect face. A beautiful face. A face she’d looked to for protection, for safety, for laughter and joy over the years. A face she’d fallen in love with on just about every single level there was. She knew it, from the gorgeous planes of his jutting cheekbones to his sharp jawline. From the regal set of his nose to the exact angle of his brow. From the plush pink lips to the long slant of his eyelashes. She knew the exact shade of blue that his eyes were, knew the pattern of his irises.
There was something wrong with his face. Something pinched and strange. Something foreign. Something she didn’t recognize. His lips were swollen and no longer pink. They were red and raw and lush from kissing her. His skin was flushed, like he’d rubbed his stubble all over his own face too. His nostrils flared out as he breathed in deep, raspy breaths. It was his eyes that were totally wrong. Off. The pupils were completely blown, the irises darker than she’d ever seen them.
“You wanted second base,” he panted. “You got it. We’re even now.”
As Ross pulled away, her mouth dropped open. She was livid, seething with anger that roiled and hissed through her veins like steam in a boiler. She’d once slept over at her grandma’s, when she was still alive, and the ancient house had those radiators in every single room. When they got hot, they would hiss and perk comfortably, but sometimes, something must have gone wrong, because they’d bang and clang like a gunshot.
That’s what she felt on the inside. Wrong. Like she was banging and clanging, and all that steam was about to escape and blast Ross in the face.
That was all the kiss was to him. All any of it was. The best freaking orgasms of her life- she was going to ignore the fact that it was pretty sad that they’d both been experienced while fully clothed- were just part of a stupid deal that god knew why he’d actually agreed to and she’d been stupid enough to put out there in the first place. It was all just a farce, just a way to get even, just a way for him to go back to his tranquil, easy, lazy life like nothing ever happened.
He just wanted her off his case.
Easy-fucking-peasy.
He could go back to screwing whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Not doing anything with his life. Bumming around because he was ultra-rich and that’s what insanely rich people did. He’d drink beer with her brother and bang chicks without knowing their name. He’d drive his expensive cars around and wear expensive clothes and not even notice that she existed.
Fuck. Actual fuck. Yes, the real fucking word. I was so stupid. How could I have thought that if I had a taste that I’d be satisfied? That it would make any of this better or easier?
Before she even consciously knew what she was doing, she ripped away from Ross. He stared at her with that stunned, stupid, mystified look on his face.
“Thanks for the second base, asshole,” she muttered.
She stalked down the alley, straightening her clothes, shame and rage gnawing at her. She’d just about made it out when a rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her around. She raised her head, ready to defend herself and slap him away from her if she had to.
