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Does she want to play a game? Now?
“If you win, I won’t stop you from kissing me where you want to, but if I win, I am in charge, and you might not get what you hope for.”
“You do know that really doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t played ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’ with me before, and I rarely lose.”
“Look at you all confident. Whatever gives you sweet dreams tonight, Shagspeare.” I will do anything she asks. If she wants to play sex games, then far be it for me to be a party pooper. I’m willing to play along. “Could I interest you in a roll of the sex dice and let them choose what we get up to?”
Her eyes widen. “You have sex dice?”
“Around here somewhere. Teagan’s idea of a Secret Santa funny gift when the staff at the Cocky Green Cactus swapped gifts last Christmas. Not quite as hilarious when she realized I picked her gift. I haven’t had anybody I wanted to christen them with until now, but I am game if you are, Shagspeare.”
“As intrigued as I am to see what they look like, kissing is the only thing on the table.”
“Okay, what are your terms?” I cross my arms against my chest, trying not to laugh because she’s so funny, claiming: Rock, Paper, Scissors will add some semblance to her still being in control. I’ll do anything she wants.
“Choose your weapon.” She’s serious about this game. “The winner is in charge of taking control of one round.”
I would agree with any of her terms to get my mouth on her pussy, smelling her sweet C-U-Next-Tues—
“Hey, head in the game.” My spitfire taps my forehead twice.
“Bring it, Shagspeare.” I’m about to make her forget her name.
We start bouncing our fists up and down, chanting in unison, “Rock. Paper. Scissors.”
I lay my hand palm up, producing the sign for paper. Ophelia makes the same sign.
We both groan.
“Okay, let’s go again, Shagspeare.”
“Rock. Paper. Scissors,” we singsong, both producing rock.
I laugh. She sighs in frustration.
“I guess that’s a tie. Only one thing we can do, to resolve the control issue you have.”
She crosses her arms. “And what’s that?”
I produce a shit-eating grin.
Wait for it…
I give a one-shoulder shrug. “We will have to 69 it.”
You can call me a problem solver.
Ophelia slaps a palm to my forehead. “Down, boy.”
Ireallycan’t help these next words. “That’s what I am trying to do, Shagspeare.”
Twenty-Eight
LUST VS STALLING
Ophelia
