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“I’m kissing a pair of lips,” he tells me, matter of fact, and I know exactly where this conversation is headed. Do all guys like eating pussy on the regular? My thighs press together from muscle memory, definitely not complaining that he likes it, but I’m about to tell him no when he says, “You owe me a birthday present.”
My jaw drops and I blink at him over and over, trying to process what he just said. Birthday?It finally comes back to me that his birthday is in May, but what day?
Seriously?!?
This is pathetic, and really embarrassing. What couple doesn’t talk about their birthdays? Couples that have a big age gap with one party still being a junior in high school, that’s who. The only time we mention age is when he’s basically telling me I’m being immature.
That devilish smirk comes out as he squeezes my ass, which is something he does often, like he has to continuously remind me he does what the fuck he wants. I shove him back a little to get some space. “Today is your birthday and you haven’t felt the need to tell me once?!”
“No,” he simply says.
“No? Which part?”
“It was two days ago.”
The day he surprised me at school . . .
Every visual swirls between us. Are my ears steaming? Because they feel hot. My brain and body disconnects, because suddenly I’m smacking him over and over, tempted to strangle him, and completely missing his laughter as he protects his head with his arms. I’d throw a punch, but I’d probably be the one with the pain. “You fucking asshole! You purposely withheld something important from me that only comes around once a year?”
He shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and no consequences. My jaw locks, madder than I quite possibly have ever been at him. Okay . . . maybe not.
My eyes narrow as my brain marinates in what he said, but I make sure to blink away the watery evidence that I care. This makes me feel stupid. You’re supposed to know basic information about your boyfriend, like the day of the year that he was born! “No different from any other day,” he has the audacity to say, which leaves me withnothingto say.
I storm across my room and grab my heels out of my closet, not bothering to put them on. I can do that somewhere in this house where I have a distraction instead of wanting to kill him.
I can feel his eyes on me. I pick my clutch up off the desk, leaving the corsage where he left it, ready to get out of here, because even when I want to kick him in the balls, I want to ride them too. Ugh!
I stop in front of him, thinking he’d get the hint and move out of the way of the door, but this is Landon. I should know better by now. He irritates me as much as he makes me crazy in a good way. In typical Landon fashion, he just stands there like a guard, looking hotter than ever, which is annoying as hell because I can never stop looking at him. Our eyes meet. A hint of a smile is set on his face, pissing me off more. “Move,” I bite out.
“Make me.”
My head almost snaps back from the whiplash of his mood change, and for a second, my stupid girl brain wonders if he’s mad at me. Screw that. Instead of playing this stupid game, I turn and walk to my exterior door. I’ll just walk around the house and come through the motherfucking front door!
As soon as I get it open, it nearly slams shut. My eyes turn up without my head moving because I can feel his presence. It’s like he absorbs air when he’s near. So close. My focus holds on his large hand pressed against the door. “Are you mad for real?”
My eyes close as his vulnerable voice washes over me—a rare sound—shattering every layer built up over my mind that allows me to be mad at him, which is already difficult. My eyes gloss over, emotions seeping out, but I’ll be damned if I let them fall and mess up my mascara. “Why would you think that’s okay? Birthdays are a big deal; most definitely the first one between couples. Some people like to make them special.”
He leans in, gaining some of my personal space. The scent of his cologne is paralyzing, like I can do nothing but take it in. My nipples tighten and my body stiffens, as if there is a charge between us. It always pulls us together. I’ve felt it since the first day I met him. “The only people that have ever cared about it know when it is. None of those people were a girlfriend. It’s weird to just announce that it’s your birthday like you expect something from someone. I assumed you’d see all the social media posts from people I don’t give two shits about and figure it out.”
Icy oxygen spreads through my veins, cooling my emotions in a way I’ve always done well. “I’m sorry I have a life outside of social media, like school and now talking to you,” I bite out.
“What do you want, an apology? That’s not really our style.”
His eyes are cold and somewhat distant. My jaw locks, that vulnerability of his long gone with sarcasm in its place. Sometimes I want to smother him when he speaks, but then again, I’m sure he does with me too. One side of my mouth pulls up. “I have a better idea.”
I slip under his arm and walk to my bedroom door, “Paxtyn,” slipping out behind me. The bitch in me locks it. My heart rate accelerates like it always does in situations like this with him in the room, but instead of slowing me down it somehow always pushes me forward.
Without turning around, I reach through the slits in my dress and grab the panty strings, working them down until I can step out of them. “Our style can always change, develop into more.”
I turn around to him without the tux jacket on. It’s lying on my desk with the corsage in a neat fashion. He’s so good at smiling without actually moving his mouth to reflect it. “What are you gonna do?”
“When you want air, you’ll find your words. Be a gem, would ya, and get on your back.”
He moves toward my bed and does exactly as I said, laying on top of a mattress that’s practically his too. His scent is there. It’s a comfort when he’s gone and I can’t just run to him like if I were dating someone from home.
I turn my music on before making my way over, in case I need something to drown out sound, carefully pulling my dress up before straddling him and knee walking up his body. He doesn’t make a move to touch me, his hands laced behind his head, but his mask finally breaks, and he smiles. “This hardly seems like any form of punishment if that’s what you’re going for.”
That’s because you don’t think I know how much you want to fuck right after you eat pussy.
