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“I think that might be over.”
“That shit won’t be over unless Riley tells you it is.” She points out.
She’s not wrong about that.
We sit in silence for a while, just passing the joint and the bottle of vodka back and forth.
“You should probably go,” I tell her.
She glares at me.
“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I don’t want your fucking brother to stop by,” I tell her.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. He’s still fucking fuming.” She leans back on the couch, and I use the moment to study her.
It’s hot as hell in my apartment since the power’s out. She’s sweating. She showed up in some tiny blue dress with thin straps. Her hair is piled on top of her head.
“I know you’re staring at me.” She says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” She warns.
“You’re the one that showed up at my fucking apartment, looking like that,” I say, gesturing toward her.
“Looking like what?” She turns her head to look at me.
“You knew what you were doing.”
“I thought you were dead. I didn’t show up here trying to fuck you if that’s what you’re insinuating.” She scoffs.
“Did it work?” I ask her.
“Did what work?” She asks, staring up at the ceiling.
“Did I fuck you so good that you haven’t been able to think of anyone or anything else since?”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks over at me.
“Don’t worry, I fucked myself over, too,” I tell her.
This time I lean my head back, closing my eyes. I feel a shift in the couch and I assume she’s had enough of me.
Instead, I feel her slide into my lap. My eyes shoot open.
“What the fuck are you doing, beauty?” I ask, huskily.
“You didn’t think I was going to leave without having you inside of me again, did you?”
She grinds herself against my lap. My dick springs to life almost immediately. Her back is arched and her breasts are brushing against my bare chest.
“Fuck.” I groan, gripping her waist.
My mind is going in a hundred different directions right now. This is so fucking wrong. Mitch is my best friend. I’d blame it on the vodka, but that would be a lie. I’m not drunk or high on anything except fucking Marley.
Her fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes.
