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A warm, wet tongue sliding against my clit pulls me from my thoughts. I jolt at the feeling, at the sudden pleasure that shoots through my body. Before I can do anything, he licks again, this time avoiding my clit and focusing all his energy on my left lip.
“Wait,” I sigh, moving my hand to his head. “To the right.” He ignores me and continues licking my lip. His tongue swipes against my clit, and I moan, trying to encourage him.
It does—but it encourages him to continue licking the wrong spot.
I lift my hips, trying to find his tongue with my clit. But every time I move, so does he, keeping his attention on his chosen spot. I groan in annoyance and gently shove his head away.
“Did you have an orgasm?” he asks breathlessly. I open my mouth to tell him no, I sure as shit did not, but shut it again.
I should tell him that this was the worst sexual experience of my entire life, but I don’t. I can’t hurt him like that, not when he’s looking at me like an eager puppy waiting for a treat.
A treat.
God, no.
I don’t want to reciprocate. I just—I can’t.
“Yeah, Kev. I did,” I easily lie. He beams at me, and any guilt that I should feel for lying isn’t there.
“I’ve also heard of men using their fingers,” he says, giving me a sly smile. “Can I?” He holds his hand up and wiggles his fingers, making me cringe.
This should probably be the line. I should stop it all here. I should go inside the house, turn on the bath, and finish myself off with my vibrator. Wash this night away.
Before I can tell him no, his finger is probing my pussy, trying to find my entrance. I jolt and try to scoot back, but it’s too late. He finds it and gently tries to push inside, meeting maximum resistance.
“I thought it was supposed to be wet,” he says under his breath, trying to force his finger in. “Is it broken?” He looks at me accusingly and my mouth falls open.
Okay, I’m done.
That’s the last straw.
“No, it’s not broken,” I hiss, shoving his hand away as I right my panties and pull my dress down.
“But I’ve heard vaginas lubricate themselves. Why isn’t yours—”
“Lubricate yourself, asshole.” I shove him backward, and my eyes widen as he loses balance and begins to roll down the slight slope toward the lake. “Kevin!” I throw my hand out as water splashes everywhere.
My body jerks at the loud bang as the first firework lights the sky, bright red reflecting off the rippling surface of the lake. Kevin’s head bobs above the water, his glasses gone as he whips his head to the side, plastering his hair to his forehead.
I should feel bad about pushing him into the lake, but I don’t.
After today, after watching Mary fawn all over Isaac, I don’t feel anything but annoyance and anger. Anger at him for not pushing her away, anger at Kevin for his audacity, anger at myself for ever getting in this situation, to begin with.
Anger at Roman—so much festering anger for him.
I shove to my feet, grabbing my tumbler and phone, and stomp toward the house, leaving the partygoers and Kevin behind.
Fuck this holiday.
“You did what?” Olive screeches, making me wince at the sharp sound. “Poor Kev. He just wanted to get his little willy wet—wait, he did!” She clutches her stomach as she throws herself back on the bed, howling with laughter.
“Oli,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “It’s not funny.”
“Oh, it’s freaking hilarious,” she laughs, wiping her eye and smearing her eyeshadow across her temple. “I wish I could’ve done it. Do you think he’d let me push him into the lake?” I slide my eyes to her, finding her smiling so wide I can see all her teeth.
“You want to hook up with Kev?” I ask, and she tightly scrunches her face.
“Ew, no.” She gives an exaggerated shiver. “Don’t be ridiculous, Evie.”
