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Jameson shuts up, and it’s quiet again. The only sounds are the buzzing and sucking sounds from my vibrator, and both of our heavy breathing and moans.
When I come again, I come even harder. The orgasm just keeps coming and coming. I’m not quiet, and I’m not still. I give myself over to every wave of pleasure that rolls through me.
Giving yourself exactly what you want and need is different from coming with a partner. It’s not better, but it’s definitely not worse. It’s just different.
I hear Jameson’s groans turn into grunts as he comes, too. I don’t say anything. I just listen to him like he listened to me.
“Lemon, you’re fucking killing me, babe. Let me come over for round three. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be hard again. I can promise you that.”
“I’m going to sleep now. Night, Jameson.”
chapter sixteen
jameson
Lily Wilson is fucking killing me.
She won’t let me come over or even talk to me. But she’s called me every night for the past few weeks right at ten-thirty like fucking clockwork and made me listen to her fuck herself. Well, except the night she took off with Jasper to the Goldrush without me. She called me at twelve-thirty that night after she got home, and didn’t say a thing about where she’d been. Jasper’s my brother. We live together. I obviously knew where she’d been.
And made is probably a strong word.
If I can’t be the one fucking her, I guess listening to her fuck herself with a vibrator is probably the next best thing. At least she’s not letting some other guy touch her.
So, I’m not going to come on too strong. I’m going to be reasonable. I’m going to show up on her front porch with a couple of iced coffees from Selena’s bakery and convince her to see reason.
Well, that’s the plan, anyway.
Right when I’m about to step out of the bakery with the iced coffees and a couple of her favorite almond croissants, I see Lily heading into the old thrift store next door.
Everyone in this town knows good and well that the Halls shut down the thrift store a few weeks ago. So, what the hell is she up to? Some light breaking and entering?
I’m not too sure what exactly I’m going to do to stop her from getting arrested with my hands full of iced coffees and croissants, so maybe I’m just going to get arrested with her in the end? If the cops put us in a cell together, then at least she’d have to talk to me, face to face.
Stepping out of my new-almost-sister-in-law’s bakery, I walk next door and try to look in the windows. They’re all covered up with brown paper, so I can’t see inside. Same with the door.
Shoving the bag of croissants into my other hand that’s holding the cardboard tray of coffees, I open the door.
And an old bell rings right above my head. Shit.
Lily swings around to face me, looking like she’s ready for a fight. But her hands are flat instead of in fists. So, I guess she’s looking ready for a slap fight.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she shouts at me.
I’ve been coming into this thrift store my whole life. My mom was always dropping something off or scouring the place for antiques. But I probably haven’t been in here since she passed a few years ago. It’s just as cluttered and full of crap as I remember. Only now there are boxes and garbage cans littering the floor. It looks like the Halls just up and left without emptying the place out. The stained and sagging, old white bookshelves lining the place are still full of every kind of crap and junk you can imagine. VHS tapes and DVDs, broken dishes and bent cutlery, clothes and shoes, every kind of dust-collector you can imagine. There’s probably a lot of good stuff in here, too. But you’re going to have to hunt for it. I think that was what my mom loved about the stuff she found here. The thrill of the hunt. Everything in here is old and with a layer of dirt on it that can’t fairly be described as dust.
Except for the beautiful blonde glaring at me from behind the retail counter.
“I came to ask you the same thing. I saw you skulking in here a second ago. Did you break bad or something in the last few weeks? Adding breaking and entering to your list of tricks? Along with torture?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Should I call the police and report that there’s a trespasser in the old thrift store?”
“Fine, call them.”
When I get out my phone and swipe the screen to open it, Lily steps forward. “No, don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it from Sgt. Lee. And right now, all I have to do is bat my lashes, and he cancels all my parking tickets.”
“I don’t love that you’re using your considerable sexual wiles on a sixty-year-old man to get out of what sounds like an unreasonable amount of parking tickets, but we’ll have that conversation later. What are you doing in here, Lemon?”
