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“Yeah.”
I suck, hard enough she cries out. “OK?” I rub my thumb over the spot that’s already turning deep red.
She nods. “Again.”
I suck again; she cries out. I press into her, her ass in my lap, her pussy soaking my thighs. Her hand moves between her legs and I suck her harder, watching. Her orgasm surprises us both. Her spine is rigid, her head thrown back and all I can do is watch, take a mental picture, rememberthisforever, Lulu coming around my cock, her tit in my hand, my marks on her skin. She lifts her hand, her fingers glistening, and they taste like her come and a little bit like the lube on the condom but I don’t care enough to do anything but come, too, forever until we’re both sweaty and sticky and clinging to the mattress.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jesse
There’s a knock on the door that I mistake for thunder again. I’m half in and out of consciousness and the sound bleeds into the dream that usually ends with my truck crumpled on the side of the road, my blood, pain. I wake up sweating, the sheets tangled in my legs. Lulu lies on her stomach, the wide expanse of her back bare and beautiful, her head turned away. I’m tempted to wake her and tell her the dream in the hopes that we could make enough memories for a different kind. But the knocking comes again, echoing through the house. Betty meows at the bedroom door, like she’s pissed I haven’t answered yet.
I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed. My lower back is sore. My thigh aches, the bone-deep kind that needs an Epsom salt bath and massage and rest. Last night was worth every moment of pain this morning.
Lulu had helped me change the sheets. Then we’d showered together, touching more but not coming. Her stomach growled so we got dressed in my clothes and I made her eggs while she sat on the couch watching a recap of the rugby match that had happened earlier in the day, explaining the game back to me and asking me to rehash the 50:22 law. We slept. Woke up in the dark. She climbed on top of me, and most of what I remember of that is the way the hair on her thighs felt softer than silk, how I could only see her silhouette in the dark, how warm she was, the sounds she made.
I heave myself out of bed, pull on underwear and a T-shirt. Betty follows me as I limp down the hall, talking at me the whole way. Right as I reach the door, the person on the other side rings the doorbell and I cringe that it will wake Lulu.
“OK, I’m coming,” I grumble as I open the door. And I should have known, by the way that his never-ending knock sounds like inclement weather, by his silhouette in the window. But I was so caught up in the memories of last night that now George is standing on my doorstep and Lulu is in my bed.
“Hey.”
George tries to peer over my shoulder. He’s already stepped in close like he’s expecting me to open the door and let him in.
“Hi,” he says slowly. “Are you going to let me in?” He puts his hand on the door.
I’ve never been a great liar but right now my brain is a dustbowl, there are no excuses in there. “Uhhhhh...”
He arches an eyebrow. “Listen, I really need to talk to you.”
The heat feels heavy and thick already; being my grandfather’s grandson, I feel a strong urge to hurry George in and shut the door to save the air conditioner.
My heart beats in my throat. I’ll close the door, tell Lulu, come back, let him in. I won’t let him come past the entryway.
George is frowning at me. “You look like this decision is really paining you, Jess.”
What am I doing? Lying to my best friend.
“George,” I say. But I’m not sure what comes next.
“Who is it?” Lulu asks behind me, her voice unmistakable. I expect a myriad of emotions to cross George’s face: surprise, intrigue, confusion, then maybe—maybe—recognition. But he just seems disappointed.
“I need to talk to both of you,” he says.
Shit.
George pushes at the door but I keep my shoulder against it. I may not be as strong as I used to be but I’m still strong enough to keep George out.
He rolls his eyes. “Lulu,” he calls and she gasps behind me. “Tell him to open the door.”
“It’s not what you think,” I say. Except when I turn around, there she is standing behind me with Betty in her arms, wearing one of my old WFD shirts. In my distraction, George gets his foot in the door.
“Right,” he says, eyeing the long expanse of leg on Lulu. “I’m not going to lie, this is pretty much exactly what I was thinking.”
“What?” Lulu and I look from him to each other.
“How’d you know?” she asks.
