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He unpauses the video.
On-screen Lemon’s fingers continue to circle around Art’s bulge.
“This is a bad idea,” on-screen Art says but doesn’t stop her.
“This isn’t a bad idea. It’s Mr. Big,” she says with a giggle.
Someone knocks on the door, and it takes me a second to realize it’s in the video.
Walking funny—either because of what Lemon has done, the alcohol, or both—Art goes to open the door, and I’m not surprised to see the carts full of desserts rolling into the bedroom.
The waiters set the yumminess haphazardly around the room, put the whipped cream cans on the desk, and hurry away—no doubt suspecting the bacchanalia to come.
As soon as she and Art are alone, Lemon grabs a crème brûlée and puts it on the nightstand where I found its empty bowl today, with the condom inside.
“Eat.” Her words are imbued with enough erotic energy to make the nearby jelly as hard as rock candy.
Art sits down at the head of the bed, picks up the bowl, and breaks the sugar shell on top.
“And now, for the first time, taste it,” Lemon says.
My mouth waters.
Art sensually puts a spoonful of crème brûlée into his mouth.
His eyes are closed and he looks like he’s really enjoying it—proving once and for all that he’s human.
A tiny bit of the dessert ends up over his lip, like a milk mustache.
I know what Lemon is about to do before she does it. It’s easy to guess because it’s what I’d want to do, and the alcohol has removed all of on-screen Lemon’s inhibitions.
She sits next to Art and licks the mustache off his lip, like a cat.
He opens his eyes. Grabbing the back of her head, he pulls her in for a kiss that makes the one after the wedding ceremony look PG-13 in comparison.
Wow. Is it weird to be jealous of myself? Also, I never want to drink again, not if it means I could forget a kiss like that.
As the voracious kiss continues, Lemon’s hand locates Art’s bulge once more, and she grabs it, firmly.
Pulling away, he sucks in some air. “Wait.”
She touches her bruised lips. “Wait?”
“You’re drunk.”
She reaches over and pulls down his zipper. “You’re drunker.”
He scoots away from her, but not far, because the head of the bed is there. “I’ve never taken advantage of an inebriated woman.”
Her grin is devious. “Oh, that. How admirable. Obviously, I can do what I want to myself, right? You wouldn’t stop a poor, defenseless, inebriated woman from having some fun, now would you?”
His head shake is barely noticeable.
She walks over to the desk and peels off her clothes, slowly.
All. Of. Them.
I mean, I kind of suspected this would happen at some point, given how I was naked this morning, but I still blush like a nun would under these circumstances… though why a nun would get that drunk and then watch a homemade porn tape the next day is beyond me.
