"So tacos?" I ask her.
"What?"
"You must really like tacos."
"I guess so. But who doesn't like tacos?"
Fair point.
"And Jesus. You like Jesus too," I add and immediately wonder how in the hell I ever got laid without paying for it. I sound like a fucking idiot.
"I guess so," she mumbles but her head is buried in her phone, working again now that it's attached to the charger in my car.
"How are you feeling today?" I ask so I can change the subject.
"Feeling?" she questions, turning in her seat to face me. We're at the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and Tropicana, waiting to make a left. "Like emotionally or physically? What do you want to know?" The turn signal clicks like a tiny time bomb in the ensuing silence while I try to gauge her mood. I side-eye her and decide it wasn't a trick question, that she's genuinely waiting for me to clarify.
"Physically," I answer. "Are you good?" Was I too aggressive with her last night? "Are you sore?"
Because if you're not you will be before the day is over.
"I'm okay," she says. But she answers with a tiny shrug of her shoulder which tells me I'm missing something.
"You're okay but what?"
"But nothing." She turns back to her phone and replies to a text.
I make the turn onto Tropicana and drum my fingers on the steering wheel, annoyed. Annoyed with her for holding back and annoyed with myself for caring. What does it matter?
"I don't think you can help," she adds. "It's embarrassing. Forget I said anything." She fidgets in the passenger seat. "I didn't actually say anything though. It's just girl stuff. Forget it."
I give a slight nod of my head and remain silent. Okay then.
"I'm kinda wet," she blurts out when I'm stopped at another stoplight on Tropicana.
Fuck me.
"Not wet like I want to have sex right now, wet like I think you're still dripping out of me from yesterday. Which is so weird and nothing anyone taught me about in high-school sex education and I was worried about—I don't know what I was worried about. But I looked it up and it turns out that it's fairly normal and can last anywhere from a minute till a day after sex and there's no real rhyme or reason to it. It was just, you know, I didn't know and so it freaked me out for a minute but I'm fine now."
Fuck me, that's hot.
"The light is green, Rhys."
I clear my throat and accelerate the car.
"You might as well get used to it because I'm going to fuck you every day."
"Really?" The question is laced with genuine surprise. "You won't be too busy?"
"I'll squeeze you in."
"Oh. Okay, cool."
I take a right in a Del Taco parking lot and merge into the drive-thru lane.
"We're getting Del Taco for real?" Lydia's eyes light up as if I've taken her to a champagne brunch.
"It's your Sunday," I tell her and I wonder how in the fuck this became her Sunday. I was a no. I was a firm no on the twenty-two-year-old from the bar. The twenty-two-year-old working for my company. The twenty-two-year-old who I knew would be trouble for me.
Firm. Fucking. No.
"What do you want?" I ask her as I inch the car forward, thinking about what a loaded question that is. How did I go from firm no to paying half a million for the pleasure of her company? How? Fuck my life. I'm so distracted with the grand opening looming I can't see straight.
"Ohhh," she says while drumming her hands against her knees as if this is a very exciting decision. "A small iced coffee and an egg and cheese breakfast burrito." She sits back in the passenger seat a moment and crosses her arms, her knees bouncing on the floorboard of my car. "Wait, no," she says, shaking her head. "I want two egg and cheese breakfast burritos. I'm starving. I think I burned a lot of calories last night."
I place her order times two, handing the food to her as it's passed to me through the drive-up window. Then I slide the car into an empty spot in the parking lot, leaving it running. Lydia hands me a burrito before unwrapping straws for both of us and inserting them into the plastic cups, settled in my cup holders.
"Can I ask you something?" she asks as she pulls a burrito from the bag for herself.
"Sure." I take a bite of the one she handed to me. It's not terrible.
"Since you asked me," she adds and I wonder what I asked her. She peels the wrapper back on her burrito before continuing, "What did it feel like? Having sex with me?" She takes a bite of her own burrito and emits a little hum of happiness as the food hits her tongue.
"It felt pretty fucking great." I watch her chew, oddly fascinated with this girl.
"Really?"
"Really."
She takes another bite, being careful not to spill, and watches me, silent. I take a sip of the iced coffee and wince, dropping it back into the cup holder in my car.
"That's not great," I tell her and watch her eyes widen in surprise then narrow in judgment, her right eyebrow raised in challenge. "Too sweet," I protest.
"You're crazy." She rolls her eyes and takes another careful bite of her burrito. I finish off my second and put the car into reverse. I'm taking a right back onto Tropicana when she speaks again.
"I gave you a lot more than that. When you asked," she points out, not incorrectly. She'd been turned towards me while we ate, but she finishes her first burrito and settles back into her seat again, facing forward while digging into the bag for her second.
I slide my sunglasses on to block the intrusions. The sun, her questions, my thoughts. It helps for one out of three.
"Was that a weird question?" she asks as we get stopped by the light on Spencer less than half a minute after pulling back onto Tropicana. "Do people not ask each other that? You asked me so I thought…" She stops speaking, a tiny sigh coming from her lips. "Never mind. I'm so bad at this."
"Humbling," I finally say when the light turns green. "It felt humbling to be inside of you. And wet. Slick and warm and tight. Soft, perfect. You felt fucking perfect, every inch of you. Your tight pussy, the pressure of your fingertips on my arms when it was too tight for you, the scrape of your nails down my sides when it felt just right. When you orgasmed it felt even tighter, and wetter, like your pussy was milking my cock, which made me feel even bigger and harder and like I might lose the circulation to my dick but it'd have been worth it."
Different. It'd felt different in a way that confused me, but made me want more at the same time. Real and raw. Primal.
"So, pretty normal?"
"Yeah, pretty normal."
Twenty-One
RHYS
We make it through a couple of traffic lights and pass a Wal-Mart when I spot a sign for Goodwill and pull into the shopping plaza.
"Oh, my God, we're really going to Goodwill?" The question is asked with way less excitement than I was expecting. I thought I'd get Del Taco excitement but her response was more trepidation than thrill.
"You said this is what you do," I reply, confused.