“I don’t know, I don’t want you to get too clingy.” She tugs on the back of my hair, making me yelp. “Watch it. You don’t want a bald groom, do you?”
She shrugs. “There’s still time to call off the wedding. If you don’t reveal your secrets, how do I know if you’re the one for me? I can’t have dirt being brought up after I say I do.”
I clutch her thigh tightly and say, “First of all, there is no joking about calling off the wedding, do you hear me? You either want to get married or you don’t.” My voice comes out harsh, and I can’t help it. I’ve put a lot on the line here, including my heart, and I don’t want it being threatened.
Her face softens and she lifts one hand to my jaw where she carefully caresses the thick stubble. “I’m sorry.”
I kiss her palm and then I say, “Second, the only dirt you’ll dig up about me is in the bedroom.”
“Are you saying you’re kinky?”
I move my hand to her stomach and travel up to her breasts where I lightly massage them, and then roll her nipple between my fingers. Her breath hitches, but that’s the only indication she gives that she can feel what I’m doing to her. I draw circles over her nipples, turning them into perfect little peaks. I love the feel of them hard against my fingers, turned on, ready for my next move. Makes me feel fucking powerful, as stupid as that sounds.
“I know what I like,” I answer.
“Yeah.” Her other hand runs up and down my chest. “But you weren’t always like that. Tell me something embarrassing you did in the bedroom.”
“Yeah, okay,” I scoff. “No way in hell.”
“Please?” She pouts, causing me to laugh.
“You’re cute, you know that? But it’s not going to work. Sorry, babe.” I continue to rub my thumbs over her taut nipples, reveling in the simple touch that’s making us both a little heavier.
“Fine, I’ll tell you something about me and maybe it will get you to share.”
“I can guarantee it won’t.” God, her breasts are like candy to me, fitting in my palm sweet and tantalizing. What I wouldn’t give to bring one to my mouth right now, suck on her nipple until she’s undulating beneath my touch.
“But what I have to tell you is really good. Like . . . really good.”
“I’m sure it is. You’re a bit of a weirdo.”
“What?” Her eyes shoot open but then, she thinks about it and laughs. “Hmm, maybe I am a bit of a weirdo. But if I’m a weirdo, that means you’re stuck-up.”
“I’m not stuck-up.”
“Yes, you are. You’re very stuck-up.”
“Then you clearly don’t know me well enough because I’m anything but stuck-up.”
She leans in and presses a kiss against my cheek. “Thank you for making my point about needing you to share more.”
Damn . . . she’s good.
Dragging my hand over my face, I say, “Fine. I’ll share, but you go first so I know the level of embarrassment we’re going for.”
Excited, she straddles my lap and places both hands on my shoulders as she rubs her bare center up and down my boxer-covered lap. What the hell is she doing? And I hope she keeps doing it . . .
She pauses, glances down and then chuckles. “Honestly, Rath, how can you possibly have a boner right now after everything we’ve done?”
Looking her dead in the eyes, I say, “You’re hot as shit, wearing nothing but my unbuttoned shirt, and you’re straddling my lap. I’m going to get hard.”
“I mean . . . I’m flattered.” She smiles and then says, “Okay, are you ready for this?”
“Hit me.”
Hands on my chest, she says, “So I was drunk—”
“As all good failed sex stories start.”
She laughs. “Absolutely my undoing. So yes, tequila had a hold on me that night and there was this guy I was totally jiving with on the dance floor. One of those guys who has no problem pelvic thrusting his erect penis on the dance floor on any ass that comes within a foot of his hips.”
“A classy man.”
She bops my nose. “See? Stuck-up.” I roll my eyes. “So, we were dancing, he was cannon thrusting me in the throes of the bar, which then turned into some rather public making out. I climbed the man like a tree and whispered in his ear, ‘Bathroom.’”
I frown. “You know, I don’t think this was a good idea . . . to share.”
“Oh, hang up your jealousies for a second, this gets good.” Sighing, I let her proceed. “So, we meet in the bathroom but the handicap stall was taken so we went into one of the small ones. I faced the toilet, he was behind me. We used a condom, don’t worry, but I was wearing a skirt and basically just bent over, gripped the toilet, and let him have at it.”
“Jesus, Charlee.”
She shrugs. “I was twenty-one. YOLO. Anyway, this guy was just going to town, and of course, being the drunk lady that I was, I occasionally let out a giant whoop and waved my arm around.”
I cringe, wondering where this is going.
“Well, I timed my whoop at the wrong moment, and just as Cannon Cock blasted me from behind, the force was too powerful, I was too drunk, and I ended up flying forward, slipping, and thrusting my head straight into the toilet. In my scramble to get back up, since good old CC had no idea I was drowning in toilet water, I grabbed the handle to stand, yanked and . . . gave myself a swirly.”
What . . .
I mean . . .
Wait . . . I can’t.
I throw my head back and laugh so hard that my chest aches.
“Oh shit.” Tears stream down my face as I picture it in my mind, Charlee’s head completely soaked from toilet water, a swirl on the top of her head. Oh fuck, it’s too good.
I laugh even harder, my stomach starting to hurt.
She grips my shoulders, shaking me to look at her. Eyes blurry, I give her the attention she desires.
“The worst part of it was, he came when I was flushing myself so I didn’t even get to finish. Instead, I did the walk of shame back to campus with drenched hair, running makeup, and a sore vagina from the blasting I took. Not my best moment.”
I snort.
I chortle.
I try to hold it in, but I let out the biggest guffaw you have ever heard.
“That’s right, let it all out. Picture it, visualize it, and know that no matter how bad you want it, I will never fuck you in a bathroom stall . . . ever.”
That makes me stop and straighten up. “The fuck you won’t. Now we have to fuck in a bathroom stall to change your experience.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Not happening. Sorry.”
We’ll see about that.
“Okay”—she pats my chest—“your turn and it better be good. I told you about my sex swirly, so you need to tell me something excruciating.”
“Hell, I have nothing like a sex swirly in my back pocket.” Still chuckling, I say, “I wish I did.”
“Okay, then tell me something else. A family story or a fear. Something,” she says, eyes pleading.
I think back to the promise I made myself, the one where I make this girl stick around, make it impossible for her to leave. I want her to start falling for me the way I’ve started falling for her, so I take my hands in hers and let out a deep breath.