Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
I nod inwardly like this makes so much sense.
Taking in his face, I see his hair is all askew. Cheeks slightly flushed.
“Am I interrupting something?” I wonder.
“Not gonna lie to you, Hale,” he tells me. “You were.”
Ohhhhh. My cheeks bake. And he’s staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes like I’d been the main character in his imagination.
“I…you didn’t want to, with me?” Did that make sense? I jab a finger towards the door. I think he follows.
“Thought you were asleep,” he says with a scorching glance down my body.
“I would’ve let you still…” have sex with me, touch me. It’s the unsaid thing, and I prop a hip on the door frame. He’s so near, I can feel the heat radiating off his naked body.
“While you were asleep?” he asks with a spark of worry flaring his eyes.
“I mean…yeah?” Why am I suddenly sweaty and nervous? Oh, maybe because he seems freaked out. Okay, not freaked out. Concerned, really. “I give you permission. If you’re feeling in the mood next time…”
“I gotta wake you up first. I can’t just stick it in you while you’re asleep.” Him talking about sticking his dick in me is making me throb between my legs, but I’m listening to what he’s saying.
“Even if I consent?”
“You sleep way too hard for it to feel consensual for me,” he explains. Okay, I get it, and I’m nodding. His lips begin to lift, and he says, “You can pretend to be asleep though.”
I smile and blush because that is one of my highest sexual fantasies lately. I often imagine him discovering my body on a foreign planet and trying to awaken me with hot and heavy thrusting.
Our eyes are hooked, and I can’t stop nodding. “Cool cool,” I say.
He’s smiling, and he shifts the pillow but keeps his erection concealed.
“So you were just…?” I ask.
“Jerking off, yeah.” He grins at my cheeks that’ve likely gone bright red. “What’s up?”
“Your dick,” I tell him, unable to stop myself.
He laughs. “Facts.”
His humor really settles the restless energy coursing through me. I tell him, “I’m about to go make some weed brownies and then have a Fizzle brainstorm session. Wanna join?”
He barely thinks on it. “Count me in.”
“Cool,” I say but I realize I don’t know whether he’s “in” for the brainstorming session or the edibles or both. I guess I’ll find out.
“Cool,” Donnelly nods in agreement. And then we both just…stare at each other. Should I leave? Should I go into his room? No, definitely not. I wasn’t invited. Please invite me.
I’d really like to watch him come.
We could come together.
He could even take my pseudo-virginity. Like he can read my brain—or possibly, he’s envisioning the same carnal thing—his muscles contract. His fingers dig into the pillow like his cock is aching behind the barrier.
Leaning my temple on the door frame, I grip the wood with my fingers. My pussy clenches as arousal slams more forcefully into me.
Donnelly drinks in my reaction and the tiny breath hitched in my throat. My heart starts quickening, like it’s on the precipice of being tossed overseas.
I want sex.
He wants sex, right?
I want it so bad I could jump on him right fucking now. I’m clenching my legs together so tightly, I probably resemble one of those life-sized Nutcrackers. The pressure feels nice on my pussy, but I’m dreaming of something deeper. A fullness. In me.
Him.
“Donnelly,” I whisper, his name a near-whimper on my lips.
“Fuck,” he groans like my sole presence is tempting every last cell of his body. Then he glances at his bed behind him. Yes, yes, yes. His eyes are back on mine, more conflicted, and my stomach sinks.
Nooooo.
He’s shifting the pillow, incredibly pent-up, but there is no invite.
Before the actual rejection comes and stings any worse, I say. “Godspeed.” Whirling around to leave, I feel him grab my wrist.
“Wait.”
“Hmm?” is all I’m able to muster, but I turn back.
“Come here.” He draws me against his firm chest, but he drops my wrist to clutch the back of my skull. We’re a head-on collision, our lips crashing together in a hungered, aching second. His tongue slips inside my mouth and—he pulls away. Just his lips. But we’re pressed so close together still. His forehead touches mine. His knuckles dig into my belly from the hand that’s bracing the pillow over his cock.
“We can’t,” he says, eyes pinched closed. “I can’t stop myself right now if we keep kissing.”
“You still think it’s too soon?” I murmur.
He’s quiet before he says, “Yeah. I can’t tonight.”
“Philly won the Super Bowl—”
“It’s not that. It’s just the talk with your dad. Seeing your parents going at it—lovingly, but still. A lot happened tonight. We should give it some distance, you know?”
I can’t tell if it’s for me or for him. But maybe it’s both. “Okay, yeah.” I try to sock away any lingering bits of disappointment, but I’m less disheartened and more so overly aroused.