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)
“Hope,” I sing-song. “You’ve made it very infectious. I think I’ve caught a case of it.”
“That’s ‘cause I’ve been smothering you with it for a while.” He tilts his head back at me. “Full confession: you asked me to infect you, so it’s been a consensual smothering.”
I smile even harder. “I did?”
“You did.”
“Maybe I knew…” I shake my head to myself. Memories are on the verge. Maybe they have been this whole time, and instead of being frustrated this one isn’t coming out, I’m choosing to believe it is there.
It’s always been there.
It never really left me.
He weaves a casual, loving arm around my waist and uses one hand to tap in an order.
“We should ask Frog and Quinn if they want anything,” I say, pulling out my phone. Donnelly’s hand dips beneath my puffer jacket and AC/DC tee, his fingers skimming the bareness of the small of my back.
My cheeks heat, and a pulse returns to the spot between my legs. Sex. Donnelly. Sex. Donnelly. The need beats stronger, but I try not to expect it. Because there is a slight chance he could still slam on the brakes. He could get in his head about it in the moment, and I’d rather just relish in the present.
But I can’t deny, I am extremely horny.
Like, my skin feels radioactive, and his touch is making me too wet. My panties were already soaked before we left.
Our eyes catch, and he must read an odd look on my face because he asks me if this is okay. Him touching me. I reaffirm that yes, I want him to publicly grope me.
“A lot, a lot,” I add.
He grins and kisses my temple, then right outside of my lips, then my lips. I swear I hear the click, click, click of camera flashes. But when I check, paparazzi aren’t inside Wawa, and they stay camped behind the window.
I’m still hot all over when I text Frog for her hoagie order.
Donnelly waits for it.
“Frog wants Italian on ciabatta. Not toasted.”
He makes a noise of disgust. “Buffalo doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s getting it toasted.” He types it into the kiosk. It’s also the first time I’ve ever heard him call Frog Buffalo. She’s from Buffalo, New York, and I’m guessing the nickname doesn’t happen often because he said it like a pseudo-insult. I prickle in defense like she’s my…friend.
She is wearing the emerald green and bright pink striped scarf I knitted her.
My phone buzzes in my palm. “Quinn wants a veggie with parm, lettuce, onion, and tomato. Toasted.”
“My man, Quinnie,” Donnelly grins, punching in the order.
I watch his fingers—and I remember how good it feels when they’re inside of me. I hate that in this sacred place I have sex-brain. It really didn’t help coming here right after the pool table. I should’ve changed my panties too. They’re wet and a reminder that I am indeed in need of a release.
His fingers crawl higher up my spine, tingling every inch of me.
I’m ready.
I’ve never been so ready in my life.
I just want to be railed by him! Is that too much to ask?
Donnelly glances to me, then the kiosk, then back to me, his desire pooling in his blue eyes and dripping slowly down my body. “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“‘Cause it’s making me want to fuck you against the condiments, and we can’t desecrate Wawa at this holy hour.”
I flush into another smile. “Look away from me then,” I say quietly.
“No can do, Hale. My eyes have chosen you.”
“Your eyeballs chose well.”
“Yeah, they did.” He stares right into my core, reaching into the very depth of me, and my smile softens on him.
I slip my fingers in his beltloop. “Will you order for me?”
“I’ve got you.” He’s typing on the screen, and I think it’s safe to say that this night has become one of my favorites. One beautiful enough to be recorded for eternity.
I piece every detail together, every fragment of affection, all the simple and shining things, and I hope this tapestry always keeps me warm. I wonder how many more I had with him, and it’s not a sad fact anymore. It’s not a dark feeling of loss. It’s a bright one of discovery.
54
LUNA HALE
We eat our hoagies in my Volvo. Donnelly parks near the Schuylkill River, and we must’ve lost the paparazzi tail because no cameramen hop out of their vehicles and try to attack our windows. It’s warm in the safety of the car, and the moonlight sparkles the dark water.
“Try this too.” He splits his toasted Italian with me. And so I give him half of the toasted ham hoagie he ordered for me.
I smile into my first bite of the Italian. It’s an explosion of meaty flavor. It melts in my mouth—the bread a perfect softness. I make a satisfied noise, and his grin expands. He passes me a soft drink, and I wash down the bite.