“Funny how you said you weren’twet,” I mock, clicking my tongue. “But since you’re not, I’m going to need you to spit.”
Her face flames with shame, but I only grin. Her cheeks hollow a little, like she’s gathering her saliva, then she purses her lips just a tad and her saliva trickles out like a waterfall onto her chest. I use it to lather her entire breast, making sure I put extra attention around the piercing.
“Who needs a pet when I could have you?” I might’ve overstepped, but my cock and her clenched thighs don’t agree. “I should get you a collar, maybe a leash, walk you like a dog, fuck you like one too.”
Her nails dig into me. This time, I’m sure she’s pierced through the skin. But I don’t dwell on it because I’m experiencing something I never have.
I’m coming and I can’t get myself to stop.
An electric surge shoots down my spine and I tense, my cock pulsing uncontrollably as I continue to come in my briefs. My eyes flutter and roll back and my hold on her nipple tightens. I hear her whimper, moaning soft yeses, before we both go slack.
A minute then another and I’m pulling back slightly to find her staring wide-eyed up at me. The questionWhat did we just do?is written all over her face, and I know it’s on mine too.
I’ve never done this…it just…came naturally to me…and she was here…and I was…holy fuck.
Did that really happen?
I look down and sure enough there’s a wet stain on my jeans.
Fuck.
“Two…” My mouth goes dry.
She lifts the satin fabric over her breast and sidesteps me. “I-I should go.”
At lighting speed, she’s off before I can get in a word. What just happened?
6
ANNA
Sunday, December 8
“Don’tyou dare fail me now.” I smack my barely-hanging-by-a-thread handheld mixer. The only beater I have gets stuck in the mountain of dry ingredients before it stops working altogether. “Pinche, pu—” It releases a soft whir before stuttering awake and spinning like its life depends on it.
I blow out a heavy breath, fanning my bangs away from my face. They land back on my forehead, making it itch. I blow at them again in hopes they’ll move direction, but like the last seven times, they land in the same spot.
Note to self: hide scissors before drinking.
Brushing them away with my wrist, I draw my gaze to the TV whereThe Great British Baking Show: Holidaysis playing, then let my eyes roam over my small apartment.
It might as well be called a cardboard box because of the limited space. It’s embarrassing how much we’re paying for 750 square feet. Not to mention the view is…substandard at best.
But on the positive, the rats are friendly and the neighbors are nice-ish. All things considered, this is New York, so I can’tcomplain. I’ve always wanted to live in the big city. I came from Nowhere, North Carolina, so I’m living the dream, if you ask me.
“Te juro—” Jenny bursts through the door, grumbling and mumbling a string of curse words in Spanish. “If they don’t fix that goddamn elevator, I swear I’m not paying rent. Fuck Jerry.” Our landlord. “Fuck the elevator.” It’s been breaking down every three months. “Fuck Christmas.” She doesn’t mean that. “Fuck the rich.” She definitely means that. “Fuck everyone.” Not everyone. “Fuck the elevator again. And fuck me for agreeing to live on the eighth floor.” We were two desperate and broke college students trying to find a decent apartment close to the university and our jobs. We took the first thing that worked for us without realizing it wasn’t as great as we’d initially thought.
Her frustration shouldn’t amuse and somewhat alleviate my stress, but it does.
She slams the door shut, kicks her shoes off, and sucks in a breath. Her furious light-brown eyes meet mine then skid to the baked goods scattered across the kitchen and living room.
I touch my nose in an instant, shouting, “You first!”
A millisecond later, she’s mirroring what I’m doing and saying, “Dammit, Anna, no. I had a shit shift, I don’t want to?—”
I give her a pointed stare. “You know the rules. You’re the one who set them.”
We’ve only known each other for three years, but in that short time, we’ve become very good at reading the room. A tiny facial expression or a single word is all it takes for us to know something is wrong. Though right now it’s a given with all the pastries I’ve got laid out. There’s so many, I could feed all the tenants in our complex, and she’s cursing in Spanish, so I know it’s serious.
