I look up, impressed. “This is nice.”
“Eloise is a baller. She’s like actually a bajillionaire. We always joke that I should quit my job and just be her tradwife.”
“Something tells me you’d hate that.”
“Yep,” she agrees. “But I’d be really bad at it, anyway. I’m a terrible cook, and I can barely keep my own room clean.”
“And you’d mouth off and complain all day, instead of taking it like a good girl.”
We stare at each other. I don’t take it back.
I slip her plastic bag off my wrist and hand it to her, making a point to touch her fingertips. Her hand drops comically fast with the weight of the bag. “Well, you won’t have to worry about cooking for a while, at least.”
She smiles. “You should take your hat back,” she says, tilting her head towards me.
I remove the hat from her head. This time, I luxuriate in the feeling of her hair between my fingers, lightly brushing her scalp with my nails and running my hands through the soft strands, tangling them slightly so I can pull on them. A soft tug, at odds with the way I want to yank them back. She stares at me, eyes electric blue under the glow of the streetlights.
I glance down at her mouth, and take note, for perhaps the hundredth time, of the fullness of her bottom lip.
I feel the need to say something. “I should fire you for what you did earlier,” is what comes out of my mouth.
Georgia doesn’t react. “Why?”
“You didn’t follow my direct orders.”
“So?” She steps closer.
“That was very disobedient of you.”
Her pupils dilate. “Was I a bad girl?”
My hand moves of its own accord. I take my thumb, and Ipress down on her bottom lip, the source of my every waking nightmare. “As your boss, I would say you need to be punished.”
I feel her tongue brush my thumb. She draws the tip into her mouth. Or maybe I push it in, just past my fingernail. She sucks. Every ounce of blood in my body rushes to my cock.
Someone behind us shrieks. We both take a step back, as a group of drunk twenty-something’s stumble by.
“Thanks for walking me home, Oliver. You can punish me on Monday.”
I don’t respond, watching her perfect ass walk up the stoop instead.
TWENTY-FOUR
Georgia
Eloise isawake and reading on the couch, so I don’t run into my room and furiously masturbate like I want to.
Sighing, I collapse on the couch next to her, throwing my bag of food on the coffee table. I lay my head in her lap. It smells like Weezy, a unique blend of weed and her Le Labo perfume. “Hi, Weezy.”
“Hi, George,” she pets my hair, a pale imitation of the way Oliver’s pulled mine. “How was your day?” She uses her toe to poke at the bag on the coffee table. “Smells good.”
“It was fucking insane. You hungry?”
“A little, now.”
I get up and take the bag to the kitchen. I make Weezy a similar plate to the one Gloria made me earlier (albeit much, much smaller), and bring it to her with a spoon and a fork.
“Ooooh, Filipino food?! What a treat,” she says, and with expert precision, peels the meat off the oxtail bone in the kare kare with her spoon and fork. She makes a perfect spoonful with rice and shovels it into her mouth.
