“My mum used to put that bad tasting nail polish stuff on them,” he told her as she studied his hands. “But I got addicted to it and bit them more.”
“Anxious?”
“Fixated,” he said, his gold-brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think you’ve seen that side of me.”
“I have.” She dropped his hand and gripped his right bicep. He flexed, turning the muscle to grapefruit, and she swooned like a schoolgirl. “You’re so sexy. Too sexy. Who looks this good naked?”
“You.” He brushed a hand down the column of her throat. “Best rig I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks. I just wish you could have seen me when I was your age.”
“Cheryl.”
“Oh stop, just let me say this.”
He fell silent, watching her closely, and in the dim blanket world, she found she could tell him. “When we did that role play, it was something I didn’t even know I wanted, but I did.”
“Being younger than me?”
She nodded. “I get self-conscious sometimes. I don’t want to sound vain, but I was really pretty. Young and kind of… innocent in this way I’m just not anymore. And I want you to have seen me that way. Touched me that way.”
Patrick folded his hands behind his head. “I guess I can kind of understand, but trust me, there’s no way you were hotter than you are now.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not shit-talking you. I’m sure you were cute, but you’re everything now. It’s like Marilyn Monroe, you know? You don’t want her to be nineteen. You want her to be all sexy in her white dress with her lipstick. You want her to be a woman.”
It could still have been flattery, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was talking to the covers with his eyes half-closed, and that was all the proof she needed. She launched herself at him, gripping his thick hair and pressing her lips to his. In seconds his cock was an iron bar against her thigh and she climbed on top of him, gripping his shaft and sliding him deep—betraying her own promise that next time they would be safer—use a condom, pull out—not cross every sexual line there was.
She sat fully on top of him, their hips locking together until she was so full, she could hardly breathe.
“You’re so fucking little,” Patrick hissed. “Where does my dick go, KitKat? How do I even fit inside you?”
I don’t know, she thought as she rocked back and forth. I don’t know anything.
If it wasn’t for the sun moving around the room, Cheryl wouldn’t have known time was passing at all. At least until her stomach ached with hunger, and her head from dehydration and caffeine withdrawal, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was Patrick’s mouth, his rough, slightly bent fingertips gripping her ass hard enough to bruise. It mattered how they looked in his full-length mirror, fucking like animals, both of them gleaming with sweat. As Patrick took her from behind, his insane body flexing, she remembered the doppelgänger porn—her double getting screwed by Patrick’s twin.
Eat your heart out, she told her reflection. They don’t even come close.
After a particularly nasty round, they lay together in a tangle of limbs, daylight blasting through the cracks in Patrick’s curtains.
“We need to eat,” she panted.
“Eventually.” Patrick put his palm to hers, his fingers so long they bent over the top.
“Your hands are so small… what?” he said when Cheryl laughed.
She explained about the pick me girl memes and he laughed too. “It is sexy how tiny you are. But I’d pick you even if you were a giant.”
“Wow, thanks, Patty-Bear.”
“Anytime, babe. You’re not like the other girls, you know?”
She swatted his shoulder. “I should check my emails, see what the damage of this sick day is.”
“Nah, fuck that.” He threw a leg over her hip. “You’ve done it now. No point stressing about it.”
Maybe he was right, because as the sun’s strength and position continued to shift, her guilt about missing work was easier to push aside. Everyone on her team had taken at least one random hangover day and a bunch of them had gone overseas at short notice. She never did any of that. She would be fine. Only she needed food.
