She hums, sticking the spoon back in her mouth. “So, did you and Cree end up on the PCH prom night? Is that where youallegedlygot curved?”
“We back on this?”
“We never was off it. Answer the question.”
I widen my eyes and bunch my shoulders up. “As soon as we pulled up to prom, she admitted that she only agreed to go with me because she had a crush on Willow Smith. She knew her songs word for word, but Willow skipped prom to go to a bonfire in Malibu that year.”
“You went to high school with Will Smith’s daughter?” She howls. “You know what? Don’t even answer that. Of course you did. You rich folks are something else. So after the curve, did you end up fucking another chick or what?”
“You too curious about fucking, kid.”
She wiggles her eyebrows with another smirk. “Well, if you didn’t fuck Cree, you must’ve fucked Brandy. She’s definitely your type.”
I let the silence linger between us until the little smirk falls from her face.
“I only like chocolate cake. I only fuck chocolate bitches. No, I didn’t fuck Cree because she wanted to be Mrs. Willow Smith and Ifor sureain’t fuck Brandy—you was tripping with that one. Are you satisfied now?”
The way her cheeks jump up tells me she isn’t, so I crook my finger and beckon her chubby face over the cake.
“You believe too much Twitter gossip,” I mutter, wiping a smear of chocolate off her chin. “See why I took it away?”
Just the mention of Twitter, makes my stomach twist. It’s a harsh reminder of those reporters lurking in our space, reading our insiders, and tainting a place she thought was safe. That article was an ironic way to have my point proven—Twitter shouldn’t have been her diary, but it also shouldn’t have been a free for all for thirsty reporters either. Now her playground will never be the same.
“You took it away because I let you be a control freak when I’m bored sometimes.” Her chin bounces against my fingers. “I can log back on whenever I want—”
The rest of it gets caught between our lips because I’m tired of playing games. If it were up to her, we’d dance around Mom’s cake all night arguing about girls who didn’t matter.
I find her tongue and wrap my lips around it.
“You know better than that,” I mumble between sucks. “Just like deep down you know what kind of girls I fuck. Stop playing with me with your non-kissing ass.”
I taste the chocolate mousse and feel the vibrations of a deep, guttural moan clawing up her throat. I like the way she tries her hardest to chase my tongue and mimic my movements. The spoon clanks against the island as I slurp her bottom lip into my mouth. When I pull back, it bounces from between my teeth, so I go after it again, pecking it over and over.
“I’m tired of playing twenty-one questions,” I mutter between pecks. “Tell me something good. Tell me how much you missed me.”
A loud gasp escapes her mouth, tickling my nose. “I—I think I wanna—”
“Nuh uh, we not doing that shit tonight. Tell me what you want—for real.”
“You,” she hiccups out, pulling her lip from between my teeth and brushing her eyes against my torso. “I want you.”
“You already got me.”
She shakes her head. “I-I want you toyou know.”
My eyebrow raises and that familiar tingle takes over my fingers because she’s being both versions of herself. One can’t even articulate the words and two can’t help herself anymore after I had my fingers deep inside her. I need to tame both.
“Nah, I don’t. You want me to what?”
I really don’t want it to come out of her mouth, but I know it will anyway and it’ll make that jonesing for a bigger hit of her worse. It’s my fault for making her so curious in the first place. All the signs were there—all the questions about Cree, other girls, her drunken joke about wanting to fuck me after I hurt her feelings, the way her body curved into mine the morning after Splashtown.
“I wanna have sex.”
My lip tilts up, and I let go of her face.
I swipe my finger through the chocolate icing while my dick gets stiff in my briefs. “Why you wanna do that, baby?”
“Why not? You already had your fingers there.”
