“You said you want a flawed, fucked up person.”
“I... I do.”
“Why you talking like I ain’t already dumb for you? Like I ain’t race across the city with another chick in my front seat to get to you last night. Like Marcus ain’t press me over you. Like you don’t already have me? Why you even want a man like me?”
The words follow his head as he dips between my legs.
I think there’s only so much imagining somebody can do before they conclude that the scenarios that live in their imaginations ain’t shit compared to how they feel in real life. Real life issomuch better.
Ace’s soft lips against the most sensitive part of my body is like a satisfying ending to a good ass story. They peck and pull the skin while I squirm against his face and when his tongue twirls between the lips, my back thrashes deep into the bed.
“Fu—ohh,” I gasp out something between a moan and a curse while he kisses me in soft, teasing motions.
I reach out to find his head, scraping my fingers across his scalp and the sides of his face. That makes his head bob and his tongue thrust harder, like he wants the world to see the evidence of what he’s doing to me. I hear him slurping the wetness that’s always there when he’s around.
“Lourdes?” He hums out.
“Yeah—yeah, As—?”
“Can I have you, baby?”
The question comes out like the other ones he’s so good at asking and I don’t think he’s talking about fucking. Boys like him aren’t supposed to ask questions likethat. At least that’s what I learned on Earth.
Another cold gust tickles my skin as I peel my eyes open and look up at him hovering over me with red scratches across his temples and a glossy coat of my wetness on his lips. Sun rays sneak between the blinds and bounce off his sad brown eyes.
It’s the first time I ever seen them this way.
I push up on my arms, waiting for him to crack a smile and tell me I’m “hella sensitive” for thinking he’s for real, but all he does is drag his fingers across my thighs.
“I told you, you get whatever you want,” I whisper.
“No, you told Twitter that. I want you to look me in my face and tell me that shit.”
My eyes scrape across all the parts of him that make my frilly panties wet—his pink lips that never complain about the shitty card somebody dealt him one summer and his eyes with that sadness in them like he’s had nothing worth keeping.
“I’ll give you whatever you want, Ason.”
The words come out crystal clear without any doubt in them.
He sighs, crawling on top of me. Our faces smash together and his lips cover mine.
“Open your legs wider.” He breathes into my mouth, marching his fingers down my stomach and between my legs.
They pat my lips and then push down, rubbing in slow, hard circles that make my hips chase their movements. He pulls his mouth from mine and plants it on my forehead.
“Open wider for me.”
When he slides his fingers to my entrance, my body locks.
“Don’t be like that. Relax for me.”
For him.
I wish somebody would’ve explained that lust and all its whimsical endorphins make me want to do anything for him, like take his long finger without fussing about how much it’s stretching me out in ways I’ve never been.
“That’s right, baby.”
He cheers me on like he’s watching me play ball or solving the greatest mystery, but all I’m doing is taking his digit with my eyes closed and his lips against my ear.
