I’m still shivering when I shift off Cassie and sit in the footfall in front of her seat.
“Pia!” she exclaims as I put my hands and head under her dress. “What are you doing?”
“You know exactly what I’m doing,” I tell her as I bunch her dress up and find her underwear. When I notice they’re frilly silk knickers, I can’t help but smile to myself. Not that I will ever tell Jon he was correct. I will never tell him anything about how sweet it is to have your face mere inches from Cassie Everard’s pussy.
“But, Pia, we’re driving…”
I poke my head out of her dress. “Do you not want me to eat you?”
That silences her.
“I would like to hear you say it, Cassie,” I add, and the second I say her name, her eyes brighten again.
She slides her hand into my hair, on top of my head. “I want you to eat me,” she says. “I’ve wanted that every day for the last two months.”
I feel the uncomfortable risk of my next question, but I take it, and I soften the potential blow by running my fingers over her pussy, through those silly frilly knickers. “Have you touched yourself while thinking about it?”
“Yes,” Cassie gasps. “It’s the only way I can get myself off. To imagine you giving me head or me giving it to you.”
I growl into her thigh, baring my teeth. It’s a moment of the thinnest composure before I grab hold of her panties and pull them down with a rough yank. Clumsily, I get them off her legs and tuck them into the top of my dress. I’ll put them in my bedside table, next to that Polaroid of her that I have looked at too many times.
And then I’m eating her. My mouth covers her smooth cunt, and my tongue is searching and hungry. It’s hard to hear Cassie’s exact reactions with the noise of the car’s engine, the traffic outside and with her thighs often clamping around my ears, but whenever I do hear her moan, I keep doing whatever it is that I was doing to get that noise.
Honestly, I want to do this for hours. Tasting her. Kissing her. Licking her. Making her wetter and wetter. But I’m aware this car journey has an end, and I’ve read enough articles to know about her house in the Hills, which we weren’t too far from at the bar. So it feels like a gift when I feel her rolling hips get more erratic and her fingers dig into my scalp, keeping me exactly where she wants me. I flatten my tongue and rub it over and over and over her clit. She fucks my mouth so beautifully until there is no way even my broken ears can miss the loud moans she’s making.
Although it does take me a second to realise what she’s moaning.
“Pia,” she sighs. “Pia, Pia, yes, Pia.”
I keep my mouth on her until she stops because I’m convinced if I show my face now, she’ll see exactly how her moaning my name makes me feel.
When it feels safe, I get up and sit on the seat next to her. She rearranges her dress and leans back again, her head turned towards me.
“Stay here tonight,” she says, still breathless.
It’s only then that I realise the car has stopped. I glance outside and see we’re parked in the driveway of a Hacienda-style villa that is surrounded by a high white wall, topped with terracotta tiles.
Cassie’s home. Cassie’s little hideaway. Where Cassie Everard lives and sleeps and writes her soppy, but admittedly technically impressive, songs.
I think about being with her all night. And again in the morning. I think about making her coffee. I think about her singing in the shower. I think about wearing her clothes. I think about fucking her in her kitchen, in her lounge, in her bathroom. In that music room that she’s told journalists about. I think about her showing me where she planted those fucking English rose seeds she got from a fan. I’d finally know what colour they are and if they are already in bloom.
I think about it all, and then I think about having to leave her after that, having to go back to who we are after playing pretend for the shortest while.
I know what it feels like to spend a night with Cassie Everard, and I barely recovered the first time. I’m not going to do that to myself again.
“No.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “I can’t. Got shit to do in the morning.”
“Really?” she asks, and those big blue eyes are trying to speak to my soul, I swear it.
“Go heat up Heather’s tacos,” I say as I pull down my dress. “But if you could call me a cab, that would be great.”
“No,” Cassie says after a moment. She adjusts her neckline, making sure she’s all tucked in. “She’ll take you home.”
“No, it’s okay, I?—”
“I insist,” Cassie says, and she already has the door open. “I guess I’ll see you around, Pia.”
“Wait, Cassie,” I say, and I grab hold of her forearm. She looks back at me.
