I lie back on the pillows and pull her toward me. “Get on my fucking face.Now,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?” She looks worried, like she’s afraid I can’t handle her size or something—which is just crazy because she’s shaped like a literal goddess.
“I’m more than sure. Now get up here and let me devour you,” I demand.
She smiles, her shyness fading as she settles over my face, and I pull her hips down to my hips. She’s still wet. Her clit brushes over my tongue, and her hips buck toward me. Looking up, I see her grabbing and playing with her tits. I try to hold eye contact with her, but it’s too much when I feel her juices slipping down my chin. She’s so wet—her pussy is sliding effortlessly over my tongue. I moan against her, she tastes too good.
Above me, she’s moaning and rocking her hips back and forth to a rhythm. Her hands are pinching her nipples, and her eyes are shut as she enjoys the moment. Maybe she can come easier than she thinks. She probably just needs to relax a little bit. I think she’s teetering on the edge of release, but then her eyes shoot open, and she grabs her leg.
“Crap! Leg cramp!” She falls to the side of me, off my face, and stretches out her knee.
“Are you okay?” I can feel how wet my mouth is from her, but there’s nothing to discreetly wipe it with.
“Yes, just a leg cramp. Probably from sitting so much on the train.” She winces. I’m sure wearing those heels all day don’t help either, but now isn’t the time to mention them.
“Do you need ice?”
“No, I’ll probably be fine. But I think the mood has shifted.” She frowns.
“Totally understand. Do you want me to stay?”
“No!” she yells way too quickly. I laugh it off, but damn that kind of stung. “Sorry, my family is coming here in the morning. I don’t need them seeing my one-night stand leaving.”
“Of course.” I nod. That makes me feel a little better. And it isn’t like I could stay all night anyway. I have to get up in the morning to arrange the funeral home flowers. Fuck. Well, there goes all the work I put into not thinking about it.
“I’ll…thanks for tonight.” I struggle with what to say after I’ve dressed.
“Bye, Mac.” She giggles and I let myself out, heading toward the bar.
THREE
Bells
Ireally hate funerals. I mean, I know nobody likes them, but I especially hate them. It’s just a bunch of strangers gathering to say things they never said when the person was alive. I haven’t been to one since I was a kid and lost the last of my grandparents—until today. Now, my mother’s sister has died, and we’ve all been swept upstate for a funeral where I don’t know a soul.
My family is huge—cousins, aunts, and uncles I only see once a decade, at family reunions or funerals. I’m barely close with my own parents, let alone everyone else. But apparently it “wouldn’t look good” if I wasn’t here. My parents insist on keeping up appearances. They’re even pretending that they are still married, even though they’ve been living in separate houses for the last five years.
I remember meeting my aunt once or twice as a kid, but I couldn’t tell you much about her. My mother never talks about her family, and truthfully, I never asked. I’ve always been fine on my own. Which is why putting on a forced smile and hugging people who are basically strangers is not how I want to spend myday. Of course I feel bad she died, but I barely knew her—I can’t even fake tears.
I know why my mother really wanted to come—especially with my father on her arm. My aunt had money. She had some farm business upstate that apparently did well, and my mother wants her hands on the inheritance money. It’s sad, and frustrating, to say the least.
When the funeral procession ends, my parents start making small talk with family members. I slip outside to check my phone. Too many work emails have piled up in the last few hours to ignore. As I’m about to reply, my mother brushes my shoulder with her manicured hand.
“It’s time for the will reading, dear,” she says softly. Her hand gently squeezes my shoulder, but there’s no emotion behind her actions.
“I’ll hang out here until you’re ready,” I say.
“The lawyers requested your presence. It’s possible she left you something too.”
“Oh.” My stomach twists. What could she have possibly left me?
I follow my parents into a back room in the funeral home, where a lawyer, a few extended relatives, my parents, and I gather around a large rectangular table like we’re in a business meeting.
The lawyer quickly names everyone listed in the will and is about to begin when someone barges in.
“I have a right to be in there!” The blonde woman jerks her arm out of the guard’s grasp.
“Matilda, we talked about this,” the lawyer says calmly.
