Now that I knew it was practically her birthday, I planned to feed her a proper lunch before I fucked her again. If the birth of this girl wasn’t worth celebrating, I didn’t know what was.
We got dressed and while I got lunch ready, she flitted around my kitchen like a little hummingbird in her sexy sundress. She set the island for us to eat, alternately humming and singing, kinda off-key but not terrible.
“What’s that song?” I asked her. I kinda recognized it, but I wasn’t sure, the way she sang it. She was really getting into it, though.
“It’s INXS, ‘Mystify,’” she informed me. “Fantastic song. Gorgeous lyrics.”
“I couldn’t tell,” I told her, deadpan.
“Nice!” She flicked a towel at me and fell apart laughing. “Are you critiquing my vocal talents??”
“Or lack thereof…”
“How dare you. On my almost-birthday! When I had thecourageto sing in front ofyou, the amazing vocalist with the gorgeous, perfect voice…”
“I don’t know about perfect…”
“Perfect,” she said, and kissed me, squeezing my dick as she did it.
“Jesus.” I adjusted my rapidly-hardening dick in my sweats. “You always this perky after you get some?”
“I don’t know.” She looked genuinely stumped as she considered that. “I’ve never really gotten it so good before.”
She’d started to slip away, but I grabbed her and yanked her to me, pressing my hard-on against her. “Keep saying shit like that, and I’m gonna keep it up.”
“No pun intended…”
I dug my hand into her hair and kissed her, long and deep. The blood was thrumming in my dick and my heart thudded in my chest… everything in me throbbing, hot against her, urging me to fuck her again—soon.
“You keep being you,” I murmured against her lips, “I’m definitely gonna keep doing you.”
“You keep being you,” she whispered, “I just might do you back.”
We kissed some more. When we broke apart, she said, a little breathless, “I like you, Ashley.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. I forced myself off of her with a groan, intent on feeding her. “Sit your ass down. It’s your almost-birthday. I’m doing shit for you and you’re not doing anything for me today.”
While Danica sat her ass down, I continued making our lunch—taco salad, because I made kickass taco salad.
“So, was it really that bad?” she asked me, leaning on her hand as she sat at the island, watching me with a sweet smile on her face. “My singing? I’ll be sad if I can’t sing that song anymore. It’s kind of a staple.”
“You’ve got a pretty voice,” I told her, honestly. “And your singing isn’t half-bad. You can keep doing it. I won’t complain.”
“Really?”
“I mean, it’s not half-good either.” I glanced over, and her jaw dropped, even as she smiled. “But I could give you some pointers, if you want.”
“Are you serious? Singing lessons from Ashley Player?” She batted her eyelashes at me.
“I mean, let’s be honest. No one’s ever gonna be throwing a recording contract at you. But if you want to sing in the shower and sound decent doing it, I can teach you. Or, you know, jam with me at a party when someone pulls out a guitar, and feel like you can hold your own, sing on-key and not run out of breath. I can coach you. Free of charge.”
“Yes, I want that. That would be amazing.”
“Cool,” I said. “Actually, I changed my mind. I’ll take sex as payment.”
“Ah, the world’s oldest bartering system. If you can teach me to sing anything by Panic! At the Disco, I’ll give you any kind of sex you want.”
“That may be a tall order. Let’s start with ‘American Pie’ or some shit, and see how you do.”
