“Oh, fuck. Don’t stop, Betty!” I gripped her hip for dear life as I ground against her hand.
“Come for me, Mary. come for me, baby,” she whispered, kissing me.
I bucked against her hand with one desperate thrust, reaching my orgasm and clenching around her fingers delightfully. I never wanted it to end and wanted to feel everything she gave, so I pressed her hand against me and held her. Slowly, I pulled her fingers from within, holding eye contact, and dropped her hand from above her head.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” I said. “And so good.”
“How could I not be when you just let me explode all over your face?” Betty giggled. “I love you.”
I kissed her, “I love you, too.”
Chapter 53
Swoop and Save
MARY
Slowly and delicately, I pulled myself from under Betty. She was an encroacher. The more times I spent the night with her, the more I realized that she was going to force me to give up more of my half of the bed than anticipated. If she wasn’t so bloody cute, I’d have hated her for it. I decided not to wake her and tiptoed across to her closet when I began to file through her day glow and pastel life.
I pulled a pair of black leggings from a cubby, figuring those would do. Her t-shirts were mostly either from sailing competitions or horseback riding events. I finally found a shirt that appeared free of anything too wild and decided it would do. I then searched for a sports bra to steal—of which she had two dozen. They were all too big but would keep the girls going in a general direction well enough.
I picked up my boots and tiptoed out of Betty’s room quietly all the way down to the ground floor where I became confused.
A man asked, “Ask me about my horse?”
Betty’s older brother, Keir, stood in the hallway.
“What?” I asked.
“Your shirt… or rather, Betty’s… look,” he said. “On the back?”
“Great,” I groaned. “I grabbed what I thought was the only funny-saying-free shirt in her closet.”
“It says, ‘Ask me about my horse’. It’s some riding clothing company. Have you eaten yet? A few of us are up.”
“No. I was just?—”
“Come on, at least get some breakfast,” Keir beckoned me to the breakfast room.
Betty’s cousin, Cici, smiled, “Sit wherever. The old people have gone out on the yacht. There’s food at the buffet.”
I appraised at the food on offer.
Keir chuckled, “Yeah, it’s a bit of everything since we’re an odd bunch.”
I smiled. “No, it’s delightful in a way to see brunost next to beans and toast. This is ridiculous. But I like it.”
“Which side of that debate do you land on?” Cici asked.
“My Mum is a Brit,” I answered, “like yours. And… well, she always tried to tell us a fry up was God’s way of showing us he loved us. I’m not much for it, personally. Nor do I think brunost is even remotely edible.”
“You sound like Ingrid,” Keir said.
“Where is everyone?” I sat with a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast.
“Well, the old people and my husband went out for a sailing run this morning.”
“So did my brothers,” Keir clarified. “And Ingrid is still asleep with Paul who woke us up at three AM with a nightmare. Basically, we are what remains. I expect that Betty will wake up in about two hours still complaining she’s tired.”
