Page 50 of Finding Fate
He smirks. “I’m listening.”
“If only one of us is right, the winner gets the bed and the loser gets the air mattress. If we’re both right, we share the bed. If we’re both wrong, neither get it.”
“Before I risk giving up my bed, how do you expect me to prove you aren’t. I don’t know you. Bitches lie.”
I smile, knowing I have the upper hand. “There are ways to prove everything. You in or out, country?”
“I’ll play.”
I walk past him, going in search of this mysterious bed. Maybe this won’t be a shitty vacation after all. When I walk past the couch and hit the kitchenette, there is an entire large nook to the basement you can’t see until you walk to the refrigerator and look right. It’s setup with a bed, nightstand, dresser, and small desk. This is where I’m sleeping. Fuck an air mattress.
I turn around and sit on the black comforter as he comes into the space, scooting back enough that I can pull my feet on the bed with my legs spread. Then I lean back on my palms, my long hair brushing against my arms. “See how many fingers it’ll hold. It has to slide in easily, not be forced. Only one, I win. Two, it’s a tie. Three or more, you win.”
His eyes bounce between my legs, stalling at the center much longer than when I turned around earlier, which makes my stomach flutter. They finally return to mine. I steal a glance, noticing the same type of bulge he had earlier. Someone else did the work, my ass. He walks forward and leans toward me, gripping the back of my neck with purpose. “You gonna keep that smart-ass mouth of yours shut?”
I smile. “I don’t kiss and tell. Just ask my sister who I’ve been with. She couldn’t tell you.”
He pulls me closer to him, our mouths practically touching. “Then a bet’s a bet. Pull it out and watch it grow.”
“How much more could it grow? It’s already hard.”
He chuckles. “That’s just a chub, girl.”
I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up his body, working it over his head. As I throw it on the bed, I look down his torso, finding lean muscle and tattoos. “Who knew you were hiding abs and shit under there.”
“Get a move on it before someone comes looking for me like they always do.”
My hands move to his jeans, working them open. “Awe, that’s cute. You have chaperones.”
“Shut up.” I pull the band of his boxer briefs out and reach inside at the exact moment he pushes his thumb pad between my lips, slowly rubbing up and down the slit a few times. That feels magical when someone else does it.
I finally realize I’m getting sidetracked or his dick has no end. I work the thick muscle out with my hand wrapped around the center, and as I stroke from bottom to top, I glance down. “Damn, that’s a snake.”
“Still screaming little dick?”
I smile, working my hand up and down the large area. “Pleasant surprise. Now I know you haveonegood quality.”
“The ones with something to brag about won’t. Now let’s see what I’m working with.” He flips his hand over, the tip of his finger already prodding my entrance, and then he finally slips it in. Long fingers. Shit. He works it in and out, twisting every few thrusts inside. “I wasn’t expecting for you to be this wet. The little bitch wanted me to touch her here, huh?”
“Only when you don’t speak,” I grit.
“Then shut me up.”
I push forward and take his lips in mine, our tongues brushing almost instantly, and then our mouths twist and turn, lips tasting, touching, and tangling. The boy can kiss. I half-expected him to be one of those sloppy kissers that shove their tongue down your throat and leave half of your face wet. The next time he pulls out I feel more pressure pressing against me, and when he pushes inside, it’s a tight fit from wall to wall, drawing a whine from my mouth as he inches inside, stretching me slowly. He grunts half the way in, and then pulls back a hair. “Shit, I’m not going to fit. I still want to fucking try.”
My mouth goes crooked. “Who’s the whore now?”
He pulls out and pushes both fingers back inside, faster this time. I’m slowly adjusting to the fullness I feel with two versus one. “You’re young. You still have time.”
I grip the top of his hair and pull hard. He goes faster again like it was a command. My pelvis keeps doing mini thrusts off the bed from how good it feels. “Maybe I’m just picky. Ever think of that?”
“Picky girls don’t let guys they just met do this.”
He is getting on my damn nerves. Wasn’t I just getting pissed about Presley trying to tell me what to do and lecture me on why I shouldn’t be running around in my underwear with guys in the house? Now he’s doing it. I’m not out looking for a love interest, or a boyfriend, or even a regular hookup. If I wanted those things, I’d look back home within my high school walls. I just want to have a little low-key fun with a guy without being worried about people finding out. It dawns on me—the answer. If I want that, I should act like that. If he wants to think I’m a whore, why not let him? Bitch is what I do best. Screw this.
I push his arm back until he’s no longer inside my body, and then shove his body to the side, already getting on my knees. He turns on his back to look at me, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. He’s trying to get to me. I may not have met a guy like him, but he’s never met a girl like me either. I lean over his legs and open the top drawer to the nightstand, grabbing what I knew would be there. Guys are so damn predictable—truck console, bedside drawer, wallet. It’s going to fit. The human female body was made for this.
He watches me tear off the top of theMagnumfoil wrapper, not saying anything, his hard dick coming out of his opened jeans and running up his lower stomach. We had to learn how to put these on bananas and cucumbers inSex Edclass. My mother made me take that class. Presley needed it more than me. But, I guess it didn’t go without benefits, like now, as I take the rubber ring out of the packet and stand him tall, then roll it down in one motion.