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Holding my eyes, Ethan shifts his hips so his cock springs free. He wraps his hands around it and I wish I was really there to nuzzle against the musky scent I know he’s throwing off. “What’s next?”
“You tell me?”
“I want to fuck you so badly, Fallon, but I can’t let you put pressure on that ankle, baby.” His words are punctuated with the stroking of his cock from balls to tip.
I slip my fingers into my own panties and make a pfft sound. “My ankle is sore, but you’re touching me. Pain is the furthest thing from my mind. What I want you to do is to spread my legs apart and take what you want.”
“And what’s that?”
“My pussy. Just like you did the last time we were together.”
“Hmm, I have a better idea.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“If you think your ankle can handle it, I want to bend you over the table. I want to fuck you just like I wanted to that first night.”
“You wanted to…” My voice falters.
His face is carved in stone. “I wanted to pull your skirt up and spread your legs apart. I wanted to thrust inside you so hard your pretty face told the tale of how your cake ended up on the floor.” At that brutal honesty, a spurt of pre-cum leaks from Ethan’s cock.
I shimmy my panties down so he can see what I’m doing to myself for him, what he’s doing to me. “Dirty girl.”
“Your dirty girl,” I remind him.
“Hell yes, you are. Now play with those nipples and grind your hips back against me.”
We go back and forth like this until I have three fingers buried inside my pussy and am clenching around them and Ethan’s shot off a load. Sleepily, I murmur, “What would you do if you were here?”
“I’d suck off your fingers. I’d lick each and every one of them clean…fuck, Fallon.” His voice is reverent as I do just that. “I don’t know how much longer I can be without you, witch.”
“So, don’t be,” I make it sound simple when I want to face-palm myself. Between my mother, my day job, and my night job, finding time to just talk with Ethan is a struggle.
Still, to see the smile cross his face when I make that remark, it’s worth it.
He’s worth it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
KENSINGTON, TEXAS
On average, most Americans spend 3 hours and 15 minutes on their cell phones daily.
What’s your over/under?
—Moore You Want
On the phone with Fallon that night, I declare, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Well, that’s dangerous.”
“Funny.”
“I am.” Then there’s a slight pause. “About?”
I sit with my phone in my hand, my mind swirling with concerns about the obstacles between us—the distance, the age gap. For years, Fallon’s been my closest friend and despite the fact we’ve changed our relationship, thoughts of how it’s going to affect other people we care about weigh heavily on me. “For starters, our age difference.”
I can almost feel her confusion through the phone. Finally, “What about it?”