Page 101 of Beautifully Ruined

Breasts.

Pussy. Thighs.

Pussy.

Fuck. Oh, god. As the scent of pizza, the age-old aroma of stone-oven-baked dough, garlic, tomatoes, and cheese fills the elevator, he won’t quit staring, and I think my pussy flushes.

Instinctively, I squeeze my thighs and inner muscles, but all that happens is I somehow manage to push out more cum. The wetness on my skin spreads, and Cade snorts. It’s a low sound, one I’m not sure the guy hears.

Every scrap of his attention is on me.

Panic hits, and I desperately pretend I’m not naked. I practically will a hazmat suit on to my body, some kind of covering from head to toe.

“What kind of pizza is that?” I hear myself ask. “It smells so good.”

I might have lost my mind, but speaking has the effect of him looking away, and he clears his throat.

I’ve taken the mood from surreal and awkward to pure hyper awkwardness in seconds flat. And I’m pretty sure the only member of our ride through hell who isn’t feeling the pain is Cade. Because I glance at him, and he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Uh, a small cheese, small pepperoni. And a large sausage,” the delivery guy says.

“Oh, so no mushroom?”

Mushroom? What in hell is wrong with me?

And like in the bar restaurant, my mouth switches to on and won’t stop blurting words. “I love all pizza. Except ham and pineapple. I don’t like that. Do you? But all others are great. Idon’t mind a grandma slice, but I prefer a good old-fashioned New York pie.”

I somehow I manage to stop.

The guy clears his throat, and it sets me off because how the hell is this elevator ride taking so long?

“But I love pepperoni.” I pause, willing myself to shut up. But I can’t. “And Italian sausage. Yep, I love sausage.”

Behind me, Cade chokes on laughter and says, “It’s true. She goes crazy for sausage. It doesn’t even have to be Italian. As long as it’s thick.”

Thank fuck the elevator dings and the car comes to a stop. The doors open, and the pizza guy basically runs out.

The moment the doors shut, Cade laughs out loud, long and hard, and I think I’m going to kill him.

I turn and punch him in the arm.

“Ow,” he says, clearly not hurt because it was a play punch.

“Seriously? Thick sausage?”

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

I point at him. “Or fantasizing about the size of your sausage.”

He laughs again. “Never had a complaint.”

“You’re getting one now.”

About the sausage or the situation?” He smiles at me so disarmingly I start to melt until I remember I’m naked. “

I sniff. “Both. Can I have my jacket?”

The elevator dings at the fifth floor, but he shakes his head. “We’re on the home stretch. Why would I give it to you now? I said when we get home.”