“Do you like ice cream?” I ask. Cam looks at me, unimpressed.
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” she answers. I roll my eyes, and we walk down the street to Mountain Scoops Creamery.*
Beebo’s mom owns the ice cream shop, and I have to say, she completely outdid herself. It’s kind of retro, almost like a ’50s diner, with a touch of Pacific Northwest in the mix.
The floor is tiled in a black-and-white checkered pattern, red vinyl booths lining the sides of the interior. Desaturated photos of nearby mountains and lakes are mounted on the teal walls, the names of the locations scrawled in pencil on the bottom. About a dozen flavors of ice cream sit in the freezer behind the counter, different colors and names popping out at me all at once.
“I don’t know what to get,” I whine, overwhelmed by all the different choices. The girl behind the counter smiles, holding tiny plastic spoons.
“You can try any flavor you’d like!” she says.
I smile and turn to Cam. “Which ones do you want to try?”
Cam shakes her head. “I don’t need to try anything, I already know what I’m getting.” She points to the Seattle Strawberry Swirl. “That one.”
I laugh. “Don’t you want to try the others just in case?”
But Cam’s definitive answer doesn’t shock me. She doesn’t like trying new things, I’ve noticed. Maybe during sex, but even then, sometimes she can panic. I bought a different brand of shampoo for the salon because the kind she likes was out of stock, and she let me hear about the “terrible consistency” and “revolting scent” for two weeks.
“Nope.”
It took me seven samples, but I finally decided on Cascade Crunch, an espresso-based ice cream with granola chunks.
We walk back home, the blanket from the couch wrapped around us, keeping us warm. Keeping me warm, at least, because Cam is still shivering.
“Too cold for the Ice Princess?” I joke, pushing my front door open. A wave of heat hits us, melting all the flakes stuck to our hair and lashes almost instantly.
“Is it Princess or Sparky?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow. “I never know with you.”
21I set my empty ice cream up on the counter and turn to face her. I love when she’s cocky like this, because it gives me an excuse to boss her around. And nothing compares to those flushed cheeks and desperate, dilated pupils she gets when I’m telling her what to do.
“That depends on how good you are.”
I’m about to grab her and throw her over my shoulder, but before I can, she sinks to her knees, licking the crumbs of waffle cone off her thumbs.
“You want me to be good?” she asks, batting her eyes up at me innocently. Her fingers dance over the band of my sweatpants, a single finger tucking in between the cold skin and the elastic.
Oh fuck.
I nod.
“Yes,” I say, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Maybe I won’t need to boss her around after all. A devious smile spreads across her face, and she tucks a second finger in my waistband, on the other side.
“Okay, boss,” she says, her voice low and her eyes shining. “I’ll be a good girl for you.”
Cam pulls my sweatpants down slowly, following the trail with the tip of her tongue down the center of my leg until she reaches my ankle. She looks back up at me for approval, and my hands find the top of her head, running through her hair.
“Such a good fucking girl.”
She stands slowly, still making eye contact with me. Then, she reaches for the hem of my sweatshirt, before pulling it over my head and taking my shirt with her. Her fingers, still cold from the ice cream and the outside air, trace my nipples, enticing a moan out of me.
“Fuck, baby,” I groan quietly. Cam tilts her head to the side with a smile.
“Am I making you wet, boss?” she asks.
I nod. “So fucking wet.”
Cam takes two fingers and curls them as she swipes between my slick center. Her eyes lock onto mine as she sucks them into her mouth, letting out a moan.