Page 14 of Revenge Cake

“Sure.” Her voice is gentle.

“Like, I literally need to count down from sixty seconds.”

“Okay.” She sounds like she’s restraining laughter. I would probably laugh too if I wasn’t so fucking turned on. Jesus Christ, will it always be like this with her?

After counting down and trying to think of unsexy things like what I plan to eat tomorrow, I feel a little more in control. I take a deep breath and release it slowly as I pull away and look down at her face. “Okay. I think, at the very least, I’ve successfully avoided embarrassment.”

She smiles up at me, her full cheeks dimpling. “I wouldn’t mind if you lasted thirty seconds.”

“Oh, I’m still going to last thirty seconds. I was worried about jizzing all over you before we even started.”

She laughs loudly, filling me with a different kind of pleasure. This is the first time I’ve heard her laugh this hard, and the sound of it flows through my body like a drug. This is how I want her. As much as her cold severity turns me on, I want much more from her, and I want it greedily. I want her to reserve this side of herself only for me—a version of Leilani who actually seems like the twenty-one-year-old girl that she is, with that unfeminine laugh and open-mouth grin.

“I’m ready now,” I say.

She smiles coyly as she slips her hand between us. I brace myself for her touch, but I can’t help groaning as she wraps her hand around my dick and guides it forward. She’s wet, but I can’t think about it or I’ll tip over the edge.

I press forward and enter her. She’s tight and slippery and the feeling makes my teeth clench.

Don’t think about her pussy. Think about a grocery list or an email or that paper you have to write for Cultural Anthropology.

Distraction doesn’t work. Her little gasp as I press all the way in is heavenly torture that sends a surge of heat that builds like a wave and…

Oh shit. No. Not now. Please not now.

Pressing her closer to the wall, I force my body to go very, very still. I shut my eyes and clench my teeth, begging my dick to let the wave recede.

“Why did you stop?” It sounds like a scold.

Even in my agony, a smile forms on my lips. “I can’t be the shortest fuck of your life. It’s just unacceptable.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” Her voice is hard. “Do you think I asked for sex in the stairwell because I wanted a slow, leisurely fuck? I don’t care if you last ten seconds. We have all night. Right now I want you to pound into me, slam me into the wall—”

“Jesus Christ! Stop talking!”

She narrows her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “I want your giant cock to plunge into my tight, wet pussy—”

“You’re the fucking worst!” I shout as I pound into her. She makes a sound that starts as a laugh but drifts into something more like a whimper and suddenly I forget my embarrassment and become lost in the haze. I manage three hard thrusts before exploding with the most overwhelming pleasure of my life.

I take minutes to recover, and I’m still a panting, sweaty mess by the time I slip out of her and set her down.

It’s not until we make our lazy tread into my apartment that I realize I haven’t even kissed her yet.

***

Leilani

“When I was a little kid,” he says, stroking my collarbone with the tips of his fingers. “I thought that basements didn’t exist. Like, I thought they were just a movie thing. You know, like me choking on my beer earlier. It wasn’t until I spent the summer with my great grandma in Missouri when I realized, holy shit, these things are real.”

I smile, loving the hushed sound of his voice, and the way he keeps that same tone no matter what he shares. It’s a tone of openness, steady and even because he has nothing to hide. I love that about him, and I feel like I could lay like this, with my head on his shoulder and his fingers running lightly over my skin, and listen to him talk forever.

I lift my head to smile at him. “Was your mind blown?”

He smiles ruefully. “It legitimately was. When I saw her basement for the first time, it was like the ending of Fight Club. Or Bruce Willis finding out that he’s dead at the end of The Sixth Sense—”

“Brad Pitt saying ‘What’s in the box?’ at the end of Seven.”

He grins, squeezing my thigh with his other hand. “Yes! I fucking love that movie.” He leans forward and gives me a peck on the nose. “Anyway, my Grandma Louise was legitimately the best grandmother who ever lived. She was the kind of grandma who let you do everything your parents never let you do just because she was like, ‘I’m older ’n hell and y’all can go fuck yourselves.’”

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