Page 43 of Warmer, Colder

Humiliation heats my cheeks, and I turn around so abruptly that a sharp twinge sparks in my knee. “I was just leaving.”

“Don’t leave on my account,” she says through panting breaths. “Having you here is making me so wet. Fuck it’s pouring down my thighs.”

God she is.“Aren’t you going to stop?” A restless energy builds inside me.

“Why would I? After all, I was thinking of you.”

“Excuse me?” I choke out. Surely, I couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“I said—” she inhales quickly, “I was thinking about you and how good it’d feel to have that reluctant tongue licking my pussy.” She pulls a finger from between her legs and traces her lips. “The way your lips would look coated in my wetness. How delicious we’d taste together when I lick it off.” Stasi’s hips jerk off the counter suddenly. “Oh, fuck. I could come from just imagining my clit kissing yours while you lay below me trying so hard not to show just how much you love it too.” Stasi slips two fingers into herself, pumping quickly. Her thighs spread just a bit wider, enough room for me to stand between them, but I force my feet to remain firmly in place.

This isn’t me. What happened between us before was just because I was drinking.I don’t want her.

I definitely don’t want to taste the wetness that’s dripping down her ass and onto the counter. I attempt to swallow, but my throat is burning and dry. I definitely don’t want to kiss those glistening thighs as Stasi works hard for her orgasm. I definitely don’t want to sink my fingers in and out of her to pull those moans from her lips.

Stasi grinds her hips upward into her own hand. “Look at you, stunned into silence. I know you want me. Why don’t you just come have a taste?” She pulls her fingers from inside herself and holds them out toward me. “Just admit how thirsty you are, and I’ll be more than happy to let you have a drink from my dripping pussy.”

Shaking my head from left to right, I’m at a loss for words.

“Suit yourself. It’s your loss,” she taunts through a smug smile.

I can’t move or look away, completely entranced by the squelching that punctuates the rhythm of her fast-working fingers moving in and out, in and out, despite how her body tenses around them.

“I’m, oh fuck, yes, yes, yes—” she struggles to get out coherent thoughts as her body convulses, hips jerking eyes rolling back, toes curling. Every masterful painting, every breathtaking song, every poem pales in comparison to the way Stasi looks right now.Divine.

But that doesn’t mean I want her. I’m just appreciating another woman’s love of her body. Perfectly acceptable thoughts anyone would have in my position. It’s like watching porn or a movie, I can appreciate the eroticism of it, but I don’t want to be part of it. Especially not withher.

With that settled, I clear my throat. “I didn’t mean to . . . you know. You just caught me off guard. I was in shock.” I gesture toward her as she flattens her skirt over her thighs.

She snorts a laugh.Bullshit. “I like to watch, too. There’s something so hot about women touching themselves, empowering themselves to get off just how they like it. Don’t you think?” She slips her finger into her mouth and sucks it with a loud pop.

“I didn’tlikewatching. It’s just, I’ve never,” I clear my throat again, unable to keep ahold of my voice that wavers up and down. “I haven’t ever seen another woman masturbate. Not in real life at least.”

“You’re welcome to watch any time you want, but I can promise it’s so much more fun when you participate.” A mischievous smile curls her lips. “It’s okay if you don’t know what to do, I’m always happy to teach.” Stasi slides down from the countertop and saunters toward me.

“Can we please stop talking about this?” The words are rushed, frustration making them more of a plea than the demand I’d hoped.

“Sure, Crybaby.” I scoff in objection, but she ignores me and brushes my hair over my shoulder, with the same fingers that were just inside her. “So, what did you want? I hope it’ssomething a hell of a lot more interesting than the fuck-all I have going on around here. Being dead is such a fucking drag.”

“Just forget it. It’s nothing.” I’m reeling from the shocking distraction Stasi unknowingly provided, not quite sure how to voice my despair afterthat. I’m not sure why I thought she was a person to lean on in the first place. She quite literally bragged about how miserable she wanted me to be.This was a terrible idea, I scold my subconscious.

I turn on my heel to leave, but the sudden grip on my elbow stops me in my tracks. “Don’t do that.” My voice is an unfamiliar growl as I jerk my arm out of her reach.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” The somber tone she uses makes me want to believe she actually gives a shit.

I don’t want to be vulnerable in front of her, but it’s too late; she’s cracked the thinly veiled composure I was holding together.Of course I’m not okay.I don’t even know what that means anymore.

Okay with being dead?

Okay with losing everything?

Okay with my brother abandoning me?

Okay with the riptide of confusing emotions that rises up within me every time I’m in her vicinity?

What kind of question is that?When was the last time someone thought to ask me that?

Where I expect to see hardened indifference, there’s a reassuring warmth that’s enough to surrender the walls I’ve been holding up around me. My weary bones going soft as I sink to the floor. “He’s leaving.”

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