I know what my biceps look like as I lay here this way, and it has the desired affect—her palms smooth up the sensitive skin of my arms, lightly dragging her fingers up and down my flesh.
I shiver.
Legs still hanging over the edge of the bed, I kick the shoes off my feet, hearing them thud on the floor one at a time. Then without having to lift her, I move us both back onto the mattress so we’re in the middle of the bed.
Daisy remains on top. Leans forward again to kiss me, chaste at first then with tongue, tits pressed against my bare chest.
“Why am I the only one who has to take my top off?” I ask.
“Because you’re the only one wearing a top. Are you trying to get me naked?”
“Possibly?” I hesitate, then add, “Are you trying to getmenaked?”
“Possibly.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t we both take our clothes off so neither of us feels guilty for the only one having their shirt off.”
That makes Daisy laugh. “Oh, that’s your idea, hey?”
“Thought it was worth mentionin’.”
“Never hurts to ask.”
“Should I at least take my pants off?” I suggest ’cause I’m so fucking helpful sometimes.
forty-seven
daisy
His face would look better between my legs…
“ShouldI at least take my pants off?”
I rest on top of Drake, considering his question. Should he take his pants off?
Should he?
It’s a horrible idea for so many reasons, the first one being: if he takes his pants off, there will only be our underwear separating us, and what’s to stop it from escalating quickly?
His pants are like a denim condom.
Ha!
Once they’re off, there’s no telling what will happen.
Actually.
That’s a lie; I knew what I was doing when I invited him in.
I knew I was going to invite him in as soon as he asked me to be his girlfriend tonight at the dinner table. I knew I was going to sleep with him, too, becausewhy the hell not?
Fuck the five-date rule. He’s my boyfriend now.
“Yes, take your pants off.”
He likes that I’m taking control; I can see it in his eyes. They’re crinkled at the edges, smile lines and humorous.
He’s turned on.