Page 11 of Lilies in Autumn

I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Ever since I was thirteen, I knew I would never be viewed as conventionally pretty. My hips have always been a little too wide, and my breasts were always too big, too full, for the bras and clothing that were trendy for girls my age. I learned to rely on a passably pretty face and my personality to make me likable. This was probably why I’ve never had a boyfriend and will likely die a virgin. Maybe I should change my major to theology; I would probably kick ass as a nun.

Lost in my thoughts of the Catholic sisterhood, CeCe shoves another shot of fireball under my nose, breaking me from my musings. She looks at me with an expectant stare as her shot is paused at her lips. Not saying anything, I grab the shot, hold up the glass in a salute, and drink the cinnamon liquor.

If I can’t intrigue the blonde stranger, I may as well get drunk.

Greyson

“Did you see those fucking girls? What I wouldn’t do to get that redhead on her knees, begging for my cock. And you should see her friend, tits the size of fucking watermelons.” Dante shakes his head in reverence. “The redhead is mine, but that curvy brunette is all yours. I know how you like your women with something to grab onto.”

He wasn’t wrong. I did like women to look like women, not prepubescent boys with knobby elbows, flat chests, and bodies that looked like the wind could blow them over. He also wasn’t wrong that the brunette was all mine.

I saw her standing by the stairs as soon as we walked in, wearing that indecent fucking dress that called attention to her large breasts, narrow waist, and flared hips. My walking wet dream, with an innocent face that begged for my cum to paint pretty pictures all over it. The sight of her staring at me across the room, with her big eyes devouring me like a hungry kitten, had my dick hard instantly. I needed to play with her, possess her, own her.

There was no doubt, she was mine. My visceral response to her should have scared me, but I was too fucking hard to care.

“I saw them.” I look up. “I still see them.” The brunette and the redhead stand by the alcohol, not realizing the stares they’re getting from the horny bastards surrounding them. A quick scan of the room confirms that half the guys were staring at the tits spilling out of my brunette’s dress and the other half were trying to see through the redhead’s dress to see if her pussy was as rosy as the rest of her.

I turn toward Dante and see him glaring around the room.

“I’m telling you, Grey, there’s something about that redhead. She told me to fuck off and I think I fell in love.”

“That sounds like a fucked-up kink. I don’t want to hear about you getting spanked and paddled to get off.” Dante and I have been friends since middle school, and I knew too many things about his sex life. Sure, we’ve shared girls, sometimes at the same time, but it didn’t mean that I needed a play-by-play about his fantasies with the ginger. As long as the brunette wasn’t in those fantasies, he needed to keep that shit to himself.

“I’m thinking about putting her over my knee for her smart mouth. I wouldn’t be mad if she wanted to do a role reversal, though.” Dante shrugged and looked back toward the pair at the makeshift bar. “Hell, it could be fun seeing her with a whip and leather.”

Here we fucking go.

Dante details every single thing he’d like to do to his redhead’s body, going into painfully anatomic detail about the positions he plans to have her in. I zone him out because I don’t care about his lick-to-thrust ratio. Three years ago, Dante came up with the “perfect” number of pussy licks to cock thrusts ratio for optimal pleasure, both his and whichever girl he’s fucking. He told us about his theory while smoking a joint in the shed behind my dad’s house. He spent five months testing his hypothesis before typing it out in the notes section on his phone. Whenever he’s asked about it, he pulls it out like a thesis and delivers his rehearsed speech. “You need to lick her cunt eighteen times, blow on her clit, and then thrust for ten to fifteen minutes. If you tilt your hips up while pounding her, you’ll get to her G-spot, even if you have a shrimp dick.” He sounds like a moron every damn time.

I hear Dante say, “Right in the pussy,” and barely resist smacking him on the back of his head. I continue blocking him out and observe the two girls that are unknowingly encouraging his tirade. Objectively, the redhead is pretty and looks like Scarlett Johansson from herBlack Widowdays. She’s tiny, both in height and form, and has fire in those eyes that will probably incinerate Dante’s dick and his lick-to-thrust theory. The brunette, on the other hand, is every dream I’ve ever had brought to life.

Taking in her sinful curves and messy dark hair, I watch her turn around, meeting my eyes instantly. Licking my lips, I trail my eyes from the tips of her shoes, over her body, and finally, settle on her face. It’s fucking stunning. She is fucking stunning. I smirk and slap Dante on the back. “Come on, introduce me to them,” I say, urging him forward.

We reach them just as they lift their shot glasses to their lips. She sputters as the alcohol slides down the back of her throat, letting some of the liquid trail down her chin. We’ll have to work on her gag reflex to get her to swallow my cock. I let out a groan, imagining how good she’d look on her knees, deep-throating me like a good girl.

My groan caught their attention, and they turn to us.

“What the hell do you want? I thought we got rid of you fifteen minutes ago.” The redhead sounds unimpressed with Dante. That was going to be hell on his ego. It makes me smile just thinking about the hits he was going to take.

“Red, you wound me.” Dante covers his chest, placing his hands over his left pec, as if that fucker’s black heart is pained. Though he’d deny it until his dying breath, his family, the Camaros, were rumored to have ties to the New York Italian mafia. His uncle, a New Jersey senator, and his mother, a well-known journalist, vehemently deny any affiliation, but unfortunately for them, rumors couldn’t disappear with cement shoes.

Growing up, Dante used the fear that accompanied that association to his advantage, scaring the shit out of a lot of guys we grew up with. Ever since his mom entered the national media and his uncle became senator, they placed as much distance as possible from that association, especially after his father died. I wonder how the redhead would feel if she knew Dante could promise her the world and deliver it, thanks to his connections through his mother and uncle. Would she be like every other girl he pursued, eager for the privilege his name afforded?

“My name is Celeste, you asshole. No, you cannot check if the carpet matches the drapes. No, I don’t have a soul. And, finally, yes, you can fuck right off.” Jesus, she was like a pit bull.

Taking my eyes from the brunette, I look between Dante and his pit bull. She’s Dante’s type, with pale skin, long red hair, and dark green eyes. I’ve always found it funny that my Italian friend obsessed over redheads. They weren’t fucking unicorns, but Dante treated them like the holy grail of pussy.

The clearing of a throat has us all turning our heads to the curvy little friend at her side. “CeCe, I think they might just want to get to the alcohol.”

Looking behind her, Celeste turns red. “Oh.”

Dante doesn’t miss the opportunity to deepen that blush. “Red, I would love to see those pretty lips of yours. But for now, I’ll settle for a shot.”

Dante reaches behind Celeste, grabbing a bottle of Jägermeister. He takes Celeste’s chin and tips her head up. “Now, pretty girl, will you open that mouth for me?”

A strangled laugh comes out of the brunette. “Does that work?”

Dante’s answering scowl makes her laugh even harder. Who the fuck was this girl?

---