Page 42 of Lilies in Autumn

“Greyson,” she groans.

“Or maybe you liked when my fingers were fucking your tight little hole,” I continue, remembering how her body responded to me. “Do you want to know my favorite part?” I question, wanting to see if she rises to my bait. “Come on, vixen, ask me.”

A minute of silence ticks by before Ava’s low voice asks, “What was your favorite part?”

“How sweet you tasted when you came on my mouth. Fuck, Ava,” I groan, palming my growing dick through my jeans. “Do you have any idea of how sexy you are, how delicious your little pussy is?”

“Greyson, please,” Ava whispers.

“Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.”

Ava draws in a ragged breath before releasing a sigh. “Greyson, stop. This is moving at lightning speed. Let’s just, I don’t know…” She pauses. “Let’s just talk. Get to know each other.”

Fuck, she’s right, I need to rein it in. She’s a virgin for fuck’s sake and I’m here, picturing how tight her walls will squeeze my cock when I finally have her under me. I fall back on my bed, letting out a loud sigh before responding, “You’re right, I’m sorry. There’s something about you, something about us together, that makes me lose my goddamn mind.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a little bizarre. I mean, you know what my vagina tastes like, but you don’t know my favorite color or how I like my coffee.”

“What’s your favorite color, vixen?”

“Well…” she begins, and I can hear her smile through the phone. “It depends on my mood. When I’m happy or feeling optimistic about life, I love red. Not a cherry red or an apple red, but a deep blood red. Like when you get a paper cut and drops of blood fall on paper.” Well, that’s weird as fuck, but I can’t say that I’m not intrigued. “If I’m feeling moody, angsty, or like I need to listen to 2010’s emo music, my favorite color is black or a dark gray, like charcoal or gunmetal.”

“What’s your favorite color today?”

She pauses before answering. “It’s a solid black tonight, dark as midnight without stars to illuminate the sky.”

“Ava, fuck,” I rasp out, her omission and her haunted voice causing an ache in my chest. She’s fucking gutting me without even realizing it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you into that room this morning. I just, fucking…” I pause, running a hand over my face. “I’m just fucking sorry.”

A heavy silence greets me, and I have to look at my screen to make sure she didn’t hang up on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did; I’ve taken a critical piece of her innocence, not only by savoring her body but by leaving it vulnerable for someone else to see, scrutinize, and covet. Moments become minutes and I’m losing my goddamn mind trying to figure out if she’s going to respond to me.

“Vixen, please, say something.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

_

It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Ava, and even though my right hand is practically raw from the amount of attention it’s been paying to my dick, I can’t lie and say that getting to know Ava isn’t worth it. Without the option of fucking, or hell, even looking at her in person, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty fucking well.

We spent hours the first night talking about our favorite colors, our majors, our dreams, and our families. She nearly made me piss my pants when she recounted how she snuck up behind a grown-ass man and hopped on his back because she thought it was her brother. Turns out, he was a middle-aged man with zero interest in piggyback rides.

From that night on, we spoke every day, multiple times a day. She tried to keep things casual through text messages at first, but it didn’t take long until she was spending hours on the phone or FaceTime with me.

I told her about my family, the unwavering support of my father, and the abandonment of my mother. I didn’t shy away from talking about how the fame of my family follows me like an albatross, a constant reminder that I’m not a normal college student but come from a family that’s had multiple documentaries made about their lives. It surprised the hell out of me when she admitted to watching the Netflix documentary about my dad’s career, especially since she does not know shit about baseball.

She detailed her family dynamic and how her lawyer parents make her life just as public. I didn’t admit it, but I’ve listened to her parents’ podcast a few times; it freaked me the fuck out. They use phrases like “bludgeoned to death” and “decapitated by a machete” with such cool detachment that I can’t stomach listening to it.

Ava’s opened up to me in a way I didn’t expect, a way that’s not fueled by her desire to own me or my dick. She’s refused to talk about our bedroom or classroom encounters, and I’ve been careful not to bring them up after she told me to stop, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of her naked and beneath me, or on top of me, every hour of every fucking day. You don’t get a woman like Ava naked and pliant in your arms just to forget how they look in that position.

During our daily FaceTime, calls, and texts, Ava spoke about her siblings a lot. As the oldest in her family, it’s clear that she’s protective of her sisters and brother and that she’d throw down for them if it ever came to it. She can’t be more than five feet and one hundred-forty pounds, so there’s no way she’s beating anyone’s ass, especially with her lack of coordination. It kills me to hear her talk like she’s a seven-foot linebacker with a black belt in jujitsu. I’d intervene in any fight she found herself in, but she talks and acts like a little killer. I fucking love it.

She hasn’t gotten another text or picture message since our morning in the classroom. I’m trying to convince her that the threat has passed, but she’s stubborn as fuck and refuses to be seen with me in public, or even sneak me over to her dorm. I won’t pressure her, but my hand is fucking tired of gripping my dick to the memory of her taste. I’m sick of seeing her over the screen of the phone and listening to her voice through a fiber optic network and underground cables. The three weeks I’ve kept my physical distance have sucked balls, but Ava’s finally gotten to the point where she’s calling me, texting me first, and not waiting on me every time. Her smiles, her laugh, are addictive, and I crave her in a way I’ve never craved a woman before. It’s not just the physical with her— it’s everything.

She’s everything.

On our call last night, she couldn’t hold back her excitement that her family is visiting this weekend. I helped her map out where she would take them for dinner and then where she’d go out with her brother and sister out after. She didn’t mention that it was her birthday, but Dante’s pit bull offered up that information. I’m not sure what’s going on between them, but Celeste has Dante’s balls in a fucking jar. He doesn’t make a move without considering what Celeste would think about it. Dante has one hand glued to his phone, constantly waiting for a message from Celeste that rarely comes.

I’d give him shit about it, but I’m not much better.

My little vixen withheld important information, information that I shouldn’t have heard through a fucked-up grapevine. I can’t decide if I want to call her out on it or surprise her with my knowledge. Throughout these last three weeks, I’ve realized she has a short temper and gets worked up quickly. I’ve threatened to spank her perky ass for that mouth of hers, but she thinks I’m joking. I’ll never tell her that the fantasy of her ass turning pink from my hands is one of the sexiest images. When I finally have my hands on her, she’ll realize that I’m not fucking around.

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