Page 69 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
I give myself a moment. No, just a fleeting second to enjoy his embrace. Because even though it feels great, after our lotus sex, I need to get us back on track. Back to friends with bennies, stranger danger no strings attached sex.
No more emotional eye banging during climax.
I reach down and palm him over his jeans. “Wanna do something else worthwhile?”
And as expected, he does.
“You almost done?”
“Yep.” On my stomach, I swipe Mod Podge over the KitchenAid base.
“You know what I don’t get?” Vance is still shirtless, his skin sparkling like a teenage heartthrob vampire.
There is glitter inallthe places glitter shouldn’t be.
Hashtag totally worth it.
I point my glue-coated brush at him. “The fun of do-it-yourselfing?”
He snorts. “Yeah, I totally don’t get that, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”
“What then?” I focus on painting a thin, even coat over the sanded metal.
“Why you don’t have a Christmas tree.”
My brush slips, the question unexpected. “Ah, well, I guess it just seemed sad.”
“It seemed sadnotto have a Christmas tree at Christmas?” He glances around. “I mean, you have a glitter room. I figured your penthouse would be decked out like a stripper themed North Pole.”
I gaze at him in awe. “Sometimes you amaze me with how well you understand my aesthetic.” I chuckle. “Stripper themed North Pole. Classic.”
“So?” he asks, not letting the absence of a Christmas tree go.
Sighing, I finish Mod Podging the last section. “If you must know I just really didn’t feel like buying and decorating a tree all by myself.” Dropping my brush, I screw the glue cap back on and raise my hand. “Now help me up.”
He takes it, pulling me to my feet.
Whether it was what I said or how I said it, thankfully he lets the Christmas tree conversation die and studies the hazy coat of glue I just spent a lot of time doing. “You probably could’ve paid for someone to do all this, you know?”
“But then it wouldn’t be from me.” I brush off my bare ass, my skirt and panties tossed and forgotten in the corner. “And besides, I—” I burp, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I take a deep breath, and the sick feeling recedes. “I was just lying on my stomach too long.”
He gives me a concerned once-over. “Are you sure you shouldn’t get that checked out? Weren’t you feeling off the other night too when I brought over Jimmy John sandwiches?”
“Anyone would feel sick with the amount of food you are trying to force feed me,” I say, exasperated. “I mean, do you have a fat fetish or something? Because I swear my clothes are getting too tight.”
“Yeah, but in all the right places.” He smiles at my glitter boobs, only to frown a second later. “What are you doing?”
“Hmm?” I glance down, not having realized that I was rubbing the right one. “Oh, I guess my boob hasn’t recovered yet from the woman’s fist of fury. It’s sore.”
His lips twitch. “Fist of fury?”
“Hey.” I plant my hands on my hips, knowing the waist slimming, boob swaying affect it will have. “You weren’t so amused when that woman’s sock-Croc nailed you in the nads.”
He busts out laughing. “Nads?”
