Page 48 of Afterglow
It’s 7 a.m. He’s gotta be up. If not, he’ll see it soon enough.
Me
I can’t stop thinking about last night
There’s no response. Two minutes pass. I get impatient.
Me
Tell me I’m not imagining it
Dreamboat
Imagining what?
Me
I can’t be the only one who can’t stop thinking about us kissing
Dreamboat
You’re not
That’s it. I’m going over there.
I dash to the door and open with an overeager pull, only to find a flushed Fletcher Donovan waiting for me on the couch.
My feet continue at their scurrying speed, before pouncing on the poor guy.
We crash together, mouths and teeth and tongues and tangled limbs. His hands roam from my face and through the mess of my hair, settling around my back to position me across his lap.
“I can’t believe” —I gasp between brazen kisses— “you’ve never” —another gasp— “kissed anyone.” He groans against my mouth. “You’re so fucking good at it,” I praise, nipping at his swollen bottom lip. “How is that possible?”
“Who fucking cares?” He laments, glassy-eyed. “Please don’t stop.”
I don’t know if he means the praise or the kissing, so I keep going with both.
“You’re sweet and gentle and kind and perfect,” I continue, catching my runaway breaths between heavy kisses. “The color of your hair” —I swirl my fingers through the sides of it— “the splatter of your freckles” —the backs of my hands strokedown his pinked cheeks— “are what forlorn folk musicians write about. And these lips?” I draw two quick kisses from them. “How could they never have been kissed? I don’t believe for a second that no one wanted to.”
“Maybe they did, butIdidn’t want them to.” Fletcher steals another kiss.
“Why not?”
He runs the tip of his nose back and forth across mine. “I wanted more than a kiss.”
“A blowjob?”
“Fucking hell.” His blush deepens, staining the shells of his ears with crimson. “No, I wanted someone to want me. For me. To know me and want me.”
My palms uphold this sweet man’s face. “I know you. And I want you. And I want to kiss you some more, too.”
So, we do.
The alarm on my phone rings for me to get ready for work, but we keep kissing through giddy smiles and rolling giggles and tight cuddles.
“Okay, one more and then Ireallyhave to get ready for work.” Fletcher tips my head up by the chin and makes the kiss count. “We can save the blowjob for another time, I guess.”
How am I supposed to focus on studying now?
