Page 33 of Beautiful Desire
For a moment, I stare at the door he closed on his way out before grabbing the pack of crackers. Ripping them open, I force myself to eat, even though my appetite is nowhere in sight. I don’t know whether to be relieved by the last thing Fletcher said, because it brings us back to a more normal—andsafe—territory of him being such a typical man and us bickering and bantering, or horrified, because there’s a part of me—a ratherlargepart—that’s dying to take him up on the offer. As much as I hate it, my body comes alive at the memory of him eating my pussy.
The way he saw right through the lie I gave about not wanting him to do it.
The way he didn’t wait for approval, he justdid it. First, with that earth-shattering kiss, and then with everything else.
The way he looked between my thighs, his mouth on my cunt. And how the strands of his hair felt between my fingers.
The way he did itexactlyhow I showed him—every stroke of his tongue, every brush of his fingers inside me—but it was more than him simply following directions. It was the way he somehowknewmy body. The way he had me figured out. My stepbrother effortlessly made me come the other day, andmy god, Idesperatelywant him to do it again.
15
Georgia
From: Georgia Astor
To: Alden St. James
Subject: Weekly Update
Dear Alden,
You may want to sit down for this.
No thanks to you, I think Fletcher might actually be learning a bit of empathy. Also, no thanks to you, he learned how to rollerblade.
You’re welcome.
Live,laugh, toaster bath,
Georgia
From:Alden St. James
To: Georgia Astor
Subject: RE: Weekly Update
Good afternoon Georgia,
Glad to hear there has been progress, though I don’t know what rollerblading has to do with anything.
Best,
Alden
16
Fletcher
The parking lot is pretty empty as I bound down the steps, and the sun that was high in the sky when I got here is now long gone. After I retrieve my keys and phone from the front pocket of my backpack, I climb into the car, dropping the bag on the seat next to me before starting the engine. It’s a little after six, and I’ve spent the last several hours occupying a table in the far back corner of the public library. My back and ass are killing me from the uncomfortable plastic chair, and my ears are sore from wearing my AirPods for so long, but I managed to get all my assignments done for the weekandget through a decent amount of studying for an exam I’ve got coming up, and even though I’m still procrastinating on my capstone project, I’m still calling today a win.
It’s been one hell of a day; I’ve been on the go nonstop since I left the house this morning. Hit up the gym for an hour before my shift at the bookstore, then once I got off work, I drove straight here and powered through everything I wanted to get done. I’m proud of myself for getting so much accomplished, butI’m happy to finally be heading home. I have the next two days off, and I’m looking forward to relaxing and not worrying about a damn thing.
I’m pulling out of the parking lot as my phone rings, and when I grab it from the cup holder, my stomach sours as I see who it is. I’ve had a decent day—decent couple of weeks, actually, since things with Georgia aren’t quite as tense and hostile—and I know whatever is waiting for me on the other end of that call is most likely going to ruin my mood. For a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail, but seeing as I’ve already done that twice this week, I know it won’t go over well if I try for a third. If there’s one thing Alden St. James doesn’t tolerate, it’s being ignored.
Heaving a sigh, I grit my teeth and accept the call. Not bothering with a greeting or any simple pleasantries—because, let’s be real…I don’t need or want to hear how he’s doing, and Iknowhe doesn’t give a shit how I am—I wait for dear old dad to lay into me.
And I don’t have to wait long…Shocker.
