Page 61 of Depraved
“Ha. It’s vanilla with chocolate chips and cherries. And I know that’s not the question because you say ‘tell me something’ before you ask serious questions.”
In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t feel this pleased that someone knew me so well. But I love that she pays attention. My chest shakes her body as I laugh, and I reach out for the sponge and dip it into the water, letting it soak, before I bring it to her chest and make gentle swipes.
“You got me. Tell me this: What does your life look like if you hadn’t been running the last eight years? What do you wish you could’ve done instead?”
Her hands meet mine and take the sponge from me. She dips it again as she sits silent and brings it to my knee.
She shrugs, but then she speaks. “When I lived in New Orleans, I always wished to do Mardi Gras. It’s why I planned that Saints and Sinners party next weekend at Church. I thought the idea of all the masks and the ball seemed close enough.”
“It’s a great idea. I’m taking you…as mine.”
Pulling her hair to the side, I run my fingers down her bare neck and place a kiss on her wet skin.
“Okay,” she agrees, biting her lip.
“What else?” I coax.
She takes a deep breath and rolls sideways, so she’s laying her face on my chest.
“I always wished I’d learned to surf in California. And in Florida, I really wanted to do the alligator tour thing, where you go out on the boat and see them.”
I smile down at her wistful face. “That’s all place-specific… Name something you’ve always wanted to do that you couldn’t because you were running.”
“Fall in love,” she answers quietly.
Just give me time, Billy.
Fuck. Where’d that come from?
“What do you wish you could have done or had…you know, if your life was different?” she questions into my chest as I let my hands brush over her body.
“I have everything I want. There’s nothing,” I answer, slipping a hand between her legs.
“Lies.” She accuses and snuggles into me.
“All right.” My head tips back to the ceiling as I think, a sad smile forming on my mouth.
“Birthday cake.”
I stopped celebrating when my mother died. Fuck, it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten cake.
Her hand lays heavily on my chest as she kisses it softly. “Birthday cake? Why don’t you have that?”
“No reason. Luckily for me, you’re as sweet as cake. And I plan on eating you a lot.”
I drag her up my body quickly to break her from the moment, and she squeals. “Tell me more. I want to know everything you’ve ever wanted to do.” My fingers find her sides and dig in, tickling her.
She screams, squirming and laughing. “Oh my god, stop!”
I ease up and let her straddle me, brushing her hair from her face. Her giggles fade as she finishes answering.
“The opera. I’ve always wanted to go watch someone else’s tragedy. Get super fancy and sit in one of those boxes.”
“That sounds like that movie with the hooker?” I wink, dipping my head and pulling her nipple between my lips.
She laughs again and runs her hand over my head. “You meanPretty Woman. But I’m not a hooker, so it doesn’t relate.”
I let her nipple go with a pop and look up, wagging my eyebrows. “You can be my hooker.”
