Page 39 of Level Up
“No, I mean, sometimes I feel like I get it.Life, or whatever,” he continues, staring up at the ceiling pensively. “And then ten minutes later it’s like I don’t even remember how to breathe, let alone how to be a person in the world.”
“Yeah…”
Damien turns his head towards me, and I realize I’ve been staring at the side of his face for too long. And I’ve just been caught staring. Which is weird.
And I don’t stop staring, which is weirder.
I want to kiss him.
It’s a wholly unwelcome thought, springing up out of nowhere and blindsiding me, but it latches onto my brain and won’t let go. I pretty much never have these thoughts aboutpeople. Especially not people I’ve only known for two weeks, technically. The only time I’ve everwantedto kiss someone…
Well, it wasn’t great. Because, as it turned out, I was the only one who actually wanted it, in the end.
And, yeah, maybe I’ve only known Damien for a couple of weeks, but I’ve knownSconesfor years—and the weird, mushy thoughts about him are congealing into something even more weird but also more concrete:I want to kiss him.
But I don’twantto kiss people. I may want to read fanfiction about other people kissing, but that’s it. And yes, maybe since I started watching his streams, I’ve read more of those stories than usual. But it doesn’t mean that I?—
I want to kiss him.
The unwelcome thought plays on a loop in my head.
I want to kiss him.
I want him to kiss me.
I want?—
I sit forward with a sudden, jerky motion and push my hair out of my face when it flops over my eyes. “I guess you need to head back soon for your stream,” I say without looking at him.
“Yeah,” he says after a minute, sitting upright beside me. “I guess so.”
I eye the man sitting under the staircase curiously, wondering how he found himself in this predicament. Passed out on a ship with no trousers. It doesn’t seem like he has the best judgment, but as he looks up at me with a slight smirk on his lips, his dirty blond hair all askew, I feel as though I might not have the best judgment either.
“Cartwright Edersmith,” he says, reaching out a hand so I can help pull him to his feet. “At your service.”
I give him an appraising once-over as he stands tall before me and look him in the eye. “At my service, are you?”
His smile turns seductive, and he takes a step towards me, closing the gap between us. I can feel his huge erection pressed against me and I find myself aching to have it inside me.
I am glad that I chose to wear a dress, instead of the horrible grubby peasant clothes I found lying around the ship when I awoke here mysteriously. He lifts me in his strong arms and drops me on a wooden table nearby, pushing my skirt up to my waist. I’m not wearing panties, because it’s olden times.
He climbs up onto the table and spreads my legs before plunging his throbbing member into my orifice. I let out a scream of pleasure and he says my name over and over as he keeps pounding me.
He fucks me so hard that I forget we’re stranded at sea on a ship full of zombies.
—Excerpt from “Ship? What Ship?” by@Carties4Ever
twelve
it’s wednesday
Victory’s handsare covered in dry paint when she finds me picking orders in the shop the next day. I know she’s doing a mural for a restaurant a couple blocks over; I feel guilty for texting her earlier, like she felt obligated to come check on me when she took a break.
But I’m freaking out a little.
I almost drop the basket full of pens and notebooks in my arms so that I can hug her, but I restrain myself. I’ve never been more grateful to see her glowing smile than I am today.
I didn’t sleep well last night, so I am certain I look less angelic, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she puts her arms around me, careful to keep me away from a splotch of wet paint on her t-shirt.
