Page 58 of The Art of Being Merry
Before I confirm, I wait for her to open her eyes. I need to know she’s truly okay with this before I move forward. After what feels like forever, I’m staring into her emerald eyes. This close up, I’ve got an unfettered view of her freckles splashed across her face, a pattern of differing shades and sizes. “I’ll stay. Should I provide you with an orgasm?”
“That is what you came for?” she sasses.
“Indeed.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” She mentioned something similar yesterday. I’m not sure I agree.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s simply a means to an end. One friend helping another.”
“Like friends with bennies?” There’s a new hopefulness in her tone.
I’m surprised she went there. I’m offering her one orgasm, not that I’d turn down more, but have I indicated I wanted more than today?
“I suppose if there were repeat performances, it would amountto that. How about we start with one and see how you feel after it?”
“I don’t have condoms.”
That settles the how.
I tap my pocket. “I came prepared.”
“Guess you’re serious about this.”
“Have I implied otherwise?”
“Nope. My brain’s trying to make sense of it all.”
I scratch my head. “If memory serves, you’re the one who asked for this. I’m going along with your request.”
“I didn’t askyoufor an orgasm. I said I needed an orgasm provided by someone else.”
“And yet,” I begin, running my hand down her jaw, eliciting a hitch in her breath, “you said it in front of me. Was I supposed to assume you wanted some other random guy to give it to you?” The thought leaves me rattled. Once I decided this, I was all in. The only way I’d stop is if she told me no. Which she hasn’t done.
Nor will she, based on how affected and worked up she is. If she shuts this down now, she’s got the willpower of . . . someone who has superhuman willpower.
Something shifts in her gaze. “It’s um, well, been a long time for me. And I wasn’t quite prepared for you today, so it’s kinda a mess down there. If you catch my drift.” She picks at the skin next to her thumbnail.
“I’m cool if you want to take the time to make it more presentable, or I’m cool with you not. If it doesn’t impede my ability to put my cock in your pussy, I’m not concerned with how it looks. But if it will make you feel better, I don’t mind waiting. I’ve got the time. It’s you that’s on a time crunch.” She still hasn’t said exactly how long she has for this.
She stares off at something behind me. I wait her out. “I don’t have the desire to make it pretty. If you don’t mind and won’t judge me for it . . .” She trails off, her gaze locking with mine.
I hold up my hands. “Not my style. Providing the orgasm is not dependent on the state of your lady parts.” A chuckle tumbles from me. “Same goes for me. No judging my word choices.”
“Fair. Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
Once my boots are off, I waste not even a second following herdown the hall. I’ve never seen her bedroom. Every time I’ve been here, the door’s been closed.
She stops at the door, facing my way. “It’s messier than the rest of the house. Not dirty—I clean up the messes—but it’s not what you’d call tidy. Is that going to bother you?”
“Will it impede my ability to put my cock in your pussy?”
She giggles. I can’t tell if it’s the words themselves or because I’ve used it again. “No. The unmade bed has clean-ish sheets.”
“Then let’s proceed.”
She lets out the breath she was holding and reaches behind her to twist the knob and open the door. My vision doesn’t deter from Clementine, ignoring the sights in the room, focused on her stepping into it. She’s all I see.
It’s hard not to stare at her allure. How natural beauty radiates from her. The green eyes, the freckles on her ivory complexion, the apple cheeks. She’s the epitome of gorgeous.
