Page 29 of P.S. I Miss You

I take back what I said about women who are perfect on the outside being ugly on the inside … Melrose is sheer flawlessness on the inside. Soft and wet and tight.

Brushing my lips across hers, I grip her hips as they circle and rise and fall, pushing her deeper each time she comes down. I want to fill every fucking inch of her as hard and deep and fast as I can.

“Harder,” I whisper into her ear as my fingers dig gently into her soft flesh. “Like you can’t fucking stand me.”

Tossing her head back, Melrose rides my cock, her tits bouncing with each impalement. Had I known she was going to feel this amazing, I might have taken a slightly different approach the moment I first saw her.

The whole roommate/fuck buddy thing could get ugly and messy and complicated, but for pussy this sweet, it just might be worth it.

My thumb traces the underside of her jaw, directing her mouth back to mine and tasting that bee-stung mouth of hers all over again.

The game plays in the background, the third quarter tip off, but for the first time, I’m not concerned about Curry or Thompson because Claiborne here has my full and complete attention.

MY PALMS SURROUND MY coffee cup at the Riverwalk coffee shop Monday morning. My cousin Maritza should be here any minute, which is good because I need a distraction since I can’t stop thinking about yesterday and the insanity that transpired in the living room.

Sutter was gone when I woke up this morning, already at work.

And while I should be thinking about how weird it was to sleep with him last night and how potentially complicated this could get, all I’m thinking about is how good it was.

No.

Good is an understatement. It’s too generic for what that was.

Mind-blowing? Amazing? Earth-rocking? Out of this world incredible?

Last night deserves all the heart-eyes and praise-hand emoji’s.

Unlike most twenty something guys, he actually knew what he was doing. He didn’t treat me like a blowup doll, didn’t avoid eye contact. He didn’t get his rocks off and ditch me the second it was over. Instead we sort of collapsed on top of each other and he wrapped his arms around me—not in a romantic sort of way, but in a relaxed, that-was-so-good-I-can’t-move-so-I’ll-hold-you-for-a-while kind of way.

I don’t want to give him too much credit, but he might be the best lay I’ve ever had …

Of course I’d never tell him that. His head’s already big enough.

And who knows? Maybe it all boiled down to the fact that neither of us like each other so there was no pressure to impress? We were just two savage, sexual beings going at it the way nature intended.

True, unadulterated no-strings sex.

I take a sip of coffee as the bells on the coffee shop door jangle, and in walks my cousin, peeling a pair of giant sunglasses off her face as she grins. Her dark waves bounce on her shoulders and her hands are stretched in my direction. I rise, wrapping my arms around her. The two of us grew up as only children and she’s the only cousin I have on my dad’s side. In a way, we’re more like sisters than cousins.

It feels weird meeting up with her every once in a while, when we used to see each other every single day, and yet living with her almost feels like a lifetime ago.

“So what’s new?” she asks, sitting down after she orders a coffee.

“Same old,” I say, sipping my coffee. “Auditioning like crazy. Actually have one right after this for some headache medicine commercial my agent found.”

“Still taking classes?”

“Always. Have to hone my craft,” I say with a wink. And it’s true. If there’s anything Gram taught me, it’s to stay humble and never assume your talent has reached its pinnacle. No matter how good you think you are, you can always be better.

“So how’s the roommate thing going?”

I roll my eyes and feel a smile attempting to emerge, but I glance down and fight it off.

“What?” she asks. “What is that face?”

“Nothing.” My eyes narrow.

“No. You made a face. What is it? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say it harder, as if it could possibly bear more weight that way. “He’s just really annoying and I was thinking of something he did and it made me laugh.”

“Annoying like how? And what’d he do?”

“Just … he just … I don’t know …”

Maritza leans closer. “Why are you tripping over your words? That’s not like you.”

“You’re putting me on the spot,” I say.

“Oh my god, you slept with him.” Her hand covers her mouth and she chokes back a laugh.

“What? Why would you automatically jump to that?”

“Because I know you. And because I can tell. The way you’re acting. It’s all over your face,” she says. She may not have been bitten by the acting bug, but Gram made sure she, too, knew how to read people.

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