by Ella Fields
“You smell incredible,” I said, stuffing her head beneath my chin and inhaling her silken hair. “Vanilla and …” I sniffed. “Some kind of tea tree or mint, maybe?”
With a hand at my chest, she pushed off me with a smile. “You don’t know how to say hello, do you?”
“Hi,” I said, staring at her perfect everything. Those pink lips and the tiny, almost imperceptible dent in her chin. The button nose and her seaweed eyes framed in dark, flickering lashes.
Her hair was in a high ponytail, dusting her right shoulder and shoulder blade, and she was wearing some kind of navy blue jumpsuit with small white dots all over it that looked more like a dress.
She kicked off her flip-flops, and I finally let my eyes settle back on hers. “Hi,” she said, her head tilted with curiosity etched upon the goddess-like features of her face.
Unsure of what to say, or why it hurt as my heart beat against my sternum, I blurted out, “Want some toast?”
Her brows tugged in. “Toast?”
Fucking hell. I brushed a hand over the back of my head. “Uh, yeah.” I nodded. “I was just going to make some.” I wasn’t, but shit, I had to now.
Her shoulder lifted. She followed me into the kitchen and took a seat at the old white timber table while I shoved two slices of bread into the toaster and hauled out the butter.
Butter would have to do, I surmised, as it looked like we were out of anything else.
“You were tired last weekend.”
I leaned back against the wooden countertop and crossed my arms over my chest, watching her run a nail over a groove in the dining table. “I worked that day. Guess it caught up with me.” I huffed. “Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to fall asleep.”
Daphne blinked over at me, her bare feet shifting, toenails painted a golden brown. “You were going to ride home.”
I shrugged, moving to the toaster when the bread popped up and tossing the pieces onto a plate. “It would’ve kept me awake.”
“Or it could’ve killed you.”
I snorted, spreading butter over the slices before cutting them down the center and taking them to her. “Need I remind you that you also fell asleep?” After grabbing a glass of water, I took a seat across from her, resting my chin on my fist.
She stared down at the toast, then tugged the plate closer. “More carbs.”
“They won’t hurt you.”
She grinned. “Tell that to my ass.”
I straightened. “I’d be fucking delighted to.”
Almost choking on her sip of water, she set the glass down, then frowned. “Where’s yours?”
I needed to grab more bread, so I stole a slice of hers. “Thought we’d share.”
She eyed me a moment, then took a bite and moaned. I could’ve sworn my dick blew a tiny load in my briefs as I watched her eyes close. “Dear God, I forgot how good butter is.”
Quickly, I adjusted myself. “You don’t usually have it?”
Daphne shook her head. “Nope. Mom’s a model.”
“Shit. Right.”
“And my dad’s a surgeon.” She half rolled her eyes. “Cholesterol and all that fun-sucking junk.” I was too enamored by the way she ate, her tiny bites and tiny movements of her jaw, and by the words she didn’t say, to say anything.
Her parents sounded like a real riot.
Glancing around the kitchen, she pushed her chair back and all but ran to a bunch of photos on the wall. “Oh, my god. Look at you.”
“What’s with chicks and baby photos?”
That made her shoot a scowl my way. “I take it your house is used to seeing its fair share of females coming and going?”
I tore off another chunk of buttery toast, chewing. “No, actually.” I swallowed and took a sip of her water. “Just my mom.” I looked up at her, taking another bite. “And now you.”
Her face fell at the same time her smile rose. As if she was both relieved and disappointed.
“Where’s your dad?”
Such a straight shooter. “Been gone for years.”
She looked around the room some more, then sighed. “Asshole.” Her finger traced a picture farther down the wall of Mom and me from my first day of kindergarten. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” I agreed, dusting the crumbs from my hands. “She’s asleep now, but she wanted to meet you.”
Daphne’s hand fell, and she returned to her seat. “Sorry, I, um …” She gazed down at the toast, then picked up a piece and finished it off.
I nodded after a minute of letting her sweat. “It’s fine. I get it.”
Her brow rose. “You do, do you?”
I rubbed my cheek, laughing a little. “Not yet, but I’m sure as hell enjoying trying to figure it out.”
Daphne watched me, taking a long sip of water. “Show me your room?”
I furrowed my brows, knowing that look in her eyes by now. I stood anyway. “Sure.”
She led the way and found it instantly. The house was small as fuck, so it wasn’t exactly hard to do, but the way she’d walked toward it was like a magnet had tugged her there. No faltering, no sense of doubt as she walked straight down the small hall to the first door on the left.
She took her time, standing in the center of the room, her bare toes scrunching over the small blue rug covering the old hardwood floor as she surveyed my stuff.
The messy bed with its black and white bedding, which I’d attempted to make but didn’t exactly do a great job. The touch lamp on the bedside table that had a tiny notebook tucked beneath one of its legs to keep it from rocking. The half-finished bottle of water atop it. The Sharpies and pencils sprawled beside it next to the three artbooks that sat stacked over one another.
A few pairs of shoes littered the floor near some textbooks for school beside my closet. Daphne moved closer to the wall, her gasp loud as she raised fluttering fingers to the artwork there and paused as though she was afraid to touch it.
“It won’t bite,” I said, coming to stand behind her. My hands wrapped around her middle, unable to keep from caressing her stomach. “But I will.”
She hummed a deep laugh that I felt against my hands, and I was glad her hair was up, giving me a view of the elegant slant of her neck. My mouth lowered, skimming the curve, and her stomach stuttered against my hands.
“It’s pretty incredible.”
“Your body? I happen to agree.”
She reached down to pinch my hand, and I laughed against her delicious skin. “No, your art. It’s like graffiti, but more …” Her head tilted, and I took advantage, sliding my lips along the line of her jaw, then licking.
“More?”
“So much more.” She turned, catching me by surprise with her hands on my face and her mouth all over mine.
I stumbled back to the door, knocking it closed as she pulled at my shirt and growled in frustration when I didn’t help her get it off.
“Daph, we’re not …” I groaned when she snuck her hand inside my jeans and fell back against the door. “Holy shit.”
“You were saying?” she asked, her voice sweet and deadly all at once while her tongue licked from the base of my throat, over my bobbing Adam’s apple, and crested my chin. She nipped my lips. “You said you wouldn’t control everything.”
Her hand was so warm, so fucking perfect, as it wrapped around my cock. “I just wanted—” I cursed when she squeezed, then began pumping.
“You just need to shut up and let me explore.” Then she was undoing my jeans and pushing me toward my bed.
I fell on it willingly, half dazed and insanely desperate for whatever she was going to do.
After she’d tugged my pants to my thighs, her hands pushed up my shirt, and she sat back on her haunches, a pleased smile lighting her eyes and shaping her lips. “I want to see your abs contract when you come.”
“Jesus Christ,” I exhaled. She couldn’t be fucking real.
But if she was a dream, I’d kill someone before I ever let them wake
me up.
Her head lowered, her nails trailing over my stomach and hips, tracing, memorizing, all the while her eyes stayed planted on my starving cock.
Her hand wrapped around it, her lashes dipping as she ran her thumb over the wet head, satisfied with what she was doing to me.
A cry of desperation lodged in my throat when she removed her hand. It evaporated when she pulled her jumpsuit down, exposing her white lace bra. The blue material pooled around her creamy stomach, and her hand disappeared inside it.
“Are you …?”
“Touching myself?” she finished. “Yes. Problem?”
I laughed a husky, drained sound. “Yeah, fuck no.”
It was settled then. I was actually going to die.
It was all I could do to keep my eyes open when her silken skin enveloped me once more. She was too much, her eyes swaying, and her breaths coming faster, as she no doubt rubbed her clit in time with each torturous tug of my shaft.
I had to stop myself from coming within the first few minutes, but after five, I gave myself permission. I almost blacked out as Daphne moaned and watched my semen collect over my abs.
Covered in sperm or not, I didn’t care. Once I could see straight, I moved, kicking off my jeans. Grabbing her, I swapped our positions and crawled over to rid her of the stupid jumpsuit, and then spread her legs.
“Cotton.” I swallowed, my finger trailing over the wet patch on her white panties. “It seems you’ve soiled your panties.”
“Pull them aside and look closer.”
She didn’t need to tell me twice. I did, and some kind of haze filmed over my eyes, casting everything else I’d once deemed important as entirely unnecessary.
The only thing I needed was my hands and mouth on that pretty pussy.
She was gleaming. Rose petals that glistened with the last downpour of rain, each layer more wet than the last. I dragged my finger through her, then lowered my mouth and licked up and down, slow and lazy, letting my taste buds become acquainted with her flavor.
“Come here,” she said, her voice cracking with torment and legs shifting with her need to come.
I took one last sweep, which had her head falling back into my pillows. The sight of that alone was enough to get my cock instantly hard again.
She was here. In my bed. Practically naked and begging for me.
I went to her, but snuck my finger inside her and left it there as I did.
“Shit.” Her eyes widened, and her thighs wrapped tight around me. “That’s so good.”
“Yeah?” I carefully pulled it out—watching her eyes dilate and the way her breath whistled past her lips to hit mine—then pushed it back in.
“Oh, fuck.”
I dropped my mouth to hers, our noses bumping. “You have the prettiest little cunt I’ve ever seen.”
Said cunt spasmed. “Lars.”
I licked her upper lip as she struggled to steady her breathing. “Do you know how good you taste?”
She shook her head, voice faint. “I want to.”
I kissed her, sinking my tongue inside her mouth. Her hands clawed at my hair and shoulders, desperation and pleasure marring my skin.
“Filthy girl.” Pulling back, I skimmed my lips over her cheek to whisper in her ear. “And what if I want you to lick my finger clean?” I twisted it inside her, hitting a wall that made her moan a little too loud. That was the spot. I did it again but made sure to cover her mouth with mine.
Then I removed my finger and brought it between our mouths, my cock about to burst again when she immediately wrapped her lips around it and sucked.
Yeah, I was definitely either dreaming or dead.
My finger returned, dunking inside before I brought it back to my mouth. I watched hers quiver as I groaned and licked every part of her from my skin.
“Lars, please.”
I removed my finger from my mouth with a pop. “You need to come, Cotton?”
She wriggled her hips in response, her eyes darkening.
“You’re too empty, aren’t you?” I bit her lip, dragged it into my mouth and sucked.
I lowered myself over her, rubbing what she’d done to me over what I’d done to her.
“No,” she quickly wheezed.
I stopped and took her chin. “I won’t fuck you.” My nostrils flared at the absurd declaration. “At least, not yet.”
Before she could protest, I kissed her and sank my finger back inside, stroking her exactly where she needed it.
She came like nothing I’d seen before. Her entire body shook, and her eyes seemed to change from emerald to a dark, murky green that glistened with water.
I frowned, kissing her cheeks, her chin, and her forehead. “Are you okay?”
“Not crying,” she croaked out. “That was just … intense.”
Kissing her mouth hard, I laughed, then rolled to my back and tucked myself back inside my briefs while she caught her breath.
I reached into the nightstand drawer and plucked out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one.
She stole it from me, her eyes shutting as she lay spent on the bed with her beautiful face shrouded in a wave of smoke.
My fingers itched to grab my markers and some blank paper, but I lit another smoke and let myself soak in the sight of her instead.
The wind sent ripples through my school shirt as I sped down an alleyway and cut through a side street, emerging onto the road that led to school.
After falling asleep next to me for who knew how long—because after I’d watched her for untold minutes, I eventually fell asleep too—I’d woke to find Daphne had gone.
No note, no text, nothing save for the scent of her hair on my pillows and her cunt on my fingers.
I’d lain there for hours until Mom had gotten up and started dinner, and then I decided to text her. I’d asked if she’d gotten home okay, but all I’d gotten was a one-word response: yep.
Frustration had me agitated ever since. Her mind was probably in tangles like mine, but come on.
I went out with the guys on the weekend, got so stoned it was a wonder I’d made it home on my bike, and then I’d tried to call her. She didn’t answer, so I’d left a rather filthy voicemail, detailing how long I went without washing my hand. If she listened to it, I didn’t know.
School was back now, so she couldn’t avoid me as easily, and I was done with waiting her out. After the way she’d looked at me, laughed with me, and came apart beneath me, I knew better than to think she was just enjoying a bit of careless fun with the school’s token trash.
I zoomed past cars and hopped the curb, chaining my bike to the rack.
Quickly, I shucked on my blazer and took a swig from my water bottle before heading for the doors. Most people were already inside, given that the first bell had rung as I’d entered the lot, but I still had time.
“Lars,” Annabeth called when I walked past her and her friends at her locker.
Annika wiggled her fingers, glancing away. Good thing too, seeing as I’d fucked her right before the summer break. The last thing I needed right now was someone I’d fooled around with coming at me in hopes of more.
There’d never be more.
More was for the green-eyed brunette who was inspecting her lipstick in the mirror of her opened locker.
I snuck up behind her, and she jumped when I squeezed her hips. “You didn’t call me back.”
“Was I supposed to?” she asked, turning and slamming her locker closed, and by doing so, moved farther away from me.
I studied the distance with a frown, then her cool expression. “Sorry,” I said, then laughed, a dry sound. “I just thought that after we’d both feasted on your cunt, you’d be more amenable to—”
Daphne slapped a hand over my mouth, her eyes two raging pits of fury.
Willa choked, coughing as she mumbled a goodbye and walked down the hall.
“What the fuck do you think this is, Bradby?”
I pulled her hand away and grinned. “Foreve
r?”
Daphne paused before howling with laughter. “You cheesy asshole.”
“Sounds delicious,” Raven said, forcing a gag as he passed us. He eyed my bag and then Daphne. “You coming, man?”
Fuck. “Yeah, in a second.”
Raven walked on, and Daphne followed.
I raced after her and grabbed her hand, which she immediately tugged from my grip. “Lars, this is crazy. Stop it.”
“I can’t,” I said, the words falling from nowhere and everywhere.
Daphne’s glare softened, and she looked around as the second bell rang, stepping closer. “We had a good time.” She smirked. “Okay, a couple of good times, but you know I can’t give you what you want.”
My fingers dug into my palms, and I sobered. She was serious. “Why?”
Her smile was more of a frown masquerading as a smile. “It’d never work. This is fun, or it was, and now you’re turning it into something that smells a lot like commitment.”
Stunned, I watched her strut away, my chest a deflating balloon.
Daphne
“Daph,” Dad said from behind his paper. “Did you eat the last avocado?”
I did, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Nope.” I took a seat opposite him and sipped my coffee while scrolling through Instagram.
Lars had posted a picture of one of his latest drawings, and beneath it was almost a hundred comments, mostly from girls, about how amazing he was.
They weren’t lying, but that didn’t stop irritation from knocking.
“You may be a good liar,” Dad said, lowering the paper, “but I was there when you first learned how to do it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to call Petra.”
Petra was our grocery shopper and sometimes chef. She was also my mother’s mom. Though I loved her, she was a fusser of the worst degree, always berating me for things she said my mother should be berating me for.
Dad smirked and took a loud slurp of his latte. “Do it.”
“She needs to learn how to text.”
He laughed. “That would be handy. How about you show her next time she’s here?”
“Ugh, no.” I took a bite of my whole-wheat toast, my taste buds protesting and craving white bread smothered in butter. “I’ll lose hours of my life.”
