Page 59 of Wicked & Wildflower

“Everett,” I cry, though the sound comes out muffled behind my palm. I feel the building pressure break, feel the climax pool in my hand as I pull out of myself. My toes curl, my vision goes nearly black, but I keep my eyes on the mirror as I bring my fingers to my clit and flick rapidly, guiding myself through my orgasm. I watch my release spill out between my thighs and soak the floor beneath me, watch my flushed, glowing cheeks, and hooded, hazed eyes. I drop my hand to reveal parted lips,legs spread open, body limp. My entire head is foggy as I watch myself ride out my orgasm, slowly bucking against my hand.

It’s erotic and raw, and in some far-off awareness, I know I should feel embarrassed by the sight, by Everett watching me unravel for him, but in this moment, I don’t feel that. I only feel the pleasure, the sound of his breathing, and the words he whispers in my ear, though I’m past comprehending them.

“Fuck, Dal. Fuck.Fuck.”

My eyes dart sideways, catching the screen of my phone just in time to watch him pump his cock once more, his own climax ripping through him. I watch his stomach muscles tighten as his release shoots from his tip and drips down his base, gathering on his abs and in his hand. The sight of it nearly sends me into another spiral, wishing that it was covering my tongue. Across my chest. Dripping out of me.

He drops his phone, and I finally pull my hand from between my legs. We’re both quiet for a moment as I stand and slip my t-shirt back over my head, stepping into my bathroom to clean myself up. I don’t bother with my underwear when I return; I just grab my phone and climb between my sheets. A moment later, Everett’s face appears back on my screen. I lay sideways, setting my phone on my pillow, and he does the same, almost as if we’re laying in bed next to each other.

I wait for things to turn awkward and uncomfortable, but he only gives me that soft, easy smile that seems to make my bones melt. “Do you believe me now when I tell you how beautiful you are?”

I can’t hide the tilt of my lips. “Maybe a little.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to find my own orgasms beautiful. I don’t think I’d ever describe myself that way, but that embarrassment I’m still waiting to envelope me never does. The shame I used to feel after sex when I’d come the way I did with Everett… It doesn’t arise. I just feel…satisfied.

“You’re so beautiful, Dahlia. So fucking pretty, sometimes I can’t believe it.”

“Everett,” I whisper, caught off guard by a sudden yawn as my post-climax exhaustion settles over me. I realize it’s nearly one in the morning, and he wasn’t lying when he said orgasms help one fall asleep.

“Say thank you, Wildflower. Then you can go to sleep.”

“Thank you.” My eyes begin to droop, but through my blurred vision, I can see him smile.

“Go to sleep, Dal.”

The sound of my name on his lips feels like a lullaby. I’m not ready to accept his absence yet. I want to keep feeling his presence. I don’t want to be alone. “Can you stay?”

“Yeah, baby. I can stay.”

His quiet breathing sends me into sleep.

When Lou wakes me in the morning, my phone is dead. I plug it in as I ready myself for work and Lou for school. When I leave, I notice text messages from Everett, sent just after four o’clock.

I think your phone died.

I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.

See you soon, Wildflower.

21

Wicked

I’m Great With Filling!

My brother has beefwith other sports.

Fucking weirdo that he is, he finds surfing superior to pretty much anything else. So I’m not surprised when I enter his house on Thanksgiving morning to find him in a fuss over football being on the television.

Darby rolls her eyes but doesn’t respond to him, hiding a smile as she entertains his dramatics. Lou shifts around him so she can get a better look at what’s happening in the game, laughing into her cereal as Dahlia glances back and forth between them with a bemused expression. She slaps her knees as she stands and makes her way toward the kitchen.

I take one last look at where my brother and Darby are arguing, though the glitter in both of their eyes makes me question if it’s some kind of weird-ass foreplay they’ve got going on. Regardless, I’m not nearly as interested in that as I am in the woman standing in the kitchen, so I follow her.

Her back is to me, handling something on the counter that I can’t see as I lean against the island. “So, football fans, huh?”

She chuckles quietly. “Always have been. My dad had a couple of big-wig clients who’d take us out to Chiefs games a few times a year growing up. They were always business opportunities for him, but he’d drag us along to give the impression he was a family man.” I watch her shoulders as she shrugs. “You know, it made him look more personable. Approachable. Less of a corrupt piece of shit. Darby and I always had fun, though.” She turns around, and I notice she’s holding a large plate in her hands, her blue eyes glittering with something like excitement. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Me?” I ask.

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