Page 10 of Feathers From the Sky

“Maybe,” is her impish reply. There’s a ferality to her I never noticed before. She reminds me of the stray cat near my temporary apartment. It had been sunbathing and lounging near my apartment for weeks, never once begging or seeking attention, content with its station. Gwyn’s eyes glint like the stray’s did when I finally offered it food. She is starved, and I can offer her something she wants.

Which means I cannot give it. Not yet.

I loosen my hold in her hair, and my eyes are drawn to her neck, arched so fucking pretty.

“Alright, I think I’ve got enough, and it’s getting a little weird in here, even for me. I’m going out for a smoke, and I have to call Annette. You guys can, uh, relax in here for a while,” Clarke interrupts. And they’re down the stairs a second later. The front door clangs open noisily, and Clarke’s parting words echo. “Please don’t fuck on the sofa!”

I close my eyes, huffing a breath and breaking the trance Gwyn has pulled me into. I sit back and exhale, resting my hands on my stomach. Gwyn gets to her knees, leaning forward to grab a piece of paper off the coffee table as she gifts me with a clear view of her fat ass.

“So, uh, the sheet of questions we’re supposed to ask each—”

“You’ve got about thirty seconds to put that body on me, sweetheart,” I say, stretching my arms wide across the back of the couch.

“What?” she says, whipping her head around with widened eyes.

“I don’t want another tattoo, but I need something beautiful on my body. Now.”

“Or what?” she asks, cheeks going red as she bites her lip. She stands, not bothering to adjust where her bra has shifted, a hint of her areola peeking out. I let my gaze linger on the peach patch of skin, curious how she’ll respond to the brazen need I let rise to the surface.

“You sure you want to find out?” I ask, and she surprises me by slipping the straps of her bra down.

“How about you look but don’t touch,” she says as she reaches behind her and unfastens her bra, letting it fall down her arms before she catches it, keeping herself covered.

“Twenty seconds.”

She freezes, the tiniest line forming between her brows. She’s not used to someone putting a stop to her bratty bullshit.

“Fifteen.”

She steps toward me as she cups her heavy breasts in her hands, bra a formality at this point, and I swallow the reaction I know she’s looking for. She’s wanting me to concede, to let her continue with the striptease. To beg to see those beautiful tits.

“You don’t want to see my body?” she asks, and there is a fake insecurity there as she tries to make herself smaller by covering up her stomach. It’s the first time I’ve been able to sense any falsehoods from her. She thinks I will scramble to make her feel sexy, to make up for some sort of inadvertent slight in making her think she wasn’t desirable. I’m confident it’s a lie. I don’t even need to listen to her breathing and her heart for certainty. She knows and doesn’t need me to tell her.

“Don’t pretend, Gwyn. False self-doubt is unbecoming. Ten.”

Her mouth opens in a wry smile, her tongue pushing against her cheek as she drops her arms.

It’s unfair how fucking gorgeous she is.

“That could have backfired, you know,” she says, taking another step forward. “What if I really—”

“Five.”

She slams her mouth shut and glares at me.

And then she’s in my lap, and her lips are on mine. She’s groaning into my mouth, my hands on her ass, and I know I’ll get what I want. I’ve made her break her rules, and she is not in control of this encounter.

I am.

When I grip her thong in my hands and pull, forcing the fabric to press tightly against her clit, I hope her stuttering gasp is enough. Hope it is the gap I need to sink into her mind and get what I want.

“Do you know anything about a man named Remy?”

5

GWYN

“No,”I say, and then I shake my head. “Sorry, what?”

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