Page 118 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Dollancie:
I’ll give you a pass. Seeing as we both agreed to this.
My dick twitches beneath my towel, aching more than each and every wound.
I’m almost sure the three little dots that indicate my typing appear and disappear on her screen twice before my message eventually pops up. I cringe as I send it, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle at my side.
There’s no way this can end well with both of us being a little drunk.
Lucky:
So, I guess she’d rather be tied to the bed and fucked raw, have to beg to come, rather than have a mediocre six minutes as stale kisses dry on her skin.
Dollancie:
Who wouldn’t.
You should, my sweet Dollie. And even if you do, I shouldn’t be the one to want to do it—that’s the fucking alcohol.
God, I’m so sick of lying to myself.
Dollancie:
Sorry.
Despite the alcohol, Dollie’s message catches me off guard. It’s hard to picture her, my sweet little stepsister, who was always so innocent, this way. It’s harder to understand why I do. Fucking daily.
My phone buzzes again.
Alcohol makes her impatient, it seems.
Dollancie:
Have I scared you away?
Lucky:
Not at all.
If only that were fucking possible, I’d be long gone.
Dollancie:
Good, as we’re about to get to the pleasing and teasing.
She would rather please him than tease him. This would definitely be raunchy today.
Lucky:
The whole book would be filth.
Dollancie:
Correction: plot-based smut. I think that’s what it’s called these days.
Lucky:
So, how would she please him?
