Page 69 of Backslide
I want her so badly, it’s like my brain has left the building. There’s just skin against skin, droplets of water, straight lines that curve into sharp turns.
I can’t fucking believe this is happening. This isn’t at all how I pictured today.
I pull back for a second, blink my eyes open to make sure it’s real. She looks up at me like she knows, mischief in her eyes below dark lashes. And it’s better than anything I could envision—haveenvisioned, if I’m honest—in my mind.
I kiss down her throat, as she arches to give me clearance, sighs. It’s so easy to get lost in it all, as she straddles me, body slick, lips and teeth teasing again, then pulling away.
And maybe I should leave well enough alone—but, even in the midst of this fever dream, something gnaws at the edge of my consciousness, and I know I can’t stay silent.
“Eleanor,” I groan as she grinds against me, making me fully insane.
“Yes, Noah?” she says, nipping my ear.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“If you must.”
I tighten my grip on her ass, but say, “I must”—I guess with enough conviction that she pauses to look up and into my face. We’re both breathless, chests rising and falling fast.
“Okay?”
“Is there a fiancé?”
She bites her lip. Pauses for a brief beat while I have a small heart attack. Then shakes her head.
“Was there ever a fiancé?”
She nods. “We broke up six weeks ago. But my friends don’t know.”
This is the best news I’ve heard in a while.
“Okay. Are you rebounding? Like, is that what this is?”
She considers the question for a second. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Cool.”
Satisfied, I lean in to kiss her again. This time she stops me, her arms still wrapped around my neck.
“Wait. Now, I have a question.”
“Go for it.”
I’m listening but also distracted by a drop of water dripping down her neck from her now-wet hair and into her cleavage. I’m dying to stop it in its tracks with my tongue.
“Do Cheerios really mitigate the effects of pot?”
Without meaning to, I laugh out loud.
“What?!” she says. “Don’t be mean! I don’t know anything about weed.”
I rearrange my face into a more serious expression. “No. There is no correlation between oats and level of highness.”
She pouts. “I swear it helped.”
“And you’ve wondered all these years?”
“I mean, I thought it was unlikely.”
