Page 49 of Personal Foul
TWENTY-TWO
Wren
We’ve settledinto companionable silence, watching the beginning of a horror movie while we wait for dessert. Room service finally rings the door, and he gets up to answer it looking fine as fuck. The long lines of his muscular back dip down to where they meet the top of his sweatpants and the curve of his ass and the way they hug him make me want to rip them off him. Because this is who I am now apparently. At least who I am around him—it’s sex and parties and cake all the time. I want to feel guilty for it as my mind drifts back to the bar, and school, and all the things I should be doing, but the indulgence is fun.
There’s another blood-curdling scream on the screen, and I look up as East returns to hand me a piece of cake, watching as yet another woman falls victim to the serial killer’s knife.
“You’d think they’d learn,” I mutter.
But as I take a bite of the cake I’m distracted again. This cake tastes like fucking magic. Like they stuffed rainbows and stardust inside when they made it and then wrapped it in chocolate ganache and cakey goodness.
“Jesus Christ. If you moan like that, I can’t watch the movie,” Easton mutters as he sits back down on the bed, watching me as I go to take another bite.
“You need to taste it. It’s amazing. Like quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Considering you tasted me tonight; I’m feeling a little wounded.”
“Okay, rivals the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Better.”
“But honestly, I think this might be better than sex. They might not have oversold it with that name.”
“I doubt that.”
“Taste it.” I hold out the plate and fork for him.
He cuts a bite off and slides it into his mouth. And tilts his head back and forth.
“It’s not bad. Definitely not better than good sex though. The way you made me come tonight? About a hundred times better than that cake.”
I take another bite and look at him. “I don’t know. I’d like to believe that, but…”
“I promise you. I don’t know why this is hard for you to believe. Haven’t you had good oral before?”
“Meh.” I shrug. “Every time I’ve tried it, it just sort of felt vaguely like a sloppy sponge being bandied about down there.”
Easton coughs, chokes, and then bursts out into laughter.
“Christ Wren. You’ve got to stop fucking these randos you keep meeting for hookups. If that’s your opinion.”
“Please. I would not let some random asshole go down on me. But I’ve had boyfriends before. Thank you.”
“You mean these guys had time and repeated attempts and still couldn’t improve?”
“I don’t know that it was their fault. I think maybe it’s not for me.”
“Oh fuck, you can’t do that, Princess. You know you can’t.”
“What?”
“Lay it down like a challenge, when you know how bad I want between your thighs. I’m trying to be good tonight. Do the date thing. I like our little dessert and movie thing we have going.” He gives me a pained look.
I laugh and shake my head. “Okay. Pretend like I didn’t say anything. Just watch the movie.”
He looks at me for a moment longer and then reluctantly turns his head back to the screen.
I try to follow the dialogue between the characters, but I’ve lost the plot. And now in my mind, all I can think about is what he would feel like. Whether I might actually like it with him. Whether I could relax enough to really enjoy it.
