JENNIE
The microscopic section of my mind that holds a place for common sense is attempting to send warning signals to the rest of my brain, the space held by Lisa and all things Lisa. The sensible side—what's left of it, anyway—is telling me that I need to ask questions, that I can't just brush this off. I do that too much as it is.
That's the microscopic section. The larger section wins. Because, do I really want to cause a fight with her or accuse her of something that I might just be misunderstanding? She could have just been angry at Wendy for inviting Nancy along to lunch earlier. I couldn't hear all that well, and she might have been sticking up for me. She was just so forthcoming about having lied about being expelled—why would she be lying to me now?
Lisa sits back on the bed, grabbing my hands in her, pulling me over to sit on her leg. "Well, we've exhausted all the serious topics, and your dad's asleep. I guess we'll have to find another way to occupy ourselves . . ." Her grin is ridiculous yet infectious.
"Is sex all you think about?" I reply and push her chest playfully.
She lies back on the bed, one hand across the small of my back and one behind my thigh, pulling me on top of her. I straddle her, my thighs on either side of her, and she pulls me down so that our faces are nearly touching.
"No, I think of other things, too. For example, I think of those lips open around me . . ." She brushes her lips against mine. I can taste the hint of mint on her breath when she kisses me; the pressure is hard enough to send a wave of electricity through me, but gentle enough to leave me wanting more.
"I think of my face buried between your legs while you—" she starts to say, but I reach up and cover her mouth with my hand. The way her tongue playfully darts out to lick my palm causes me to pull away quickly.
"Eww." I crinkle my nose and wipe my wet palm on her black shirt.
"I'll be quiet," she softly says, lifting her hips from the mattress to press herself against me. "That's more than you can say, of course."
"My father . . ." I remind her, with much less conviction this time.
"Who gives a fuck? This is our place, and if he doesn't like it, he can leave."
I give her a semiserious look. "Don't be rude."
"I'm not, but I want you, and I should be able to have you whenever I want to," she says, and I roll my eyes.
"I have a say in this, too; it's my body you're talking about." I pretend like my heart isn't pounding and I don't have that familiar ache for her.
"Obviously, yes. But I know that if I do this . . ." She reaches her hand down between our bodies and under the waistband of my pants and panties. "See, I knew you'd be ready when I started talking about eating . . ."
I press my lips against her to silence her dirty mouth, and she swallows the gasps she's causing me to make as her fingers graze over my clit. She's barely touching me, deliberately trying to torture me.
"Pleasssse," I hiss, and she applies more pressure, pushing a slick finger inside of me.
"Thought so," she taunts and pumps her finger slowly.
All too soon she stops her motion and moves me to lie beside her. Before I can complain, she sits up and grips the top of my pants, the pair she seems to be so infatuated with, and pulls them roughly down my thighs. I lift my hips to assist her, and then she works off my panties, too.
Without speaking, she gestures for me to move up toward the top of the bed. I push myself back using my elbows and rest my back against the headboard. She lies on her stomach in front of me, hooking both arms around my thighs, opening them.
She smirks. "At least try to be quiet."
I begin to roll my eyes, but then her warm breath hits me—soft at first, then increasing in pressure when she gets closer. Without warning, her tongue slides across me, and I reach over and grab a decorative pillow, the yellow one that Lisa calls hideous on a regular basis. I cover my face with it, using it to muffle the involuntary sounds falling from my lips as her tongue moves faster and faster.
Abruptly, the pillow is ripped away from my face. "No, baby, watch me," Lisa instructs, and I nod slowly. She brings one thumb to her lips, and her tongue glides over me. Moving her hand back between my thighs, she hits my most sensitive spot. My legs tighten—her touch feels heavenly against my clit, her finger moving in slow circles with just the lightest touch of the tip of her finger torturing me.
Obeying her command, I gaze down at her between my thighs, her hair messy and pushed back, standing in a wave above her forehead, a lone lock falling down only to be pushed back again when she dips her head down. Half seeing, half imagining her mouth moving against me increases the sensation drastically, and I know, I just know, I won't be able to stay quiet as the slow buildup of my release begins. With one hand covering my mouth and one buried in her curls, I being shifting my hips to meet her tongue. It just feels too good.
I tug at her hair and feel her moan against me, sending me closer and closer . . .
"Harder," she gasps.
What?
She reaches up to the hand that I've threaded through her hair, and places her hand on top of mine to tug at the roots of her hair . . . She wants me to pull her hair?
"Do it," she says with a wanting look, and then begins to move her fingers in fast circles and lowers her head to add her tongue to the sensation. I tug at her hair, hard, and she looks up at me, her eyes fluttering closed. When they open they're a bright, burning jade. She holds my gaze as my vision blurs and disappears momentarily.
"Come on, baby," she whispers.
I notice her hand reach down between her legs, and I can't hold it any longer. I watch her hand stroking her hard cock, bringing herself to orgasm with me. I will never get used to the way her actions make me feel. Watching her touching herself, feeling the hot puffs of air against me as her breathing grows heavier . . .
"You taste so fucking good, baby," she moans against me, her hand moving quicker between her legs. I barely feel my teeth sinking into my palm as I ride out my high, still pulling at her hair.
I blink. And blink some more, lazily.
As I come back to consciousness, I feel her adjust her weight and lay her head on my stomach. I open my eyes to find her with her closed, her chest moving up and down, her breath shallow.
I lift her by her shoulder and attempt to move between her legs.
She stops and looks at me. "I . . . um, I'm already done," she says.
I stare at her.
"I already came . . ." Her voice is thick with exhaustion.
"Oh."
She smiles a lazy, half-drunk smile and stands up from the bed. She strides over to the dresser and opens her bottom drawer, grabbing a pair of white gym shorts.
"I need to shower and change, obviously." She points to the crotch of her jeans, where, despite their dark color, the wet spot is evident.
"Just like old times?" I smile, and she looks at me, smiling back.
Lisa comes over and places a kiss on my forehead, then one on my lips. "Good to know you haven't lost your touch," she says, walking to the door.
"It wasn't my touch," I remind her, and she shakes her head, leaving the room.
I reach for my clothes at the end of the bed, praying that my father is still asleep on the couch, and that if by chance he is awake, he doesn't stop Lisa on her way to the bathroom. Seconds later the bathroom door closes, and I stand to get dressed.
When I'm done I check my phone for a voicemail from Sandra, but there's nothing. What I do see is the small envelope in the corner of my screen indicating a new text message; maybe she's busy and decided to text me.
I click it open and read: I need to talk to you.
I sigh when I next read the sender's name: Rosé.
I delete the message and set my phone back on the desk. Then curiosity gets the best of me, and I look around for Lisa's phone. My heart pounds as I remember the last time I went snooping through it. That didn't end well.
But this time I know she's not hiding anything. She wouldn't be. We're in a completely different place now than we were before. She got a tattoo for me . . . she just won't move for me. I have nothing to worry about. Right?
I check the dresser after not seeing it on the desk, then figure she must have taken it with her to the bathroom. Because that's normal, right?
I have nothing to worry about; I'm just stressed and paranoid, I remind myself.
Before I continue down the rabbit hole of worry, I remind myself that I shouldn't be going through her cell phone anyway, that I would be furious if she did that to me.
She probably does, though. I just haven't caught her.
The bedroom door clicks open, and I jump as if I've been caught doing something I shouldn't be. Lisa strides in, shirtless, barefoot, wearing the gym shorts, the black line of her boxers showing.
"You okay?" she asks, rubbing a white towel over her soaked hair. I love the way her hair appears black when it's wet; the contrast with her green eyes is something one can only dream about.
"Yeah. That wasn't a long shower." I sit down on the chair. "I should have gotten you dirtier," I say, trying to distract her from the slight quaver in my voice.
"I was in a hurry to see you," she says unconvincingly.
I smile. "You're hungry, aren't you?"
"Yeah," she admits with an amused grin. "I got hungry."
"Thought so."
"Your dad's still asleep—is he going to stay here while we're gone?"
Excitement overtakes any worry I had. "You're coming?"
"Yeah, I guess. If it's as lame as I know it will be, I'm only staying one night."
"Okay," I say with understanding. But inside I'm beaming, knowing that she won't leave early. She just has to keep up appearances by complaining about this sort of thing.
She licks her lips, and I think back to her between my thighs. "Can I ask you something?" I say.
Her eyes meet mine, and she nods. "Yeah?" She sits on the bed.
"When you . . . you know, was it because I was pulling your hair?"
"What?" She laughs lightly.
"When I pulled at your hair, you liked it?" I flush.
"Yeah, I did."
"Oh." I can't imagine the shade of red I'm turning right now.
"Is that weird to you? That I liked it?"
"No, I'm just curious," I tell her truthfully.
"Everyone has certain things they like during sex; that's one of mine. I didn't know it until just now, though." She smiles, completely unfazed that we're talking about this.
"Oh yeah?" I get excited at the thought that she learned something new while with me.
"Yeah," she says. "I mean, my hair's been pulled on by other girls, but it's different with you."
"Oh," I say for the tenth time, but this one leaves me feeling flat.
Likely unaware of my reaction, Lisa looks at me with curiosity gleaming in her green eyes. "Is there something you like that I haven't done?"
"No, I like everything you do," I say softly.
"Yeah, I know, but is there something you've thought about doing before that we haven't done?"
I shake my head.
"Don't be embarrassed, baby—everyone has fantasies."
"I don't." At least, I don't think I do. I haven't had any experience outside of Lisa, and I don't know of anything else besides what we've done.
"You do," she says with a smile. "We just have to find them."
My stomach flutters, and I don't know what to say.
But then my father's voice breaks our conversation. "Jendeukie?" My first thought is that I'm relieved that his voice sounds like it's coming from the living room and not the hallway.
Lisa and I both stand.
"I'm going to use the restroom," I say.
She nods with a wicked grin and heads into the living room to join my father.
When I get into the bathroom, Lisa's phone is sitting on the edge of the sink.
I know I shouldn't, but I can't stop myself. I immediately go to the call log, but it doesn't show. All the calls have been cleared. Not a single one is shown on the screen. I try again, and then look at the text-message screen.
Nothing. She's deleted everything.