I wait until I have every drop, then I swallow hard.
His eyes blink open. He looks down at me like I’m heaven-sent. “Fuck.”
My cheeks flush.
“On the couch.”
“On the couch?”
He offers me his hand.
I take it.
He pulls me up. “On the couch. On your back. You’re coming on my face again.”
“I—”
“Now.”
“You—”
“Now, princess.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He wraps his hands around my waist, guides me to the couch, helps me onto my back.
And I—
Well, if this is what he wants, I’m not about to deny him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Skye
After, I clean up in the upstairs bathroom. Return to a kitchen that smells of coffee and green onions.
Forest looks up at me with a hazy smile. “Warned you about needing your strength.”
“You have another one in you?”
His smile is wicked. “You shouldn’t bait him like that.”
“I shouldn’t?”
He nods. “He likes to prove shit.”
“Like…”
“How many times he can make you come.”
Oh. My cheeks flush. “So you…”
“If you keep looking at me like that, yeah.” He motions to the mug on the table. “I warmed it up.”
“Thanks.”
“I can make another if you’d—”
“Maybe after.”
His smile shifts into something pure affection. “I love the way you drink matcha.”
“Oh?” I descend the stairs.
He nods. “Not just because you moan like you need it in your mouth.”
Despite our earlier activities, I blush. What is it about Forest? He’s been my best friend forever, but he still makes me feel shy.
“Cat got your tongue, princess?”
Uh… I step onto the main floor.
His smile widens. “You get this look in your eyes. Like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Like, for a single moment, the world is perfect.”
“It is.”
“It is.” He offers his hand.
I move closer. Take it.
Forest pulls me into a tight hug. He brushes my hair behind my ear. Rests his palm on my cheek. “In your makeup already?”
“You don’t like it?”
“Do you care?”
Usually… no. Today, I’m all fluttery and awkward. I want him to like me. To think I’m pretty. To think I’m sexy. To think I’m girlfriend material.
It’s ridiculous. We’ve been friends forever. He knows me.
He knows exactly who I am.
“Princess?” He strokes my temple with his thumb. “Where are you going?”
“You’re right. I don’t care.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“Well…” I look up into his eyes. “Maybe I care a little.”
His laugh is soft. “I love it.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s you.” He brings his thumb to my wine lips. “Though… I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to concentrate again. Not when you’re wearing this lipstick.”
“Oh?”
“Gonna think about those pretty lips around my cock.”
My sex clenches. “Is that a problem?”
His smile is easy. “Fuck no.” He releases me. Moves to the stove. “Sit. Drink.” He scoops scrambled eggs onto ceramic plates, grabs forks, brings them—and sriracha—to the table.
I take a seat next to my matcha latte. It’s lukewarm, but it’s still good. Sweet, creamy, rich. The perfect complement to the bite of green onions and sriracha.
“That enough green onions?” He offers me a napkin.
I look up at him like he’s crazy. “Enough green onions?”
Forest chuckles. “It’s possible.”
“Blasphemy.”
“There was that one time. At the ramen place on Sawtelle.”
“I don’t recall this.”
“The waiter offered to bring more green onions and you said, no, this is enough.”
“Because I didn’t want to put him out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’d come back three times already.”
“Uh-huh.” He shakes his head sure.
“It’s not that—” My eyes meet his. God, there’s something about his look. Not just the affection. The familiarity. He does know me well. He knows my routine, my life, my dreams. “Uh…”
“You don’t have to admit it.” He moves to the counter. Brings over a tiny cutting board full of chopped green onions. Sets it next to my plate. “That’s all we have in the house.”
“Ah.”
“Didn’t plan for this last time I went shopping.”
“Oh.”
“Could have asked your dad to grab extra last night.”
I clear my throat.
“What did he say to you anyway?”
“The usual. Don’t chase after a boy unless he’s good enough. Make sure you trust him. Your mother is upset about the half-naked pictures.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” I bite my lip. God, this smells good. It’s brimming with green onions. But more is still better. I take everything that’s left on the cutting board. Then I add sriracha. Stir. “But she came around, I think.”
“How’d you manage that?” He picks up his fork. Takes a bite. No hot sauce.
“How do you eat that without sriracha?”
“I take the fork, bring it to my mouth, chew, swallow.”
“It’s so much better.”
“I like it this way.”
I shoot him some side-eye.
“I can taste the green onions better.”
That is an excellent argument.
“Want to tell me why you’re trying to change the subject?” He wraps his fingers around his mug of coffee. Brings it to his lips. Takes a long sip.
“Well, uh…”
“Your mom. What happened?”
“Well, I…” I force my eyes to his. “I kinda told her I’m going to officially pursue modeling and photography.”
His eyes go wide. “You are?”