“I’m staying tonight.”
“If you insist. But just go when you wake up. Don’t kiss me goodbye and don’t expect a repeat performance. This is just fucking. Only kiss me if you can keep it strictly fucktonic. And a one-time thing.”
“Fucktonic?”
“Platonic fucking. No feelings.” Also a tonic for my horniness, but I don’t bother to add that.
He watches me and I can’t get a read on his expression.
“Do you have a different definition for hate sex?” I ask.
“Maybe. But I can work with yours tonight. You been tested recently?”
“Huh?”
He pulls his phone from his jeans, touches the screen, then flashes it at me.
An app with what takes me a second to realize is STD test results on the screen.
“There’s an app for everything, nowadays, isn’t there?” I shake my head in astonishment.
“Last tested three months ago. Haven’t been with anyone in over four. Last one four months ago was gloved and showed me a clean test but went with gloved because she’d just been on antibiotics and didn’t trust her birth control pill. You got proof and you’re on the pill we can fuck ungloved.”
I’m suddenly a little more sober. STD talks are not sexy. Neither are talks about the last person he fucked. And I’m shocked he hasn’t been with anyone in four months. This also means he has been with someone since he met me. And I’m not sure why, since we haven’t been anything, but that stings.
“I haven’t got an app or piece of paper with proof of a recent test, but I can assure you I’m clean. And I’m on the shot, so-”
He reaches into his jeans for his wallet and pulls out a condom before I can finish.
Okay then.
I’m feeling a little insulted. But maybe that’s good. I’ll dig my nails into his back even harder in retaliation. Maybe his ass cheeks, too.
I have to try not to let that bother me too much. Safety is important, after all. And this is a fucktonic interlude, not lovemaking.
But I’m feeling a little less sexy now, a little too exposed. I’ve definitely deflated a little. I bring my knees together and bite my lip.
“Uh uh,” he shakes his head as he rips the package with his teeth and jerks his chin. “Open those legs for me. Show me what I’m about to sink into.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Ally,” he says in a commanding tone. “Don’t be embarrassed. You wanna play again after tonight, get a test and we’ll be good. You don’t wanna do that, we play gloved. It’s as simple as that.”
I almost want to tell him I had a test in April (when I went to Baltimore because of who I was having sex with and what he turned out to be, that it came up clean, that I haven’t been with anybody since), but I can’t bring myself to do it. That feels like my old world meshing with my new one, so if I were planning to let this happen more than once, I’d agree to a new test. But it’s only going to be this once, so it doesn’t matter, does it?
“Gloved is fine,” I say. “This is a one-off anyway.”
I haven’t opened my legs, but he’s moved toward me, knees on my bed and his palms gently parting my legs with his eyes on mine. I don’t resist, so this has him moving up over my body as my back sinks into the mattress again.
His face gets closer to mine and our eyes connect.
Our eyes lock and it leaves me feeling stripped bare. Those eyes. Nearly black around the edges and as you get closer to the pupil, they get bluer and bluer with an almost hazel aura around the pupil.
“You gonna relax, Vixen?”
I’m not relaxed. I’m not okay. I’m frazzled right now. I should’ve known casual sex wasn’t in my repertoire. I should put a stop to this immediately.
“Looks like maybe you need some help relaxing,” he says and then his lips touch mine.
They touch gently and then they’re moving, coaxing mine into a dance. I draw in breath and it’s his breath I’m drawing in. I could thrive on it; it feels that good.
“Hate sex shouldn’t have kissing,” I say against his lips.
He replies by biting my lip a little roughly.
This makes me whimper and sends a rush through me.
“That’s better,” I breathe, thrusting my fingers into his hair.
Maybe I can do this.
While his tongue teases between my lips, his hand cups my jaw for a beat before moving down over my breast, to my hip and then under me to cup my right ass cheek.
He backs up, mouth traveling down my throat, between my boobs, then moving below where the fabric of my dress is bunched up.
Getting up on his knees again, he grabs the fabric at both sides of my hips and hauls the dress up and over my head, forcing me to sit up. But as my face emerges from the pooled fabric, his face descends between my thighs, and he tongues the piercing down there.