“Don’t worry about where the summer went, lad,” I mused from my perch on a matching sun lounger, while I sipped on what might have been my seventh pint glass of the weird, green shit the sixth-year girls called Fat Frog. Aside from vodka, I had no idea what they used to brew the snot-green concoction, but it tasted delicious—and went straight to the head. “Worry about leaving Claire unsupervised with a dozen or so horses nearby.”
“Ah, Christ on a bike,” Gibsie groaned, rolling off the sun lounger and racing off. “I told your sister to steer clear of the stables.”
“Giddy up like your Shergar, lad,” I called over my shoulder, words slurring from the alcohol that was hitting the spot.
Chuckling to myself, I drained what was left in my glass, leaned over, and set it down on the patio. Knowing Claire and Gibs, I was about to witness an even greater escape than Tito and Ossie’s in the filmInto the West.
“I need you,” a familiar voice whispered in my ear then. “Right now.” Dropping onto my lap, Liz hooked an arm around my neck and tongued my ear. “Badly.”
“Christ, Liz,” I groaned, instantly hardening when she rocked her ass on my lap. “I’ll lose it right here.”
“That’s what I want.” Her lips trailed over my jaw, peck after seductive peck, until her tongue traced my bottom lip. “So, lose it, baby.” The scent of alcohol on her breath was almost as strong as mine. “In me.”
Jesus.
This girl was hellbent on killing me.
“We’re drunk.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” I slurred—or at least the sober version of me did. Meanwhile the drunk version of me, a.k.a. the current version, wanted to bury myself inside this girl and never come out. “Baby, don’t tempt me.”
“Be tempted,” she encouraged, sliding her fingers inside the buttons of my shirt. “Fuck me.”
Fuck her?
Christ.
“You want me to fuck you here?” I strangled out, expecting her to realize how crazy that sounded and come to her senses. “You want our first time to be at a house party?”
Ofcourse, Liz had to nod. Worse, she hitched a leg over me and straddled my lap. “I can feel you,” she moaned against my lips. “You’re hard for me.” Her tongue snaked out and licked mine, while she arched her hips against me and rocked. “Have me.”
“We’re not having sex,” I protested, lips colliding with hers while my dick wept in protest. “Not until your birthday.”
“We’ll see,” she replied, fisting my hair in challenge and sealing her mouth to mine.
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS AND EVEN CLOSER CALLS
Lizzie
AUGUST 23, 2003
FUELED BY A LETHAL CONCOCTION OF ALCOHOL AND LUST, WE STUMBLED INTO THEhouse and found the first available room. Too drunk to care that it was a closet-sized washroom, I quickly turned the lock before pushing my boyfriend down on the closed toilet seat.
“Liz, baby—”
“Shh.” Straddling Hugh’s lap again, I greedily accepted his lips when they crashed against mine.
Shamelessly rocking my body against his, I ripped and tore at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on mine. The pulsing shocks in my core when I rubbed myself on the hard bulge of his jeans sent me spiraling.
When Hugh reached behind me and loosened the knot holding my halter neck up, I moaned in approval and quickly tore at the buttons on his shirt to get him naked.
When the fabric of my halter pooled at my waist, his hands moved expertly to my breasts, caressing my flesh exactly how I liked. “Mm,” I encouraged when he rolled one of my nipples between his forefinger and thumb, while continuing to caress the other. It was too much. The sensations he drew from my body exceeded every one of the dirty dreams he starred in.
When he applied more pressure, squeezing me harder, I moaned into his mouth, encouraging him to keep touching me. “Don’t stop.”
My boyfriend obeyed my wishes, working my mouth and breasts over with his fingers and tongue, while he rocked his jean-clad erection into my crotch.
