Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
I’m not sure if it’s my whimper that flips the switch, or if it’s the way I acknowledge his erection with a deliberate brush of my tummy, but he breaks away, studying me long and hard, before diving back in, and suddenly we’re making out, as opposed to kissing, and oh yeah, I love it. I love it. The hungry pace. The way his hands find my thighs and scrub up, down, gripping the hem of my shorts to yank me onto my toes, his hips fastening mine to the building so securely that I have an easy time wrapping my legs around his waist.
When I do that, his head falls back on a rasping sound, and the hem of my shorts is now being used to tug, tug, tug me against him while he grinds upward. There.
I’ve never experienced this eager gathering of moisture between my thighs. It’s almost uncomfortable. Or it would be if that accompanying clench didn’t feel so good. It happens every time his hips move, and all I can think is faster.
“Margot,” he rasps, glassy eyed. Breathing fast. “We have to stop.”
“No.”
He closes his eyes as if my denial turns him on, refocusing on my face a few seconds later. “I can do this to you tonight. Grind on you until you come.” He wets his lips, and need digs into my stomach. “Or I can put my mouth on it. My tongue.”
Those words, so intimate, make my legs open wider.
He notices, curses, surging forward one more time. Sliding me up and down the wall, leaving both of us fighting back moans.
“Are we going to have sex tonight?” I whimper.
Again, those pupils seem to throb bigger. “That’s up to you.” He kisses me softly. “Are you a virgin, Margot?”
I nod.
A muscle snaps in his jaw. “You decide when,” he says, more firmly, razing his teeth against the patch of skin beneath my right ear. “You decide how deep I put it. How fast I use it. How often you want it. And this grateful man just gives it to you. We on the same page?”
“Yes,” I choke out, positive his statements are going to play on a loop all day. Maybe for the rest of my life. “Can we fast-forward to tonight?”
“That’s the one thing I can’t do,” he says, easing his hips back with a wince and letting me slide down the wall. Catching me. Holding me close while we attempt to even out our breathing. “Actually, there are two things I can’t do.”
I’m an exposed nerve, sensitive all over my body, so my voice is unnaturally hushed when I ask, “What’s the other thing you can’t do?”
He strokes my hair, kissing my temple hard. “Be without you another summer.”
Heat burns behind my eyelids. “I can’t do that either.”
A gruff sound in his throat. “Good.”
I’m floating on a cloud for the remainder of the day, willing time to move faster so I can be with Dean again. Just the two of us. I try not to get ahead of myself, wondering and dissecting what he said. That he can’t be without me for another summer.
But what about the other three seasons?
Chapter Six
Dean
Ineed to let go of my regrets soon, because they’re eating me alive.
We shared a bag of marshmallows in the laurel tree grove. Now, I’m driving Margot down the bumpy road to my house. Nighttime summer wind is whispering in through the rolled-down windows, and my Bob Dylan mix plays quietly on the stereo. She’s wearing a loose white dress, holding my hand on the truck’s console. It’s a perfect night, and we haven’t even gotten to my house yet.
We could have been doing this longer.
Years longer.
All day, I’ve been replaying these little Margot moments in my head, from the last eight years. How she’d leave little art projects on my chair at dinner. Rocks painted with sparkly hearts and her initials. Lanyards done in my favorite colors—green and yellow. The whole time I thought she was amusing herself at my expense, when she was trying to tell me she liked me.
She could have been mine all along.
Knowing how much time we lost because my head was up my ass is a tough pill to swallow. Now, I’m feeling the urge to make up for lost time. To make her my girlfriend and start planning how we’re going to make it work when camp ends.
In other words, I’m getting way ahead of myself.
Listen, I’ve been doing this camp thing for years. Margot could suffer from Temporary Camp Insanity. Campers or counselors have been known to pair up, falling fast and hard for three weeks due to forced proximity and a lack of romantic options. Once camp is over, though, the spell is broken.
I think about Margot year-round. Daily. Hourly.
Is it the same for her?