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CHAPTER FIVE
☆☆☆
HER HOME IS MUCH NICER than I expected.
She lives in a penthouse on the top floor of her building. It's huge, with the best views of the city-something I'd love to have.
Though her home is gorgeous, I notice it doesn't have a homey feel. Not furniture-wise-they have plenty of that-but it feels empty. There are no photos up, and the kitchen and living room are spotless, as if no one ever uses them. The neutral color palette makes it feel even more depressing.
Who am I to judge, though? I live in a small two-bedroom with my dad, who I barely interact with. At least she and her mother talk to each other.
"My mom is making dinner. It's chicken parmigiana and pot pie on the side. I hope that's okay."
Her voice snaps me out of the trance I found myself in. I look at her sitting a few feet in front of me and nod.
"Yeah, that's great. Thanks."
She sighs at my response, and then we just sit in silence. I'm on her black one-seater, and she's on her bed. We make eye contact a few times, but we always look away.
I find it hard to maintain eye contact with her because it makes me feel things I don't want to. Every time I look at her, my stomach twists, and my yearning for her grows stronger.
She swipes her tongue over her teeth, letting her tongue piercing click against them. She has snake eyes, I think they're called. Every time she does it, all I can imagine is how her tongue would feel against my clit.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
She invites me into her home, and the only thing I can think about is sex.
Long,
Sweaty,
Orgasmic
sex.
"Do you want to talk about what's going on? I'm no therapist, but I'm a great listener, and I don't judge."
She shrugs, as if questioning herself more than me. It's cute, honestly. I'm not exactly sure what I want to tell her.
For starters, I barely know her, and I'd hate to confide in someone I might never see again. Or worse-someone who would throw it back in my face. That's happened too many times for me to count.
