A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(121)

“I didn’t put on a condom.” I glance down to find her wiggling beneath me, like she’s trying to take me deeper.

“I’m on birth control,” she admits.

I’m shocked. “Seriously?”

“I had irregular periods when I was younger.” She seems embarrassed. “My mom took me to the gynecologist and I’ve been on the pill ever since.”

Goddamn, I love her mom. “I’ve never had sex without a condom. Ever.”

“Me either.”

I kiss her smiling mouth. “You’re funny, Bird.”

“I try,” she teases, lifting her hips so I do actually sink deeper inside her body. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“About never having sex without a condom?” When she nods, I say, “Yes.”

“Then let’s try this. It feels good this way.”

Once we do it this way, it’ll be hard to go back to condoms. I can feel…everything. No barriers, just flesh on flesh.

And fuck, it feels amazing.

“I love being inside of you,” I whisper in her ear, because that’s as close as I can get, using that word. And I mean it—I love being inside of her. Fucking her. Kissing her and making her come. Knowing that I’m the only one who makes her feel good.

“I love being with you like this,” she answers, her hands roaming up my chest to curl around my shoulders. “No one knows me like you do, Crew.”

No one knows me like she does either.

Not a single soul.

I start out gentle at first, not wanting to hurt her. She’s still so new at this, and I’m sure she’s sore. She’s already come twice.

Eventually, I lose control. I fuck her hard. And she doesn’t complain, not once. She moans and whispers my name, clutching me close. I disentangle myself from her grip and rise above her, wrapping my hands around her hips as I fuck her senseless. Until she’s writhing beneath me, her shaky whimper indicating that she’s coming.

I’m coming too. So hard.

Falling for her too.

So damn hard.





FORTY-SEVEN





WREN





I wake up first thing Monday morning to my mother knocking on my bedroom door promptly at nine, pushing her way inside with a large, pure white box clutched between her hands.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she chirps. “You have a delivery.”

I push the hair out of my eyes, squinting at her as she sets the box on my desk and goes to my window, pushing open the curtains. It’s a gray day outside but still bright enough to make me groan and fall back onto the pile of pillows.

“I’m on break,” I tell her. “Let me sleep in.”

“I couldn’t stand waiting any longer.” She goes to my desk, grabs the box and hands it to me. “This came for you about an hour ago.”

I sit up, the box in my lap. I know who it’s from, but I have no idea what’s inside. Anticipation makes me feel downright giddy, and I stare at the lid, wondering what he could’ve sent me now.

“Oh my God, open it, darling!” Mother practically screeches.

Laughing, hoping it’s nothing dirty, I pull the lid off and push away the layers of white tissue paper to reveal a slightly smaller box inside, wrapped in glossy black paper. I pull it out, tearing off the paper like a little kid at Christmas, to see it’s a Polaroid Now Instant Camera. A special edition featuring Keith Haring.

“I didn’t even know this existed.” I examine the box, staring at the photo of the camera. It’s a bright, vivid red, with one of Keith’s trademark radiant babies on the front. The back of the camera is a black and white composite of his art. It’s beautiful.

Meaningful.

My heart literally pangs at the sight of it.

“A camera? Oh, it’s Keith Haring.” Mother plucks the camera box out of my hands, studying the box as she reads the description. “This is so fun. I assume it’s from the Lancaster boy?”

Nodding, I reach inside, pushing past the tissue paper to find another slender black box containing a Chanel lipstick. When I open the box and pull the lid off the tube, I see it’s a bright, rich pink.

That’ll look good on his skin, I can’t help but think.

There’s a note, and I hurriedly open it, hoping my mother doesn’t notice.



For our next photo session. I think that pink will look good on your lips.



xx,



Crew



If he’s trying to make me swoon, he’s doing a good job.

“He likes you,” Mom says.

I glance up to find her watching me carefully. “I like him too.”

“I told your father you could do worse.” She sets the camera box beside me on the bed, then settles down on the edge of the mattress. “Is he nice? I ask, because he’s a Lancaster. They’re notoriously not nice.”

“He’s nice to me,” I admit softly, pulling the camera box back onto my lap. “I just wish Daddy wasn’t so upset over this.”

When I came home last night after my afternoon with Crew, my father barely spoke to me. I’m sure he assumed who I was with, and I didn’t confirm or deny it. I never told him anything. But he can keep tabs on me still.