Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(82)

I open the cabinet and…there’s no fish food. I swear this is the last place I put it. Unless I ran out? I close the cabinet and drop to my knees, opening the bottom cupboard underneath the sink. I take out a basket of hair products, body glitter, and lotions.

The shower cuts off.

Donnelly is still humming.

“Shit, sorry,” I tell him, my heart racing. “I can’t find what I’m looking for.” I cringe. “And that sounds like such an excuse just to be in the bathroom with you. I promise I wouldn’t do that.”

I hear the shower door opening, but I do not turn around. I don’t move from my spot on the floor, staring at the junk underneath the sink.

“You don’t need an excuse to be in the bathroom with me.” His voice is clearer and louder now that the shower is off. “It was your bathroom first, Luna.”

I turn a little to catch his blue eyes, but my gaze isn’t anywhere eyelevel. A towel is slung low on his hips, and I can see more of his scorpion tattoo than I ever have before, the one right above his cock.

It’s hard not to stare.

He is wearing a towel. There’s that.

“Uh…” It takes a concerted effort to pull my eyes up to his blues. But I do.

He’s looking at me with the same intoxicated, heady gaze. Both of us unable to really hide our expressions. The steam of the room makes my skin feel clammy, and my body heat ratchets up.

“I’ve actually wanted to ask you something,” I manage to say, albeit quietly. “But I think it’s…like maybe inappropriate?”

He smiles. “Favorite kinda questions.” He nods me on.

I stare at his towel again. Still on my knees. “Uh…do you have a dick piercing?” I ask, blushing. “Your nipples are pierced so I just wondered if your dick is too.”

He leans a hip against the wall, hand still holding the knotted fabric of his towel. My gaze meets his, and I’m swathed in arousal. My heartbeat slowly descends between my thighs. My imagination paints carnal images of him and me, and I do everything in me to avoid asking if I can blow him.

The silence stirs more tension than I can handle. Very softly, I ask, “Was it a bad question?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head like no way. “Just figuring out how I want to answer.” He shrugs. “Normally, I’d just drop my towel and show you.”

Please, do it.

I rest my hands on my thighs, my heels tucked under my butt. “Why don’t you?” I wonder, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Because I’d do more to you than show you my dick,” Donnelly says deeply, “and we both know that’s not a good idea.”

My body aches for him. My pussy is throbbing now. But he’s right. It is a bad idea, especially after learning Xander’s feelings at Homecoming about the unlikely potential of me and Donnelly getting together.

Yet, I’m dying for more. Just more. One step closer to us than what we are. He went down on me to show me what good head felt like, and in the past two years my baseline still hasn’t been topped. But he’s still just my friend. My baseline.

We’re nowhere near the level I yearn to be at, but to get there means disrupting the status quo of my family, who’s happy. Xander, my dad—everyone. They’re all happy how things currently are.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say into a nod. “Planet Partners don’t have sex. It is known.”

“Cool.” His cool sounds tight and like a dunk in a cold bath.

As we stare at one another, I feel like we’re closing a chapter on what could never be. A branch in the timeline that isn’t ours.

I hate it here.

But I’m trying to be satisfied enough not to care.

“I have two piercings,” he says without dropping his towel to show me. “A frenum and an apadravya.”

Two dick piercings.

I stare at his cotton towel. “Huh…” For as vivid as my imagination is, I can’t picture it. Maybe because I have no clue what those words mean. Frenum. Apadravya. I make a mental note to look them up later.

“Cool,” I say what he said, hearing the strain in my own voice. I rise to my feet. “Do they feel good during sex?”

“Yeah, girls have told me my piercings feel good. I don’t think they’re lying to me at least.” He walks to the sink and wipes a hand over the foggy mirror, clearing the steam. My stomach knots in on itself. Don’t picture him with other girls, Luna. It’s hard not to.

“Cool,” I say again. “Yeah, the guys I’ve blown really like my tongue piercing.” That hurts. I’m not sure why I said it. It feels like I just stuck a sword through my own stomach.

He looks at me through the mirror and it feels more intimate and vulnerable than if he were just staring directly at me. “That why you get your tongue pierced?” he asks me. “To give better blowies? It’s okay if it was.” He nods to me. “I got my dick pierced for sex. No shame.”

It’s true; he makes me feel like I could confess that I love getting fucked and he’d look at me exactly the same. I don’t think anyone else would. They’d immediately be filled with this barrel of concern that I’m a sex addict.

I feel safe to be myself with Donnelly, even if there’s a load of tension winding around us. Words get tongue-tied the more I try to find them.