The End Zoneby(11)

I feel his tongue flattening against the base of my pussy, right next to my crack, and tremble at the sudden wet and warm sensation.

“Call her a hussy one more time, and I’m kicking you out of this ménage.”

“You can’t do that. I’m attached to her.” This is getting ridiculous. But also so much fun. Sage uses his fingers to open me wide and plunges his tongue into me, penetrating me with his tongue all the way in, and I moan loudly and clutch his head under the blanket. “Oh, my God!”

“Fuck, she’s an even better kisser than you,” Sage says. I swat his head lightly again as he starts working me relentlessly under the cover. Thrusting his tongue into me, in and out, all while using his thumb to rub my clit in delicious circles that make me want to shed happy tears.

“Yes, that’s it. Oh, Sage. Oh, Sage. Oh…”

I’m getting close, and he knows it, because he pins my thighs to the bed, not letting me deny him access to my most sensitive part. Since his hands are now busy, he uses the tip of his straight nose to rub my clit in circles as he continues to fuck me with his tongue.

“Take back what you said.” His voice is dark and serious, so far away from the best friend I know and love. And yet, this voice is no longer strange to me. This is how my lover sounds. The man I want to sleep with, and do very unfriendly, yet nice things to.

“A…about what?” I stutter on my own carnal desire.

“About your pussy being a hussy. She’s not a fucking hussy. She opens up and sings, but just for me. She’s a slut, but just for me. She’s a fucking horny maniac—for. No. One. But. Me. Yeah?”

Jesus H, his dirty talk game is strong. I nod to myself, swallowing, feeling the hot wave of a climax washing over me, starting from the crown of my head and moving down like a wave to the rest of my body. I’m quivering, shaking like a leaf.

After I come, he glides up in one smooth movement, reappearing from under the blanket. His face is flushed pink, and his lips are glistening with my arousal. Aaaand…he looks like that boy I fell in love with again. So vulnerable and broken and unbelievably youthful. It messes with my head, and I wonder if he feels the same. Like he is treading on a tightrope between familiarity and grown-up games.

“Tell me she is mine,” he whispers. I blink. It takes me a second to realize that he is talking about my pussy. Again. I grin.

“Is Sage Junior mine?” I reach beneath us to cup his hard-on. He is butt naked under the covers, and I want to see and taste everything.

“He is yours. I am yours. We’re both yours. If…” Pause. Beat of silence. Visible swallow. “If you’ll have us.”

He sounds serious. So, so serious. But I know him well enough to recognize that Sage is a total people-pleaser and cocky to a fault. I have to remind myself that he’ll say whatever it is I want to hear and breeze through it without thinking about the consequences to get what he wants. Truth be told, he’s never had a serious girlfriend and never brought the same girl to our apartment twice. I remind myself, therefore, that this is a game. A game that will end come May, and with it, our whole relationship will never be the same again. Sage will get drafted somewhere cool and exotic and will become filthy rich, and I’ll continue my small-town life here in Louisiana. The probability of it all slams into my chest all at once, like a cold bucket of ice.

This is all temporary.

The reality is, he wants a fake girlfriend until May, because after May, he’ll be gone to Boston or California, making a career. He just wants some kind of girlfriend experience before he goes so he doesn’t feel like he’s missing out.

He will use me.

And will dump me.

He. Will. Forget. About. Me.

And every time I witness him visiting his mama across the road, on Christmas or Thanksgiving, I’ll remember being a notch on his miles-long belt.

I swallow, the back of my eyeballs stinging with unshed tears.

“Simon Cowell,” I croak, my voice barely audible. His eyebrows drop into a shocked frown, his lips parting in disbelief.

“JoJo?”

“Simon Cowell,” I repeat, raising my shaky voice. “Please,” I add.

He rolls off of me, propping his head on his forearm and watching me. My heart stutters as I scurry to the edge of the bed, throw my nightgown on, suddenly forgetting about being tired and hungry and happy, and pad my way to the kitchen.

Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back.

In the kitchen, I open the freezer and take out the Cherry Garcia Ben and Jerry’s. This is Sage we’re talking about, not Brandon. He is totally worth the calories. I prop my lower body against the counter, shoving spoonfuls of ice cream down my throat, not even bothering to taste it. My back is to the hallway so I don’t see him. But I feel him. His big steps. His commanding body. The heat rolling off his muscular frame.

“What the fuck was that all about, JoJo?” he asks behind me. He doesn’t sound pissed off at all. Just sad and…disappointed. God, the idea of disappointing him after everything we’ve been through is nothing short of agonizing. We promised each other so much, and kept good on those promises. I don’t want this to change. I don’t want us to change.

“I can’t be your fake girlfriend anymore.”

“But…”

I turn around and meet his gaze, my vision slicing right through all the pain that’s swimming in his blues. I don’t want to see it. Facing it will undo every logical decision I need to make right now. He is wearing a tight pair of black boxers, an Adonis with a sculpted face, asking for his mortal friend to play a game only the gods can win.