Perfectly Imperfect(48)

Holy crap! How am I supposed to respond to that? Do I tell him it was a mistake? That I’m well beyond drunk?

No.

He liked it. He wasn’t mad. Maybe a little shocked, but he liked it. I read back his response and throw caution to the wind. I respond quickly before I can let reason win over my drunken mind.

Willow: I bet you taste delicious. Can I taste you?

I add a little eggplant emoji and the big tongue one before clicking send. Good job, Willow! I bet he’ll like that. I smile, letting the rush mix with the alcohol and wait for him to respond. This is fun.

I see the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing and wait. The anticipation spiking my newfound courage even higher. I hold my thumbs hovering just above the keypad and get ready for his response so I can be ready to type back.

Kane: Fucking hell. You have no idea how hard I am right now. This is Willow, right?

Willow: Yup.

Kane: Goddamn.

Willow: You didn’t tell me I could taste you. I really want to taste you.

Kane: Willow …

Willow: Kane …

Kane: I can’t decide if it’s a good thing I can’t get to you or not.

I frown. What does that mean? I might not have a lot of recent practice at tasting a dick, but how hard could it be. It’s probably like riding a bike. I should probably let him know that. Then he won’t be wondering if I would be any good. He said he was hard, so he must have liked what I asked. Right?

Willow: If you were here, I could taste you. I bet you would like it. It’s like riding a bike. I could ride a bike for a long, long time.

I smile and turn to my side, pulling the covers over my shoulder.

Kane: I’m two seconds from driving over there. What would I find, Willow?

I read his message back a few times. What would he find? Well, uh … duh, me. Oh!

Willow: I’m in bed. Are you in bed? I want to see your bed.

Kane: You’re in my bed.

Willow: Uh, no, I’m not. I think I would know if I was in your bed.

Kane: Fuck, you’re adorable.

Willow: You’re really, really hot. Do you have your shoes on?

I wonder if he’s wearing panties too. Just panties. No. Kane wouldn’t wear panties. Boxers. No, boxer briefs. Wait. Maybe he doesn’t wear anything at all. That would explain why I felt him so well when he dropped me off. It was almost like I could picture exactly what he looked like just by feeling his erection against my body.

Willow: Do you wear panties?

The dots start. Stop. And start again. He doesn’t respond for a solid minute, making me wonder if he went to bed. It’s not late, but maybe he’s sleepy. I’m so sleepy.

Kane: No, baby, I don’t wear panties. LOL. Do you?

Willow: Right now that’s all I’m wearing.

Kane: Fuck.

Willow: That would be nice. I really want to taste you, but that would be nice too. I mean, I’m not sure I’m ready for THAT, but I really, really think it would be really nice.

Kane: Nice isn’t the word I would use. You might not be ready for that, but Willow, I really, really want to sink my cock inside you.

Willow: Oh, boy.

Kane: Go to sleep, sweetness. I’m going to take care of the ‘big, huge’ issue I have pressing against my stomach now. Tomorrow, after we’re done filming, you’re mine, and this ‘big, huge’ cock will be waiting.

Holy … wow. Well. Does he mean what I think he means? What do I say to that? Looking at my phone, I reread his message and figure I’ll just play it safe.

Willow: I think I’m already yours.

I drop the phone on the nightstand and roll over. I don’t hear a responding buzz from my phone, so I slip off to dreamland with a smile on my face and arousal burning through my veins. I spend the rest of the night in a restless sleep with dreams about bikes, shoes falling from the sky, and bizarrely enough, Kane in my panties.





WHY DID I DRINK SO much last night? To be fair, I’m not even sure we realized we had put away so much wine. We normally have Eddie there, so the bottle goes quicker—we drink less—but Kirby and I were clearly so lost in our chat that we didn’t even question why the bottles were piling up.

I finished my hair, blowing it dry and running my straightener through my long locks, before walking into the bedroom and dropping my towel to get dressed. My head is pounding, but hopefully, with something light in my stomach, that will pass. I’m not sure I could get through a long day on set with this hangover. I haven’t had one like this since college.

I pull on one of my favorite pairs of jeans; the dark denim always makes me feel like my legs are longer and slimmer than I know they are. I grab a white long sleeve shirt from the closet, and after settling it on my body and tucking it in, I grab my gray three-button vest and push my arms through. I had forgotten all about this outfit until Kirby had mentioned it when we were unpacking. I had brushed her off, initially thinking I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it, even as she assured me that it made me look phenomenal. Her words, not mine.

I admire the way the vest fits while looking in the floor-length mirror set in the corner; it gives my figure an hourglass shape, disguising what I normally see as too round of hips and more fuller than flat stomach. Instead, the two buttons give spotlight to the narrow sides of my torso and put my large chest as the accent. Matched with my jeans, the whole look makes me feel pretty. I don’t see what I normally see. I’m not sure if it’s because, through Kane, I’m now seeing myself in a different light, or because I can actually—finally—see a change in my body.