Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I focus on Thatcher and his earlier question. “I like both,” I say. “Can you tell your mom that whatever she wants is perfect? I, um…” My tongue is caught because he’s staring at me more intensely. “…you.”
I shut my mouth, inhaling a deeper breath.
Thatcher nods and eyes my facemask, not looking below my neck. He casts a furtive glance at my cousins.
They can’t know we’re intimate.
Yet, how much time do we even have left?
“Heyhey, Thatcher,” Luna says. “You should stay.”
“Yeah,” Sulli agrees. “Why don’t you join the facemask party?
Luna nods. “Yeah yeah, Insta Live it for the fake dating thing.”
He can’t see my cousins. But they are both grinning like they’ve discovered fairy dust and fountains of eternal youth. Between this and the Seasons name, I’m beginning to think Sul and Luna are like two impish pixies.
I’m all here for it. Sitting straighter, a smile tugging my cheeks. Seeing Thatcher in a green facemask is something I didn’t know I needed until right now.
“Do you want to?” I ask Thatcher.
He stares at me and nods. But he still adds, “If you think it’ll help with the fake dating op.” It’s a cursory statement. Like he knows he has to say it in front of my cousins. I do believe he’d want to do this with me regardless of the fake dating ruse.
Like drinking whiskey in the garage.
“It should help.” I grab the bottle of facemask, and Thatcher sits down on an alien beanbag.
“I’ll film,” Luna says, using her phone and Instagram account since mine is still deactivated.
I straddle Thatcher’s lap. It’s easiest instead of bending down. His hands fall to my hips, easy and comfortable. Yet tension winds between us. Like we’re both caging our breaths.
There are two factors at play.
One: our Instagram viewers think this is real.
Two: Sulli and Luna think this is all fake.
I know this is real. Every touch has been real since we had sex at the B&B. I’m certain of that. But as we get closer and closer to Halloween, the end is near. I wish I could just…push it out of my mind.
But it’s there.
Present. Like the worst kind of ticking clock.
Silence blankets the room as I rub Thatcher’s skin with a cleansing cloth. This could be the last time I touch him…
My stomach knots.
Enjoy it then.
I will.
I uncap the green cream. One dollop on my finger, I smear the green facemask down his nose like sunblock. My lips lift. “Mr. Moretti, I do say, you are quite handsome.”
He doesn’t reply, quiet as usual. But his palm slides underneath the hem of my shirt. His skin is warm against my skin, and his hand trails to the small of my back. Goosebumps prick my flesh. Cold and hot all at once.
I rub the mask on his cheekbones and forehead. My fingers trace every curve of his face, and it feels like one of the most intimate things we’ve ever done together.
His eyes fall into me like the video isn’t live recording behind me. Like the world is so far, far away. I lean in. He leans in. Our lips meet briefly. Suddenly. Like they were drawn together from the start.
We break apart just as quick. Heat compiling, but we can’t create a firestorm here.
I glance over my shoulder. Luna holds up a finger. “And—we’re off live.”
Sulli’s brows are sky high. “Fuck, are you to going for an Emmy or something?”
Luna beams like she’s witnessing something extraterrestrial. “Spring and fall are rising.”
More accurately, those seasons can’t rise together.
Fall rises when spring ends.
40
THATCHER MORETTI
“Wait.” Jane breathes against my neck. “Do you hear something?”
I stop thrusting up into her, my senses still sharp despite Jane sitting on my cock. Despite our skin slick with sweat, limbs rubbing and intertwined. She pauses grinding and moving up and down on me.
I’m leaning against the headboard of her four-poster bed. My hand lost in her brown hair, my other palm keeps her pressed against me protectively.
If need be, I’d be able to carry her out of her room in a swift second. No hesitation. No faltering.
My voice is a cavernous whisper. “Carpenter knocked a headband off the vanity.”
She has her back to the calico cat, perched proudly on the surface. The feline audience is necessary. Or else they’ll cry at her door.
I sense Jane focused on my eyes that sweep her room. Assessing. Landing on each cat.
Walrus is stalking a shadow from moonlight. Licorice is peeking out from the closet. Lady Macbeth sleeps like an old queen on the cushioned stool.
And Ophelia is at the foot of the bed. Curled up watching me fuck her owner. We’ve shooed her off the mattress four times already.
I focus directly on Jane. “All clear.”
Desire wells up in her eyes. “Thatcher.”
My pulse thumps. I cup her warm face, her pink lips unable to press together. In a permanent pant, and my cock throbs for friction while deep inside her tight heat.