Dad called twice this week about an internship he wants me to take this summer before law school starts, but I haven’t called him back.
I’m content to do what I am right now.
Spending time with her.
Julia’s snuggled up beside me, her breath on my chest, her body pressed against my ribcage. I’m lying on my back, twirling a lock of hair around my finger and marveling at how pretty she is with the late-day sun streaming through my blinds.
Her heart-shaped face shows no worry as she slumbers. I gently trace my finger along her jawline, the outline of her pouty lips. There’s a tiny scar on her right temple under her hair and I admire it, wondering how she got it.
I lean in and kiss her softly, inhaling her citrusy scent.
She stirs slightly in her sleep as her thick lashes blink open. Soft eyes gaze up at me. Expressive. Warm.
“Hi,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?”
“Around five.” We had lunch together in the student center then came back to my place. She studied and I pretended to, but nothing was getting through to my head. I watched her every movement, enraptured. The way she crossed her legs, her fingers when she twirled her hair, her little puffs of frustration when her laptop died.
“Stop staring at me,” she told me half an hour in.
“Nope.” I rose up and started stripping. My shirt. My jeans. I kicked my shoes across the room and stalked over to her. “I need a break. I need you.”
She gaped at me, laughed, then blushed deeply, her lashes shielding her gaze, reminding me of the girl in prep school. We fucked twice. The first time was fast, our gazes glued to each other. The second time we got tired of the bed squeaking and got on the floor. She bent over and clung to the end of my bed frame as I rammed into her from behind. The tall mirror I keep propped against the wall showed us, the way her tits bounced, the slide of my dick as I sank into her pussy.
She leans up and props her chin on my chest. “You look thoughtful. What were you thinking?”
“That I want to know more about you.” I slide my hand down her spine. “Like, what do you want to do after you graduate?”
She smiles and curls into me, her arm around my waist. “You won’t think it’s silly?”
“No.” I’ve seen her art above her bed, noticed how she loves the outdoors, the way she turns her face up to the sky. She’s introverted, intuitive, creative. Pretty much the opposite of me and I’m intrigued.
“I’d love to open an Etsy shop and sell my art as cards or magnets or posters. Maybe stores. I’d need large giclee printers first, and those aren’t cheap, so I’ll need a day job to get started, doing web design or illustrations for businesses.” Excitement colors her voice. “The good thing is, I could go anywhere in the world to do that. I’d love to live on the West Coast.” She frowns. “It depends on my mom. If she’s well enough to leave the rehab center. It will be good to get her out of this town.”
I tighten my arms around her. Between class and her job, she visits her mom every day. She’s still in intensive care. Thankfully, her doctor arranged for her to receive free medical assistance from a rehab facility once she’s recovered enough to be moved there.
“What about you?” She boops me on the nose.
“I don’t want to talk about me. What’s your favorite color?”
She laughs, the sound light. “You’re a girl underneath all that muscle.”
I put her hand on my cock. “All man.”
“You’re hard. Again?”
With you? Yeah.
“Hmm,” I murmur. “So, tell me your favorite color.”
She peppers my chest with kisses. “Green, like summer grass, but blue too, like the color on a morpho butterfly.”
I groan as her lips move down to my navel, and my stomach muscles flutter in anticipation. “Never heard of that butterfly,” I gasp.
She kisses the tip of my shaft. “They’re one of the largest butterflies in the world. Some have a wingspan of eight inches. I’ve never seen one in person—they’re mostly in South America. There have been reports of pilots flying over and seeing thousands of them gathered at the tops of the trees like a big blue blanket.”
“Hmm.”
“Their color comes from tiny little scales on their wings that reflect light. When you see a butterfly, you’re supposed to make a wish.” Her tongue swirls around my length and my body tightens.
“Do you . . . make a wish?” I grind out, barely able to think.