The heat and anger had melted away from his eyes, she noticed, and his fingers were ghosting lines up and down her spine as he dipped his head to kiss her lips. That kiss was tender and sweet and everything that the last ten minutes had not been.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her mouth. "I'm an asshole." She didn't say anything, and it unnerved him. After a moment she pressed her lips fully against his and leaned back to look at his face.
"That whole fucked up situation aside, Jake, I'm still having fun with you," she said finally.
Big's lips twitched up into a relieved smirk. "Ditto."
She sighed, her own smile fluttering across her face. "Want to go eat some pie?" she asked, smoothing her hair behind one ear. "And by that I mean dessert, not a euphemism for my vagina."
He laughed and kissed her noisily on the cheek, making her giggle. "Sounds good. You wanna watch your parade performance?"
Alisha's eyebrows shot up. "You recorded it?" she asked incredulously.
He bit the inside of his lip and shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed before remembering badasses don't get embarrassed. "Yup," he grinned.
And when her face lit up like the Fourth of July, he knew he'd been forgiven.
Chapter 15
Big sat back in the well-worn chair thumbing through a months-old issue of Men's Health trying to curb the urge to punch the doucherod sitting next to him in the face for coughing in his general direction. God knows what kind of germs he was spreading. He decided, as he waited amongst the sick for his name to be called, that he was a little (maybe a lot) pussy whipped. He wasn't sick. Far from it. No, he was in the doctor's office to get his dickhole swabbed and a panel of STD tests run because Larrington'd asked him to.
See? Pussy whipped.
In his defense (and that of his badassness), Alisha had provided tremendous incentive to get said tests run, so he really didn't mind spending a morning off in this manner. (Though he wasn't superjazzed about owning up to the doctor the number of sex partners he'd had since his last visit.) Ever since Thanksgiving last week, the same night that they'd agreed to be mutually exclusive fuck buddies, their sex had managed to get even hotter and more intense. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but it was the truth, so there you have it.
But back to the incentive. The other night while they were having sex, she looked up at him with those amazing doe eyes of hers that were heavy-lidded and smoldering and in a pouty, breathy moan, said I want to feel you come inside me, while wrapping her legs higher up on his hips. That was wicked hot and completely unexpected and just the thought of it made him blow his load a little early. (Whatever, he was a fucking rock star in the sack and he totally made it up to her later.) Anyway, after they were done, he'd asked her if she was serious about what she'd said and she told him that she had been very serious and that since she was on the pill and they were only sleeping with each other (His idea, by the way, lest you'd forgotten that genius move) that it would be nice to not have to worry about condoms. He was all about that because he hadn't hit anything barebacked since he was sixteen and that had only been one time (He didn't want any little Biggerones running around the greater Staten Island area, thank you very much.) He was ready to get started immediately and cream pie her good, but she told him there was no way that was happening until she knew he was clean. He'd been mildly offended and had insisted that he was STD-free, but no dice until she had proof. He thought it only fair that she ante up with proof of her own and she'd smiled and said no problem, though he's pretty sure that she was being condescending.
Condescending or not, he didn't care. He liked Alisha. (Shut up!) She was a cool ass chick that was smoking hot, made him laugh (though sometimes not on purpose…she had a total nerdy side that he found hilarious), and, because it needed to be said again, fucking phenomenal in bed. He no longer hedged when he wondered if she was the best lay he'd ever had. It was proven fact at this point.
And she was musical. Practically at every moment. When they talked, they talked about music more often than not. Sometimes she would break out into song, to demonstrate a point, which at first he found kind of strange, but because he loved the sound of her voice, (her pipes were killer) he quickly became a fan of her proving her point. Even when she was in the midst of hitting her peak, her sounds were melodic. It was a little odd, yet sexy as hell, and he was quickly learning which places on her body elicited sounds from her when touched or kissed.
She also tolerated the crap (read: awesome Big-isms) that spewed from his mouth. Like last night she was laughing at him because he answered a question wrong on Jeopardy (Again, shut up!) about literature (Seriously, who gives a fuck? Alisha Larrington, evidently.), and he thought she was going to piss her pants because she just would not stop laughing at him. He'd gotten annoyed and told her Larrington, if you don't stop laughing at me, I'm gonna put my dick in your mouth and make you gargle my babies.
