“Baywatch?”
Her cheeks tint pink and her lips curve up into a grin. “Pamela Anderson,” she whispers. “My dad loved her. A lot, still does as far as I know. He always dated busty blondes. He totally loves her.”
My own lips turn up and I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not a Pamela, Sunny.”
“I’m not?”
Shaking my head, I want to get up and wrap her in my arms, but I don’t. Instead, I continue to watch her. If I get close, I’m going to fuck her and that’s not what this is about right now, not yet at least.
Pamela is shy and sweet. Her cheeks are pink, and she’s twisting her fingers in her lap. She’s not a Pamela, she’s a Sunny, sometimes a Pammy, nobody else. One look at her and I knew that the name didn’t fit, now that I know more, I’m sure of it. She isn’t a Pamela.
“What about your family?” she asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I hum, leaning back in my chair, still thinking about her being named after Pamela Anderson and how much of a dumbfuck Riot is. I think about deflecting, about not answering or ending the conversation completely.
Normally, any questions involving my parents would put me in a piss-poor mood, except I can’t think of anything but Sunny and for whatever reason, I want to open up to her. I thought maybe I would just get to know her, learn all of her inner workings, but I think I want her to know me too.
“Dad was a dick, abused me, my sister, and mind-fucked my mom, I left when I was eighteen.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, but her eyes search my face for a long moment. Then she nods her head a couple of times.
“So, we’re both from fucked-up pasts.”
“Mine more than yours,” I quip.
She nods. “Yeah, but we’ve had our share of shit,” she announces.
“Yeah, we have.”
“What happened to your sister?” she asks.
Shrugging a shoulder, I think about not even telling her, but then again it would just be more shit between us. Clearing my throat, I look at the ceiling, then down at her again.
“She ran away the day she turned eighteen. Found her a few years ago, she was hooked on dope, not looking to get out of that life. Whorin’ herself for a high. She was lost, didn’t even recognize me. Didn’t even know who she was, either.”
Pammy is quiet for a moment, then she lets out a sigh and tells me that she’s sorry. No reason to be sorry, I know my sister was going to be fucked if she stayed in that house. I left knowing that there was no way I could protect her. I let it happen.
“What else do you want to know?” she asks softly, her tone changing from just a few moments ago.
I think about that question and honestly, I’m not sure. What the fuck do I want to know about her? Everything. What do I want to share about myself? Nothing.
I know it’s not right, we should be open and share, that’s what you do in relationships, right? I honestly don’t know anything about this, but I want it to be solid. I’ve decided that I’m choosing her and as fucked up as the world, not just the world around us, but my own world is, I want this to work.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to ask,” I admit. “I’ve never done this before.”
She lets out a laugh, then she stands and slowly makes her way over to me. She looks fucking great in my tee. It falls past her ass, covering her shorts and leaving those legs looking like they go on for miles.
I hold my breath for a moment as she sinks down and sits her ass against my thigh. She throws her legs over my other thigh, then wraps her arms around my neck. Her wide eyes look at me innocently.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asks, her voice breathy and soft.
I grunt. “Black.”
She hums, leaning forward, and touches her lips to my mouth. “Of course it is. What’s your favorite food?” she murmurs against my lips.
“Pussy,” I mutter.
“You’ve never eaten mine.” She laughs. “How can you know it’s all your favorite?”
I don’t hear even a hint of jealousy in her voice. Just good-hearted humor. I meant the comment to be a joke. Honestly, I don’t have a favorite food and it’s been a while since I’ve eaten any pussy, but I can only imagine I’d like hers plenty, considering just the way it felt was the best I’ve ever had.
Nipping her bottom lip, I wrap my arms around her and stand, carrying her back over to the bed. “Guess I better rectify that,” I say against her lips.
Sinking to my knees, I reach for her shorts and start to take them off. I shimmy them down her legs, throwing them to the side before I slide my fingers up the insides of her thighs and spread them wide.
Reaching forward, I sink my fingers inside of her. I can feel my sticky cum, hopefully creating life and binding her to me more than any ring or brand ever could.
Leaning forward, I touch my mouth to her clit.
Pammy lets out a moan as she lifts her hips to meet my tongue. I flick her clit over and over with my tongue, swirling and tasting, while my fingers play her, sliding through her folds, but never slipping inside.
I’m bringing her closer and closer to the edge, wanting nothing more than for her to topple over. I want her to need it, to burn from the inside out to come. I want to hear her scream for me.
Sliding two fingers inside of her, I curl them, then pull out and slide them back inside. She lets out a whimper, my mouth and fingers working her and bringing her closer
