Dirge by Lesli Richardson

Author:Lesli Richardson [Richardson, Lesli]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Political, Romance, contemporary, LGBT, bisexual
Google: lDdyDwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 42083265
Publisher: Lesli Richardson
Published: 2019-04-25T02:24:52+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Then

“Where does Casey think you are this weekend?” I tease as I drive us back to my apartment.

My roommate is away at his parents’ house for the weekend, meaning finally, something more than just fooling around here and there can happen between Ellen and me without Casey interrupting us.

Even better?

This was Ellen’s idea.

We’ve been dating for six weeks and I’m even more convinced now than I was before of how perfect she is. Heck yeah, I was willing to wait and take our time to get to this point. Because every moment I spend with her is fantastic.

“I told her I was spending it with you,” she says.

I snort. “Bet she wasn’t happy about that.”

“She doesn’t hate you, George.”

“She damn sure has a funny way of showing she likes me, then. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t have a boyfriend.” But when I glance at her I hope I didn’t cross a line. Ellen’s wearing a sort of frown as she stares out the windshield.

“Case didn’t have a good childhood,” she finally says, looking at me. “She’s protective of me. She loves me.”

I take a deep breath and dial it back. “I’m sorry. I just wish when I’m over there that she wouldn’t be right on top of us and obviously trying to Force choke me with her mind.”

Ellen giggles. “It would be cool if she could do that.”

“Maybe if she finds a guy who likes being choked.”

“Maybe I like being choked.”

It takes me a moment to process she actually said that, and when I look, I find her wearing a playful grin.

“Oh, reeeeallly?”

“Hey, a girl can dream.”

I reach over, lace fingers with her, and gently squeeze. I know she’s never had intercourse with a guy, but she hinted she’s fooled around before, and I know she’s got toys, because I’ve seen them.

She actually showed them to me.

I’m not exactly Casanova, but I hope I don’t disappoint her this weekend.

When we reach my place, I don’t let her carry her bag. I open and hold the front door of my building for her, as well as my apartment door when I unlock it.

On the way inside the apartment, she rises up on her toes and brushes a kiss across my lips. “Thank you.”

My cock hardens, and I don’t even try to hide it now. I haven’t for the past couple of weeks, although I do my best to not be an asshole about it or call attention to it. I don’t “expect” sex from her, ever. Dad—and Mom—metaphorically pounded that into our heads when we got “the talk” from them. That sometimes we’re going to hear no, and we need to be okay with that and take care of things ourselves. Even if we’re halfway—or more—through something with a girl. That it’s always better to roll over and finish ourselves off than get charged with rape.

And that if we ever did get tried and convicted of rape, it’d be one of the few things they’d disown us over and would forever be ashamed of us for doing.

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