Chapter 13: Throw Out Your SpongeA few mornings after the Cherry Garcia incident, I’m on my knees, securing his shirt stays, lingering, like I always do, when I feel his palm under my chin again. I almost smile because it’s taken me three steady swipes across the front of his boxers to make this happen, but it’s happening and I look up at him immediately because I’m eager.
I haven’t touched him since we were in the kitchen, and I desperately want to, but am more determined than ever to make him ask for it—beg for it. Maybe, if I can control myself. I part my lips when he drags his thumb across them, and my teeth catch his thumbnail. My chest is already hot, breath shallow as I brush the pad of his thumb with my tongue, watching as his shoulders tense up.
He slides his thumb further into
