Chapter Twenty-One Prue
Twenty-one
Prue
Mom’s had a really difficult few days, not wanting to leave bed much at all. I’ve been sitting with her, keeping her company whenever she wants me to, but otherwise I’ve kept myself busy with household tasks and filling more journal pages. Lately, I can’t seem to stop writing.
That is, whenever Milo’s not distracting me.
He had yesterday off and came by early. When I told him Mom wasn’t up for painting, he took it upon himself to fix one of Dad’s broken display tables out front.
After that, he puttered around their house fixing whatever he found that needed fixing as I fetched things for Mom, washed dishes, and folded laundry.
Now Mom and Dad’s bottom step doesn’t bend when stepped on—and he even made sure to paint the wood he replaced with the same matching blue as the rest of the staircase.
Now the downstairs bathroom door can actually lock.
And, most notably, the coat hooks by the back door are no longer upside down.
I kept telling him to stop, kept telling him to sit down or go home, but he never listened.
But tonight, he’s coming over just for me. Because I am finally ready to check some more items off of our to-do list. Not before another lesson he’s insisting I learn first, however. Which is, admittedly, proving difficult.
Who knew the art of sexting would be so hard? I don’t even know how or where to start. Milo’s instructions were clear: He’d come over only after I seduced him by text. Apparently, that is considered a type of foreplay for our generation.
I’ve typed the beginning of a hundred different messages at this point.
So, instead, I opt for a picture. I make my way over to my full-length mirror, I angle my body just so, opening my silk robe enough to reveal the thin, lacy fabric along my hip, and I take twenty-two photos before I find one that doesn’t feel totally mortifying to send.
I hit send with a clenched jaw and squinted eyes. His response is immediate.
Milo: goddamn
Milo: hello killer
I smile at my phone like an idiot.
Prue: Hi you
Milo: would it offend you if I made that my background photo on my phone?
I roll my eyes at his question, but still find myself looking at my photo again with a newfound sense of pride.
Prue: Go for it. It’s pretty tame.
Milo: great, because I already did
Milo: you’re so sexy, Prue
Milo: send me one I wouldn’t want anyone else to see
Prue: Feeling possessive, are we?
Milo: over you? always
My heart jumps at that one little word from him.
Prue: Okay, one sec…
One sec is, in fact, many minutes later.
That’s how long it took to get up the courage to send him a photo of me sitting at the end of my bed, my legs spread open, with my toes pointed to the floor.
My phone is positioned in front of my face, angled to the side.
My robe, now entirely opened, falls off my shoulders and pools along my thighs, not covering an inch of my bra, stomach, or panties.
Milo: I’m licking the phone
I laugh out loud typing my reply.
Prue: You’re insane
Milo: I’m not fucking kidding, Prudence
Milo: oh my god
Milo: this was a bad idea
Milo: I’m done for
Prue: You giving in already?
Prue: No one is stopping you, come on over.
Prue: Lick me instead.
Milo: fuck, you’re perfect
Milo: I’m so hard right now
My belly reacts to his words, coiling and tightening in response. Then, my whole body comes alive, imagining him touching himself as he looks at these photos.
Prue: Are you touching yourself?
Milo: I was trying to be good, I swear
Prue: And then?
Milo: I forgot who I was dealing with
Milo: I couldn’t help myself
Prue: Tell me something…
Prue: Does your hand feel as good as mine?
Milo: you know the answer
Milo: fuck, at least I hope you do
Prue: Tell me anyway.
Milo: no, I want your hands
Prue: What about my mouth? Does touching yourself feel as good as my mouth on you?
Milo: not even close
Milo: fuck now I’m thinking about your mouth on me
Prue: Funny, so was I
Milo: tell me more
Prue: Come find out
Milo: you make a very persuasive argument
Removing my robe, bra, and panties, I stand up and take just one photo this time, emboldened by his words.
In the photo, I’m turned away from the mirror.
All of my hair is down my back, my curls falling to their lowest point just an inch or so above the narrowest part of my waist. My ass is on full view, my legs crossed below the knee, my phone positioned over my shoulder.
Prue: How’s this for persuasive?
Milo: holy fuck!!!!!
Milo: my heart is going to give out
Milo: your hair drives me fucking wild
Milo: if you could hear my thoughts right now you would change your door’s combination
Prue: Tell me
Milo: trust me, no
Prue: Trust me, yes
Milo: I want that sweet ass, killer
Milo: I want my teeth marks on it
Milo: I want to leave my handprints on it too
He types, then stops—those three pesky little dots appearing and disappearing in painful tension.
I knew deep down what I was doing, sending this particular man this particular photo—my ass on display for him to see, to lust over.
It’s selfish. Carnal. I want to offer him up everything he’s ever been gifted by an ex-lover.
I want him to want me more than anyone or anything he’s ever, ever wanted.
I want him. All of him. Achingly so. Every sensual, desiring, hedonistic part of him.
I want to be the one to grant him every dirty fantasy or simple wish.
Thinking about anyone else seeing this part of him again makes my blood heat, my eyes water, my stomach drop. I know I shouldn’t. I know I don’t have any say over what he does when he leaves this town. I know what we’ve agreed to. But I hate it just the same.
Prue: Say it
Milo: it’s not on your list
Prue: Sexting wasn’t either
Milo: I want to fuck you every way imaginable, Prue
Milo: I spend my free moments listing them all off in my head and picturing you there with me
Milo: so if you’re asking me if I want my cock in your ass, killer, then the answer is yes
My cheeks heat, my heart pounds as I read his text five, ten, twenty times.
Milo: but, it’s your pace here
Milo: your rules
Milo: I’ll gratefully take anything you’ll give me and never expect more
Milo: please say something
Prue: I want to give you more of me.
Prue: All of me, eventually.
Prue: But, tonight, let’s start here.
I send him one last photo of the space between my thighs that aches for him so badly, covered slightly by my hand, two of my fingers pressed against my clit.
Milo: I’m on my way over
Milo: don’t you dare fucking move