Eight
Annabeth
Ella stumbles into my room, drink already in hand, waving a gigantic, monster-looking dildo in my face. I take a moment to let my eyes linger on her, soaking in the gaudy, yet oddly sexy pink attire she’s wrapped in.
Her trademark blonde hair falls in messy curls and cascades down her back.
She’s curvy, curvier than me anyway, and her breasts rival that of Pamela freakin’ Anderson’s, only those bad boys are all hers.
The pink halter top that’s painted to her body only accentuates the girls, much like the ripped jeans that are tucked into her boots, showing off every curve of her ass.
God, I wish I had more ass. She may not know a donkey from a draught horse, but she sure looks the part. She looks like a bloody cowgirl barbie.
“Oh. My. God. Can you fuck off?” I squeal, batting the appendage away from me.
Her delighted giggles ring through my room in return, her brows creasing. “Oh. My. God. Can you like… get laid?” she questions, mimicking my tone.
“Is that all you ever think about, Ell?”
“Nope, but it’s something you should think about more often.” Her eyes darken and a wicked grin creeps across her plumped-up lips.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Ella, seriously, no.”
“I’m sooo gonna be your wingman tonight!”
“Don’t you mean wingwoman? You look hot, by the way.”
“Semantics,” she tuts as she flits out of my room leaving a trail of glitter and perfume behind her.
I allow myself a few, quiet moments to prepare for whatever tonight will bring.
I just know it’s going to be a chaotic event; her parties always are.
In fact, I don’t think I can recall a single night out with Ella that didn’t result in us making our way home, boots in hand, and passing out on the couch together in a drunken heap.
The perfume I have chosen for this evening is a particular favourite, a delicious blend of coconut, pistachio, and salted caramel.
A shudder courses through me as the cool ball of my perfume roller traces the length of my neck.
The scent intoxicates me, soaking into the delicate skin beneath my ear.
A strange sensation washes over me, and I find myself wondering if Dallas would like my perfume.
I picture him trailing kisses across my shoulders as he rolls the metal ball across me, inhaling the sweet flavours as he extends the kisses down my body, until he reaches my...
My cheeks flush, embarrassment and arousal taking control, and I gulp my feelings down to the disapproval of my now pulsing pussy.
Dammit, Annabeth. You cannot be thinking these thoughts. I refuse to allow myself to get blindsided by a hot cowboy who’s not only my students father, but twice my age. This is going to be torture, because like it or not, I am absolutely fucking into this man.
I rummage through my wardrobe, going through about fifteen outfits before I’m satisfied.
I feel cute, comfy, and ready to let my hair down, which is ironic because it’s styled in a half-up messy bun.
Turning on my heels, I head for the kitchen, unsure what tonight will bring.
I grab a shot glass from the cupboard, filling it to the brim with pink, glittery vodka and down it in one swift gulp.
Ella cheers from behind me, grabbing her own glass before pouring two more shots.
Down the hatch they go, and before I know it, I’m making the familiar walk to the bar arm-in-arm with my best friend.