Chapter 22 #3
After our shower, where Jett made me scream with his fingers, twice, and I made him come with my mouth, again, I still can't accept that I can orgasm eight times in one evening. Because no, Ace never hit that number in two fucking years! I rebandage Jett’s hand before sending him off to get dressed; I can't focus when he's naked, no way. I'm so impatient to get my signature sweats on, actually a pink velour Juicy Couture tracksuit from the year I was born, and veg out together in bed. I’ve rarely seen him act normal like that. We’ll see if he can.
In my Pepto pink bedroom, my huge, white four-poster bed is covered with the fluffiest comforters and unhealthiest snacks from the pantry.
For me, there are pretzels, Pirate’s Booty, spicy nacho Doritos, Lay’s sour cream and onion, and Sour Patch Kids from the US side of the pantry.
For Jett, there’s Jaffa cakes, Walkers crisps, Wotsits, Hobnobs, and wine gums from the UK side.
I hear a champagne bottle pop and drop the remote, turning my head to see Jett padding back in with a bottle and two flutes, but that’s not why I’m laughing.
“Jett! Are you even serious?”
He snorts. “What? He said I could wear them!”
My dad’s black silk pajamas with the MM monogram are at least one size too big for Jett, but it's so adorable I almost forget how weird it is. I must be embracing how weird all this is. “Will you take a picture and send it to him? Make sure to tell him I was a good boy tonight, please!”
I snap a few pictures and text the cutest one to Dad. “Should I mention the eight orgasms you treated me to, as well? You and that number!” I can’t help but sigh, thinking about how incredible they were.
“Let’s leave that part out, all right?” He suggests, coming over to me. I just shake my head and laugh. He pours a glass and hands it to me, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“I’ve never seen you without makeup on, Baby.”
I squeak and cover my face with a pillow.
“Don’t! You’re so naturally beautiful, Mads. Let me see your face. You’re my girlfriend, not a one-nighter, remember?”
My body explodes in tingles as I remember, and I drop the pillow.
“Much better.” He grins, inching closer. “Fuckin’ freckles? Really? They’re so cute!”
I whack him with the pillow, and a splash of champagne escapes his glass.
“Uh uh!”
“Hell yes, they are! My ex used to paint them on; that’s how desirable they are. Stupid fake freckle wannabes.”
I roll my eyes, “Who did? AnnaBella? Cecily? Shara?”
He groans. “Fuck. I think they all did it. I’m gonna hurl.
” I throw a gummy at him, and he catches it in that talented mouth.
I suddenly feel bad for every other person having a first date right now.
Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of having the most perfect evening with someone you got comfortable with years ago.
“Cheers?” he asks, tipping his glass to mine. “To our first night together?”
“Get in here, first!”
He jumps up, sitting next to me, crossed-legged, and taps his glass to mine. “I can’t believe I get to spend the night with you, Princess.”
I blink, feeling heat rush between my legs. “Cheers … Maybe save that word for, um, like tomorrow morning?” I blush.
“Mmm, that does it for you, babygirl?”
“Stop!” I laugh, “Don’t make me horny again!”
“But tomorrow morning is okay? What do you want tomorrow morning, Baby?”
“I want Keane. In every position. But right now … we’re supposed to be talking, hanging out, and eating garbage.”
We sip our champagne and set it on my bedside table. He grabs the package of Jaffa cakes protectively, “These are not garbage!”
He’s so cute I can’t help but snap another photo of him cuddling his snacks. “So, what’s on your schedule tomorrow, babe?” I ask, trying out the nickname.
“You.”
I turn pink. “And what else?”
“I’d like you to join me in the studio. Do you have time for that? I only plan to record one song.”
“My day is clear. I have a nail salon appointment, and I can easily reschedule. I would love that.” I sigh, turning on a trashy UK reality show. “And you’re joining me at Mum and Dad’s for dinner?”
Jett nods, hand on my knee. “Dad said he’s throwing a dinner party, a birthday gathering? For?”
I smirk. “Oh, just Freddie Mercury’s cousin, no big deal.”
“The fuck, Baby?!”
I shrug my shoulders. “He’s really a cool dude, very funny.”
“No shit, I’m coming! And before people get there, we’re going to tell them how serious this is, right? Do you think they’ll choke like you did when I called you my girlfriend?”
“Probably.” I grin, feeding him a crisp.
“And I’m going to propose something else, I’m sure they’ll say yes.”
Now I choke, on my chip, when he says the p word. I’m losing it, seriously. “P-propose what now?”
He laughs. “That you come to London with me next week. BBC, an intimate little performance, five songs. Four of mine and one cover. Tomorrow at the studio, I’ll have you pick which cover I do.
Very small show, like maybe fifty people, and I very much want you to be there in the front row with a cocktail in your hand.
I have a recipe in mind already, the cocktail will be designed to taste almost as good as you do. ”
I fight a strong blush. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” I wink, pretending every ounce of blood in my body isn’t crackling with something way more intense than lust.