him. Sucking cock has never really interested me. It cramps my jaw and makes me gag, and there’s nothing pleasurable about that. Strangely enough, I’m enjoying Will. His cock is rather pleasant in taste and texture, and although it’s bigger than any I’ve sucked before, it’s neither daunting nor boring.
I’m a happy Libby. A happy lip-locked Libby.
Will slides his hand into my hair and grips me gently. “Elizabeth.”
“’es?”
“You want me to blow in your mouth?”
I pause. How sweet. I’ve never been asked this before, never been given the choice, and for that, I say, “’es,” again.
Will jerks once then twice before warmth hits the back of my throat, slick and thick. I swallow, which is when I realise my eyes are watering and I’m in desperate need of oxygen.
Releasing him from my mouth, I gulp all the air I can when he reaches down, cups my face, and guides me to his mouth, his tongue slipping between my lips as he kisses me long and hard but oh so tenderly.
“I like you very much,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes alive with humour. “And so does Molly by the looks of it.” Will gestures to where Molly is sitting by the bed, head resting on the mattress, staring at me like I’m her long-lost love.
“Oh my God!” I roll off him. “Did she just watch me give you head?”
“Probably.”
“Will! That’s—” I pull the blanket over my head. “—so embarrassing.”
He chuckles. “She’s a dog.”
“A perverted dog.”
“Hey! You just hurt her feelings.”
“Are you kidding me?” I wrench the blanket down again.
“Look.” He points toward the door. “She’s leaving.”
“Good!”
Rolling on top of me, he bears his weight on his elbows and nudges my nose with his. “What do you want to do now?”
“Wipe Molly’s memory.”
He chuckles again. “Besides that.”
“Take a shower.”
“Done. Then what?”
“Er… watch a movie?”
“Then what?”
I laugh. “I don’t know… have something to eat?”
“Then what?”
“Go home?”
“Wrong answer.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to have a sleepover, Will?”
The cutest boyish smile illuminates his eyes, and he nods.
Covering my face with my hands, I peek through my spread fingers. “Okay. I’ll sleep over.”
After cleaning ourselves up, making toasted cheese sandwiches, and watching—you guessed it—Dirty Dancing while Casper sporadically jumped in the air around us, which I now know is called a binky, Will shows me the rest of his house. It belonged to his grandma before she passed away a couple of years ago and bequeathed it to him, her only grandson. His sister ended up with a beach house in Dromana.
“You’re very lucky,” I say, admiring the cathedral ceilings in the kitchen and living area. “This house is incredible.”
“I know. Ma always knew I loved her home.” He leans against the woodgrain kitchen cabinetry. “When I was a boy and my sister and I stayed with Ma and Pa on school holidays, we used to spend every daylight hour outside, pretending the house was enchanted and under threat of an evil sorcerer.”
I cock my head and smile, imagining their fun game. It’s definitely something I would’ve played.
“I also spent most weekends here as I grew older, clearing gutters, mowing the lawn, and fixing odd things Ma couldn’t after Pa died. It’s always felt like home and always will.”
Touching my hand to my heart, I say, “That’s really lovely, Will. It sounds like you had a special relationship with your grandparents.”
“I did. Mum and Dad were often away for work, so we stayed with Ma and Pa a lot.”
“What line of work were your parents in?”
“Dad’s a pilot for a commercial airline, and Mum’s an air hostess.”
“Oh. I guess they were away a lot then?”
“Yep.”
His quipped answer stirs my curiosity.
“Did it bother you?” I ask tentatively.
Will puts the glass of water he’s been holding down on the benchtop. “They were part-time parents, so, yeah, it bothered me sometimes.”
He pushes off from the bench, which is when my eyes land on a ball of wool and set of knitting needles jutting out from an empty fruit bowl near his hand.
“Are you kidding me!” I point to them then cover my mouth, laughing behind my hand. “You really do knit.”
One of his eyebrows hitches. “Yeah.”
“I thought that was a lie.”
“Why?”
“Because men like you don’t knit.”
“Who says?”
“I don’t know, the vast majority of society.”
He shrugs… as if the vast majority of society are wrong, and maybe they are. “Ma taught me and Faith.”
“Faith?”
“My sister.”
“Will and Faith?”
He shrugs again. “Yeah, part-time parents or not, they were both optimists.”
“Seems so,” I say as he takes