Milk Fed - Melissa Broder Page 0,74

his hand to my left cheek, stroked it. I flinched.

“Sorry,” he said, snapping his hand away. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

I looked down the bar. There were four college kids, out-of-towners, gawking at us. I was excited that they’d seen him touch my cheek. The thought of it made me feel giddy, much giddier than the actual act of him touching my cheek.

“How long?” I asked.

“What?”

“How long have you wanted to do that? Did you want to do that when we ate the hot dogs?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Damn, I had no idea. What about at lunch with Ofer?”

“Definitely,” he said. “Even when I caught you eating in the bathroom at the cast party.”

“A defining moment,” I said.

“But tonight. Tonight you’ve got the soul aesthetic!”

I burst out laughing.

Jace’s friend Paul from Akron was onstage, newly bearded and wearing a checkered beanie. Apparently, he’d been demoted to Wednesdays too. He was making his way through a set about air travel.

“Every plane is stuck in 1997,” he said. “Somewhere, embedded on every aircraft, is a secret room where Bill Clinton is always getting a blow job.”

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked. “You can touch my other cheek.”

CHAPTER 68

From a technical standpoint, Jace was a good kisser. But making out with him in my living room felt like being under slow siege. He moved gently and caringly and that was the problem. I couldn’t tell what disgusted me more: him feigning tenderness, or the possibility that it might be real. I wished the out-of-towners were still watching. In my mind, I kept repeating, Liam, Liam, Liam, to remind myself that a lot of people out there would love to be in my position.

When he began to eat my pussy, I felt a murderous instinct well up within me. His tongue meandered leisurely in the neighborhood of my clit, without zooming in on the clit itself.

We got all night, his tongue was saying.

Can you just expedite? I wanted to cry.

He moaned a lot down there, as though he were having his own zombie apocalypse. I squeezed his head between my thighs to muffle the sounds, but he only took this as a sign that I was having an awesome time. He increased the speed of his casual crawl, tonguing harder, still circumventing the clit itself, moaning all the way.

“You wax your chest?” I asked when he took off his shirt.

His chest was bare, with some stubbly regrowth between his nipples.

“The stylist makes me,” he groaned.

He had nice, thick pubes, though, and a perfectly lovely penis—clean, handsome, just above average—a penis that all the Liam lovers out there would be delighted to discover.

There really was nothing wrong with the aesthetic part of Jace’s “soul aesthetic.” It was the soul part that was missing. That was what was lacking in his pussy-eating. You had to be really smart about the way you handled the pussy, and not only smart, but intuitive. You had to listen to it. You had to follow the moisture. Jace looked good performing, but he wasn’t intuiting.

“Let me get on top,” I said.

I sat on his cock and began to ride him. I imagined I was the one with the cock, that I was Liam. But if I was Liam, who was he? He was still Jace. So I was Liam, played by me, fucking Jace with my psychic cock.

“Spread your legs wider,” I said, wandering my hand down to the skin between his balls and his asshole.

With confidence, I inserted the tip of my finger into his ass as I fucked him. I felt his asshole twitch around my finger in pleasure. He moaned and writhed against me.

“Say my name,” he said.

“Jace.”

“No,” he said. “My real name.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name is Jason Blagojevich. Say it.”

“Jason Blagojevich,” I said.

“Louder.”

“Jason Blagojevich!”

I said it with all the passion I could muster. My performance was strong, actually.

Acting is behaving truthfully under imaginary circumstances, I thought, remembering my college textbooks. More like behaving imaginarily under truthful circumstances.

“Jason Blagojevich!” I laughed.

I was no longer Liam, I was just me. Jace’s zombie moans rose to a crescendo. Then he came.

CHAPTER 69

I called an emergency morning tea with Ana in the kitchen. I was eager to share my news. I wanted a witness to help elevate the drab reality of sex with Jace into an intoxicating story. I wanted her camaraderie, and more than that, I wanted her approval.

Someone had left half an entire sheet cake, white with white frosting, just sitting on the counter,