Plays well with others, p.13
Plays Well With Others, page 13
Fuck yes.
Sure, I’ve seen her half-naked.
But no, I have not at all.
Because there’s Naked Mistaken Phone Answering.
And then there’s Naked Arousal.
The second comes with hardened nipples and a flushed chest and a woman so eager for my touch. “Rachel,” I mutter, my voice a dry husk on a hot summer day as I cup these glorious beauties.
She looks down at my hands, squeezing her tits, kneading the flesh.
“You have big hands,” she says, mesmerized.
“I do,” I say, but I don’t add and you have big tits. Because that’s kind of douchey. This handful is real nice though. As I play, I meet her gaze. “You feel fucking incredible.”
“I do?” she asks, and there are those nerves again. Those concerns. Maybe she’s having them because this is, obvs, our first time. Good thing I can reassure her from the bottom of my heart and cock.
“God yes,” I tell her.
She lets out a long sigh, maybe of relief. Whatever worries she had seem to have faded away.
Maybe I didn’t need to ask what was wrong. Maybe I just needed to show her my desire.
I will gladly show her with my mouth, and my dick, and my hands, and my words. I spend another minute adoring her tits with my hands, rolling her nipples between my fingers, letting my thumbs travel over, up, and under till she’s panting and moaning. I kiss her breasts again and again, sucking on them, caressing them with my tongue and lips till she’s gasping for air.
When I raise my face, I say, “Guess Jane didn’t work.”
She blinks, barely focusing. “What?”
“The plant. It didn’t make me forget these at all,” I say, then pinch a nipple.
“Yeah?”
“Not. One. Bit,” I say, and I let go so I can unzip her pesky jeans. She helps me along, lifting her hips so I can scoot down the denim to her thighs.
And…I groan salaciously. “Jesus. They match,” I say stupidly, but how could anyone expect me to think un-stupidly right now?
Her panties are pink lace and absolutely soaked. “I can’t believe I never knew you wore lingerie like this all this time,” I say, but then I replay that comment.
Of course I never knew what panties she wore. We’ve been friends for over a decade. This is the first time we’ve engaged in un-friend behavior.
Maybe we do need to make rules before we cross the next line. “Rachel,” I say, seriously.
She goes stock-still. “Yes?”
“Are you sure about this? I mean, we’re still friends after. I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” I say.
She growls at me. “Don’t ruin the moment. Just fuck me. Please just fuck me. Can I make it any more clear?” she demands, and there she is again. Bold Rachel. I like all Rachels, but I do like this forward side of her in bed.
A lot.
“No, but maybe I can,” I say, then finish stripping off her jeans and her panties as she watches me with avid eyes. “Since I’m gonna fuck the last shreds of doubt right out of you.” I take her hands, bring them to the button on my jeans. “Take out my cock.”
Then her hands are eagerly sliding down the zipper, pushing my jeans down, right along with my boxer briefs.
My dick springs free and is so fucking happy to see her.
And yeah, maybe I did want her to walk in on me last night. Because of this.
Her reaction. The wide eyes. The parted lips. The moment when her mind asks the question.
The thing is—I’m a big guy. I’m supposed to be big to do my job well. For whatever reason—call it luck, good fortune, or just proportionalism at play—I was blessed with size everywhere.
She gulps. “Will it…fit?”
That’s so fucking hot to hear her say.
But it’ll be even more fun for her to find out. I take her hand, wrap it around my shaft. “That depends, Sunshine,” I murmur, then I sigh happily as she fondles me. Up, down, then over the head.
“On what?” she asks, trance-like, on an upstroke.
“How wet you are. And if I’ve got you worked up enough to take me all the way,” I say, then slide a hand between her thighs, gliding my fingers through all that slick wetness. Mmm. Yes. She’s silky and hot, but I need to get her even wetter. Drive her wild. She lets go of my dick, lifting her hips for me as she grips my shoulders.
That’s it. That’s the way to find out.
I stroke her eager clit till she’s moaning and arching on the counter, offering me her wet pussy.
Just to be sure though…
I slide a finger inside her and she gasps. I crook it, then draw a delicious circle on her clit with my thumb as I stroke inside and out. I add another finger. She’s soaked. Then I nip her earlobe. “What do you think, Sunshine? Think my cock will fit now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you could give me a lesson in size as you fuck me,” she says, biting her lip.
I go up in flames. “You are a fast learner,” I say as I ease out my fingers, then bring them to my lips, sucking off her taste. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”
“And you’re dirty,” she says, her lips curving up.
“I think you like my kind of dirty.” I grab a condom from my wallet, then toss the billfold onto the counter. As I open the foil, I play the part of gentleman for a second, asking, “Want me to fuck you on your bed? Will that be easier?”
The woman knows her mind since she shakes her head adamantly. “I’ve never been fucked on a kitchen counter,” she says in a whisper full of wicked delight.
My cock throbs as I cover it, eager to give her a first. I tug her closer to the edge of the counter, keeping the apron under her bare skin. I line myself up and rub the head against her slick heat. She can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the place where we meet. Her eyes are locked on us.
“You like that? The way we look when we’re about to fuck?”
“I do.”
I take my time. Pushing in just an inch or two.
Her hands shoot out, grabbing my shoulders.
“Does it hurt?”
She winces as she nods. “But I like it.”
My brow furrows. “You sure?”
She digs her nails into me. “Yes. Give me more.”
Well, I won’t deny her. I ease in another inch or two, and she’s gritting her teeth.
“Rachel,” I say, cautiously. “We can stop. We can try another—”
“—I’m in a long-term relationship with several industrial-strength vibrators. I want the real thing and I want it now.”
Like I stood a chance at denying her.
I ease in more. She squeezes her eyes shut. But with her jaw set, she urges me on: “All of it. Give me all of you.”
I am a torch. I had no idea my best friend was like this in bed. Eager, hungry, fearless.
And so turned on.
I slide in the rest of the way, and she sucks in a breath. “God, Carter. You’re so big—”
“—You’re so wet, baby. That’s why you’re taking me so good. You’re so fucking turned on. That’s how you can take my dick.”
She shudders, then opens her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been a little horny for you lately.”
“Good. That’s really fucking good,” I say, then I ease back a few inches, giving her time to breathe again before I sink back into the tight, hot paradise of her pussy.
She shudders this time.
“See? It’s all you.”
“I’m pretty sure you have something to do with the big dick in me,” she says.
I give another slow, tantalizing thrust that has her tossing back her head. Moaning. Swearing.
“Yeah, but you’re taking me like a good girl,” I say.
“Am I? A good girl?”
“You take my dick like a very…” I press a kiss to her throat. “Good…” I lay one on her chin. “Girl.”
I cover her mouth with mine as I thrust deep into her, filling her all the way. Then I hitch her legs up higher around my ass. “Hold onto the edge of the counter, baby.”
She complies, gripping it as I curl one hand around her hip then bring the other between her thighs.
As I fuck her, I take care of her. With each thrust, I caress her clit till she’s arching her back, panting, and then shouting, “Yes, yes, yes.”
She’s trembling and shaking, then coming on my cock on a loud cry.
It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, and it annihilates my last shreds of restraint. I fuck her hard on her kitchen counter till I forget all about cookies and friendship and dates and everything but the wild thrill of finally, finally having her.
After I come down from the high, I’m struck by a brand-new thought.
What if I’ve been wanting this for a long, long time?
20
UN-DATING AND ULTRA-SEXING
Rachel
My brain is hitting me with too many questions all at once, and I am not ready to traffic cop the what happens next, the what does this mean, and the where do we go.
I focus on practical things instead. I straighten myself up in my bathroom—it’s been a while since I’ve done the post-sex clean-up dance, but it’s like riding a bike. Well, if you needed to change your panties after a bike ride—then I put on leggings and a sweatshirt.
Next comes the cookies. I return to the kitchen solo and set some on a plate. I place the uncooked dough in the fridge. I’ll deal with the final batch another time.
I’m a little sore as I bring them to the living room, and that’s all new. This stretched-wide sensation between my legs. But I don’t mind it. It’s like the feeling you get after a good workout.
I set the plate on the coffee table then double back to the kitchen to pour some milk into glasses, and I revise that estimate to a lot sore.
Better not walk that fast.
Carter rounds the corner from the guest bathroom as I’m carrying a tray of milk, a little hunched over. Staring at me, he arches a brow. “You okay?”
“Why do you ask? Because I’m waddling?”
He laughs. “Well, yeah.”
“I’m a sex trouper,” I say with a lift of my chin.
And that’s new too. I just made a joke after sex with my best friend. Is this normal? Is this how it goes? I’m about to ask Carter, but then I shut down that notion, stat. I don’t actually want to know if he’s slept with other female friends. But it’s too late. The dark thought is lashing through my mind like a tornado. Wasn’t Izzy a friend first? He dated her a few years ago when I was in Los Angeles, but I feel like he told me they were friends before they were lovers.
And she is history now.
Oh god. My libido is an idiot. What if that happens to us? What if I’m Izzy-i-fied?
“Trouper or not, let me help,” he says, sweeping in to grab the tray and carry it to the coffee table.
This is surreal. He’s still shirtless and I seriously appreciate his low-clothes commitment, even though I’m freaking out now about what’s next with us. Can you freak out and also admire a man’s back? Yes, yes you can. I mean, those muscles. That strength. What does his back look like when he’s fucking me? Or his ass? Can we have sex in front of a mirror sometime?
I really should stop perving on him. I should start adulting.
Now. I will do it right now.
I settle in on the couch and gesture to the cookies and the milk. “I have three different types of milk. Almond milk, oat milk, and two percent. We can see which one tastes better with cookies. It’s a milk and cookie taste test,” I say, and I’m reverting to my pre-sex plan.
I’d arranged my escape hatch so well I bought three types of milk, and planned this whole elaborate cookie taste test, so I wouldn’t have to face uncomfortable moments.
Only, I didn’t anticipate this one—the what happens next one. But here it is, awkward as hell, and I hope milk and cookies make everything easier.
With a wolfish grin, Carter grabs a cookie, then takes a bite. He moans as he chews. Then he sets the half-eaten cookie down on the plate a little defiantly. “Delicious.”
I blink at him, shocked. “You took it dry.”
“I’m that studly, Rachel.”
“You didn’t have any milk,” I add.
His grin widens. “I don’t like milk with cookies.”
I gasp, over the top. “You savage. How did I not know this about you?”
“Guess I’m packing a few surprises,” he says.
My gaze strays to his pelvis. “Packing for sure. Like your secret dick.”
A laugh bursts from him. “Secret dick, Rach? Does that mean the fact that I had a dick was secret? Because you say that like it’s a secret birthmark, a secret extra toe, a secret second dick.”
“I guess if you have two dicks, it probably is a good idea to ease a girl into that. So secret dick works if you have another one.”
“Do you think I’m hiding another dick from you?”
I shudder. “I hope not. I don’t think I could handle your two dicks. The single super-size one is enough for me. The secret super-size dick,” I say, and I’m smiling too, and then something dawns on me.
This is not uncomfortable at all. Not one bit. We’re Racheling and Cartering once again. He’s eating a cookie shirtless, and I’m taking one and dipping it in milk, and we’re joking about his dick.
This feels normalish.
When he finishes, he leans back against the couch cushions, stretching his arms over them, so at home here. “So, was this milk and cookie tasting part of your whole cover-up?”
Shoot. He does know me too well. Earlier, I wasn’t sure how to talk to him, so I protected myself by rambling. I’m still unsure, but this is also a new chance. I took a chance at sex. I should take a chance at communication. I need to know the score, and I’d rather learn it directly than dance around it.
I set down the cookie and face him. “I baked because I didn’t know what was going to happen tonight—if I was going to find the guts to tell you I’d been thinking about you like this, or if it was going to scare you off, so I wanted a parachute. I thought if we had a normal thing to do, then it’d be fine if you didn’t want…the same thing. The sex thing.”
“You saw me jerk off to you and you thought I didn’t want the sex thing?”
I shrug, a little helpless. “Carter, I don’t really trust a lot of my instincts with men.”
He’s quiet for a beat, his expression turning thoughtful. “But you trust me?”
“Of course,” I say instantly. “You know that, right?”
“I do,” he says. “Always have. I just want you to be upfront with me.”
Another thing that’s new? Believing someone. Trusting someone. Not second guessing every single thing. That’s a damn good feeling. “Okay. Here goes. I kind of needed some reassurance when you were touching me before—my breasts—that you wanted to, like really wanted to touch me. Because I didn’t want to second-guess it all the next day.”
His eyes pin me. “Don’t second-guess me, Sunshine. You can ask if I like something. And I’ll tell you the truth. But you need to know this—I wanted you. Only you. I still want you,” he says, the intensity of his voice a reassurance too.
“Maybe that was a sex lesson I needed to learn. That it’s okay to ask if you—your partner—likes something,” I admit, feeling vulnerable but needing to say this. He could read me when we were making out. I didn’t have to spell out my fears and I appreciate that. He sensed them and took care of me. But I can also ask for what I want, and what I need. That’s something I’ve never really done before. I’ve never felt comfortable doing it.
“It’s fun to ask for what you want. And yeah, I could tell beforehand, too, that you felt off tonight. I just had no idea if it was because, well, you’d done a dick review.”
I drop my face into the couch pillow, groaning. “I’ll never live that down.”
A hand curls around my shoulder. “Next time, just come into the shower,” he says in a low rumble. Pleasure zips down my back, and when I lift my face to his gaze, his eyes are glimmering with heat.
“I wanted to,” I say, even though he knows that. But it feels good to admit the truth fully and completely this time. It feels great to say what I want and to know—to trust—that the other person isn’t lying.
He runs his thumb across my shoulder, hard enough that I can feel a little buzz through the fabric of my sweatshirt. “I think I’d lose my mind if you joined me in the shower. Or if you found me in bed with my cock in my hand.”
That outrageously sexy image lodges front and center in my mind. Not sure it’s going to leave anytime soon. “Do you jerk off a lot? And in different places in your home?” I ask in a hushed voice. Because this feels like confession time. And I want him to serve up all the details.
“Yeah. Every day, easily. Bedroom, shower, couch sometimes. I live alone. I have a lot of energy and a very busy brain. So yeah, you could walk in on me in bed, enjoying a little self-care.”
I swallow, but that does nothing to abate the heat flooding me. “Me too,” I admit.
He licks his lips, then lets out an appreciative rumble. “I want to see that.”
I want him to. I want him to find me in bed. I want him to climb over me and help me finish.
All these mentions of next times give me courage. He’s right. I can’t hide behind milk and cookies. I want a next time with him, and I want his friendship for all time. I want everything, dammit. I sit up straighter, take his hand from my shoulder, and set it in my lap, clasping it in both my hands. “What if we did this sex thing while we do the four dates?”
There. I put myself out there without overexplaining, blurting, rambling, or backtracking.
I shut my mouth and wait.
But not for long. His slow, sexy smile tugs on my heart. It’s like the sun rising, warming me all over. I want to bask in its glow. Lift my face to the light. Let it heal my hurting soul.
Because I still hurt.
I still ache.
I’m still shut down.
With Carter, though, I feel safe from heartache. Shielded from pain.
