I reached around her to dry my own hands on the towel. “I still feel bad that you didn’t get a traditional feast on Thursday. If my schedule hadn’t been so demanding, I would gladly have taken the day off and celebrated an American Thanksgiving with you.”
“Meh. I was working too, and honestly? I couldn’t give a flying fig about turkey and cranberry sauce. Today was the day that mattered most to me. You can’t have any idea how much it means to me.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” I said, distracted until we met and locked eyes. I was happy to hear it, but it was hard to concentrate on the conversation when her gaze was so intense. And while I adored talking to her always, what I really wanted to do at the moment was turn her around, lift her up on the island behind us, and get under her skirt. I’d been thinking about it since she’d arrived, and had only refrained from jumping her because the dinner was a big deal.
Now, with the table cleared and the dishes done, there wasn’t anything to prevent me from acting on the impulse except myself. We hadn’t set terms for our relationship, whatever it was now, and I wasn’t sure if there were rules. Was I allowed to touch her when I wanted to? Was I allowed to pull her in my arms? Fuck her against the worktop?
It wasn’t like me to lack confidence in erotic matters. I refused to doubt myself now. I was going to do it. I was going to devour her. I was going to kiss her lips until they were swollen then go down on her pussy for dessert. Any second now.
In five
Four
Three
Audrey broke our gaze and gestured toward the television in the drawing room. “Do you have Amazon Video in here?” She was headed toward the media console before she finished the question, and my opportunity was lost.
I sighed quietly and stared after her. “I do. Is there something you want to watch?” I was content. Well, I could be. Watching my current view, enjoying her backside as she walked away. Maybe content wasn’t the right word. She was killing me, literally killing me, with her sultry sway and short pleated skirt. She also wore black knee-high boots and a simple white blouse that made her look even younger than usual. Like a girl in secondary school. Like a girl I didn’t have any business lusting after, which only made me want her more.
“It’s the next part of the family tradition,” she said. She found the remote and stood while she flipped through screens on the telly. “After dinner, we clean up then fall into a food coma on the couch while watching a classic old movie.”
“Sounds lovely.” The evening was about her, after all. I turned off the kitchen light and followed into the drawing room.
I eyed the sofa. It was too big, not for the room, but for my life. It curved around on one side, easily sitting ten. The most people I could remember having been over at one time was five when my mother, her latest husband, and Aaron had visited at the same time for Christmas. I’d invited Amy over for dinner, hoping my mother wouldn’t bother me about my marital status with her at my side. Even then, there hadn’t been a time that we’d all sat in front of the telly together. And now, Aaron didn’t even come to London to see me very often.
Why had I even bought such a large flat? To show off to Ellen? Certainly I hadn’t had ideas of entertaining. It was as though I’d imagined that I could sufficiently fill my life with fine art and furniture and square meterage, but it was all meaningless. I’d never noticed how much so until the vibrancy of Audrey in my space made everything around her pale and dull in comparison.
At the moment I hated how large the sofa was because of how many seating options that gave my guest. I wished for a loveseat instead, something small and cozy where Audrey would have no choice but to cuddle up close.
“What are we watching?” I asked, taking a seat right in front of the screen, the spot where I normally sat when I was alone. The next move was hers.
“One of my favorites. I hope you like it.” The show was cued and on pause so I couldn’t see what the title was when she spun around and surveyed the seating situation. “Oh good. You saved me a spot.” She plopped down next to me, close enough to feel her warmth though not quite so close we were touching.
How did she do that? Deal with the sexual tension between us so easily? It was yet another trait that I admired about her. Another trait that made her irresistible.
She started the show and threw the remote down next to her. The credits started, but I was focused on watching her as she unzipped her boots, dropped them to the floor, and tucked her feet under her bottom.
Jesus. She was wearing plaid knee socks underneath. That basically completed the schoolgirl look. I couldn’t look at her if she intended for me to actually get through the film.
I moved my eyes to the screen, a safer place for my attention, just as the title appeared. When Harry Met Sally.
“You call this an old movie? It’s from the eighties.” And it was a romantic comedy. She’d neglected to mention that.
She lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “It was made before I was born.”
There again with the reminder of our age difference. As if I could forget. “Thank you. Thank you for that,” I muttered sardonically.
She giggled, enjoying, as always, a joke at my expense. “Have you seen it?”
“I have not.”
“You’re going to love it.” She side-eyed me as she reconsidered. “Maybe you won’t love it, but I’m going to love watching it with you, and isn’t that what really matters?”
“It seems that it is.” And because she then sat back and leaned her head on my shoulder, I didn’t have a single reason to argue.
We watched the movie like this for the first ten minutes or so, silent except for her soft chuckle at her favorite lines. The characters, Harry and Sally (who could have guessed), began as two recent college graduates who didn’t really know each other but somehow ended up sharing a ride together to New York. They exchanged banter about this and that along the drive, as people do, until Harry stated that it was impossible for men and women to be friends if the man is attracted to the woman—sex always got in the way.
The muscles in my shoulders stiffened. The dialogue could be applied to the situation with me and Audrey. Or, at least, it brought up certain questions about our relationship, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted those questions to be asked.
I didn’t say anything, hoping that she wouldn’t address the elephant if I didn’t.
But it wasn’t Audrey’s style to be demure. “What do you think about that idea?” she asked, casually. “Can men and women be friends?”
“We’re friends.” Maybe she’d leave it at that.
“Buuuuuttt…” She drew the word out, forcing me to give her my attention. “I want to bang you. And I think you want to bang me…”
“Is that a question?”
“You want to bang me. It’s not a question. Which pretty much proves Harry’s point that men and women can’t be friends without sex screwing it up.”
“That’s where I find his theory objectionable. He assumes that having sex will screw up a friendship-based relationship. I don’t find that’s true.”
“Buuuuuttt…” Again she elongated the word and paused after, as though what she wanted to say next wasn’t something I necessarily wanted to hear.
“But what? Let me hear it.” I leaned back to stare at her.
She pulled away so she could look at me directly too. “But you avoided me for a whole week. That had an impact on our friendship. If we hadn’t put sex back on the table, would we be here right now?”
No. Probably not. But not for the reasons she thought.
“Yes, we’d be here,” I lied. “Otherwise you’re saying that men and women can only be friends if they’re sleeping together. In which case, I really need to reevaluate all my female friendships.” It was a joke, but if it weren’t, there was really only Amy on that list, and I had slept with her in the past. Was she right?
“Except, then someone might develop feelings.”
The back of m
y neck suddenly felt sweaty, and my throat felt tight. I swallowed. “People might develop feelings even without sex.”
“True. It’s just easier to encourage feelings when sex is involved because of the intimacy level. And what happens when one of the partners decides to end the sexual part of the relationship? Is it possible to go back to being just friends?”
The question felt important, as though it were a test, as though my answer said something significant about us. Amy and I had managed to maintain our friendship with or without benefits, but I was wary about saying yes to Audrey because I wasn’t entirely certain that I could ever go back to being just friends with her.
But that wasn’t because of sex. That was because I had already developed feelings for her. Not that she needed to know that. In fact, she really didn’t need to know it.
I hesitated too long with an answer. “You don’t think it’s possible, do you?” she asked. “So when I eventually find a guy that I want to be with, are you and I just done?”
“No. Of course not.” It was another lie.
“Buuuuutttt…”
I ran a hand through my hair. “We won’t be just done. But a lot changes when you get involved with someone romantically. I’m sure you know that. Often, other relationships are not what they were. They take a backseat, whether there’s a sexual history or not. So while I can promise that sex is not the glue holding our friendship together, I can’t promise that we’ll always be as close as we are now.” It was more of a monologue than she’d wanted, perhaps, but it was honest, though maybe it wasn’t the complete truth.
Because the complete truth was hard to say to someone like Audrey. The complete truth was that nothing lasts forever. Not even good things. Especially not good things.
Audrey settled back down next to my shoulder. “You’re a real Debbie Downer sometimes, Dylan. You know that?”
“I do, in fact. It’s an actual bullet point on my resume.”
She pretended not to chuckle. “Do you need me to rewind?”
“No, I think I have the gist of what’s going on.”
The movie got better after that, or at least, less uncomfortable to watch. The writing was decent. The characters were well drawn, particularly the side characters. Some of the dialogue felt contrived, but it was enjoyable for the most part. I kept my comments to myself when it wasn’t.
Until the public orgasm scene.
It was a famous bit. I’d seen clips of it before, but never in context. Harry was convinced that all the women who came into his bedroom through a revolving door, enjoyed themselves. In response, Sally faked an orgasm—in public—to prove that there was no way he could possibly tell.
“Oh, please,” I mumbled.
Audrey sat up and narrowed her eyes in my direction. “You have to expand on that comment. You can’t possibly think women don’t fake orgasms.”
“I’m sure they fake them all the time, though I’m not entirely sure what the benefit is from that. If men think the woman they’re with is satisfied, they’re not going to put forth more effort.” It was common sense. “But that’s not what I find eye-rolling.”
“They fake it sometimes because it’s just easier. Like, it’s not happening, and some men are so stubborn, they prolong the whole thing in an attempt to make it happen, and that’s miserable for everyone.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.” If Audrey had similarly faked orgasms with the men she’d been with before me, no wonder there had been a problem in the bedroom.
“I do speak from experience. Not with you.” Her cheeks pinked ever so slightly.
“Of course not with me.”
And now I was thinking about making her orgasm. The sly smile on her lips suggested she was thinking the same thing.
But then her grin disappeared. “But tell me what you find eye-rolling.”
I changed my seating position, adjusting myself discreetly, and sighed. It had been me who’d triggered the conversation. I had to back it up, no matter how smug I came across in doing so.
“While it’s true that men can’t always know if a woman is having an orgasm or not, there are a lot of tells that are easy to spot if one is simply paying attention. Non-vocal tells. Changes in breathing. Body quivering. Flexing of toes. Contractions of the...of the inner walls of…” If I said the word, if I mentioned her pussy, I was going to have to be inside it.
“You get what I’m saying.”
Her blush deepened, as though she could read the thoughts in my mind. She cocked her head to the side. “And you don’t think a woman can fake all those things, sometimes?”
“She can, but it’s my experience that most women don’t even know what her tells are. It’s difficult to fake something you don’t know to fake.”
“But if it’s a one-night thing, the man doesn’t know what her tells are, either.”
“This is true. But if it’s only one night you’re spending together, why would the man even care?” It was terrible to say, but men could be terrible where sex was concerned. Men could be terrible, full stop.
“Harsh!” Audrey twisted her lips, pondering. “Are you saying you didn’t care if I orgasmed that first time when you fingered me against the front door at your apartment?”
“It was different with you.” My cock twitched in my trousers, remembering.
“Of course it was different with me.” She repeated my words from a minute before.
“It was, though. You had specifically come to me with a request to have good sex. It didn’t behoove either of us if I didn’t put my best foot forward.”
“Your best finger forward, you mean. Three of them, to be precise.”
“I’m very flattered that you remember so well.” Very flattered and very hard.
“It wouldn’t have behooved me to forget.” Her grin was so fucking sexy. I wanted to finger-fuck it off her face. With three fingers. “And I don’t believe that you would ever not care about giving a woman an orgasm. You’re very considerate like that. A true gentleman.”
“And you’re cheeky.”
She moved to her knees, and faced me, the movie apparently forgotten. “What are my tells? Are they obvious?”
“You stop breathing.” It was incredibly erotic. Her muscles would stiffen, her toes curl, and her quick breaths would all of a sudden stop, like she was bracing for the pleasure to hit. Then, when it finally did, she’d moan her release, her body stuttering as it rolled through her.
“Hmm. I guess I do.” She was pensive suddenly, her eyes downcast. “I guess that’s an easy thing to tell a new lover. ‘Look for my breathing to stop, and then you know you’ve hit the spot.’”
My chest felt tight, like my insides were shrinking. Here I was thinking we were having a fun talk about us and what she was really thinking about was her future. About the guy she’d be with next, whoever he was.
But that was always the point of us, from the very beginning. Wasn’t it?
I forced a weak smile. “There you go.”
Her expression softened. “I don’t have a new lover,” she said quietly. “In case you were wondering. Besides you. I’d tell you if I did.”
“Okay.”
“I thought you should know that.”
It was as though she knew what she’d said hurt me, as though she were trying to make it better. Which, of course, she wasn’t. She couldn’t know what was going on inside me. She was merely being considerate to her sexual partner. It was practical.
“I also have no other lover,” I said, returning the consideration. “In case you were wondering.”
“We’d stop this between us if anyone else came into the picture, right? Can we agree on that? Especially if we aren’t going to use condoms. And we don’t need to use condoms. I’m really good about the pill.”
“We can agree on that.” I didn’t want to talk anymore about other lovers. I didn’t want to think about her needing to be on birth control because of other men. I hoped this pact put an end to the sub
ject.
Unfortunately, it only got worse. “I do have a third date with someone this week.”
Discovering Ellen’s affairs had felt like a dagger in my gut, and yet still these simple words from Audrey felt ten times worse. She’d been dating—I’d known she’d been dating—but this was the first time anything had ventured on being serious.
I played nonchalant. “Oh? A third date?”
I didn’t want to hear more. I had to know everything at the same time.
“The first two dates were promising.” She pushed a stray hair behind her ear and shifted to sit on her hip. “He’s a decent enough guy. Catholic. Wants a big family. He’s an architect, so that’s a stable career. And he gets my artsy side. He has a really cute little Yorkshire terrier that he brought to our first date in the park. I’d marry him just to have that puppy. He seems really romantic, too. Says a lot of flowery things. Loves poetry. His name is Marco. He’s the brother of one of the married guys I work with. He’s Italian! Nonna would be over the moon if she were still alive.”
Every word she said was bittersweet. Sweet because he sounded great. Bitter because I wanted to stab this Marco guy with a knife between the eyes. Several times. Twenty ought to do it. And I’d never been one for violence.
But I could see the bigger picture through the red. His qualities were perfect—perfect for Audrey, anyway. And wasn’t that exactly what I wanted for her? A man who would give her everything she wanted, everything she needed. A man who loved her as much as she deserved to be loved. A man who could make her happy. If this was that guy, then I wanted it to work out for her.
Just, I wasn’t ready to let her go.
“I’m not planning on sleeping with him,” she said reassuringly. “So don’t worry about that. Not yet anyway. I haven’t even kissed him. So there’s no reason for this to end.” She gestured between the two of us.
“Okay.”
So she wasn’t done with us yet either, then. Not yet, and I meant to take advantage of that.
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