Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend

by Lauren Blakely

  “Really?”

  “Men are simple, right?”

  “I don’t know. I think you’re complicated.”

  “Trust me. I’m not. I’m pretty straightforward.”

  “So, if I flash my boobs, are boobs all you’re going to think about?” I ask, challenging him.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say? I stopped thinking.” He lets his gaze drift playfully down to my chest. “Nice dress.”

  “But see, I don’t believe that. You pretend you are shallow, but deep down you think about things like friendship,” I say, as he looks me in the eyes again. “You think about life and death and your parents, and you think about your clients and fighting for them and doing the best you can.”

  He looks at me, quiet and studying. “True. Yet sometimes I’m still playing the same loop. Food. Sex. Money.” He takes a beat. “Sex.”

  And I might be playing that last one on a loop too. But I’m still trying to make a point, one related to sex, and to all the other things I like about him. “I don’t think that’s all you care about. You care about security. Reliability. Dependability. If you didn’t, we’d be sleeping together again.”

  He stares hard at me, his jaw ticking. “Is that why we’re not sleeping together?”

  I stare back, feeling the mood shift. My skin is hot, my breath comes fast, and the sun beats down. “Isn’t it?”

  “At the moment, I’m honestly not sure.”

  Heat roars in my body. “I’m not either. Going back to how we were sounds good in theory . . .”

  “But theories can be wrong,” he says, his eyes dark, glimmering with lust.

  But I don’t think it’s only lust I see. I think there’s so much more.

  No, I know it.

  My tingling chest is the proof.

  My aching heart is the verification.

  And my wild need is the driver.

  Of me.

  Because here on this sunny day, in this quiet nook of my favorite place on earth, I do maybe the craziest, most daring thing of all.

  I shift out of my seat, climb onto his lap, and straddle him. Then I kiss the breath out of my best friend in a paddleboat.

  32

  Oliver

  I’m a pretty open-minded guy.

  I’ll try nearly any position. I’ll break out toys, props, and loads of dirty talk.

  I’ll give the woman what she wants.

  And if the woman wants public sex, sure, that can be arranged, short of an arrestable offense.

  I just never put a paddleboat on the list of places I’d want to try.

  But then, I never expected Summer to initiate paddleboat sex.

  Here she is with her knees spread and her dress riding up, grinding against me.

  When in Rome . . .

  I cup her face, drag her close, and kiss her.

  Without any cameras, without any agenda, without anything to prove.

  There’s no reason but desire, and we kiss hard and hungrily in the lake at Central Park, and it feels like where we’re supposed to be.

  I trace her lips, parting them with my tongue then stroking inside her mouth. I tug her closer, kiss her harder, our lips marauders. We plunder and suck, tongues tangling, bodies pressing.

  She grinds against me, pressing on my cock, like iron in my jeans. And she’s relentless, a woman after her own pleasure, like she was the other night.

  And the source of it is me.

  It’s a thrilling and addictive feeling, knowing I’m the one she’s chasing like this.

  That’s how we kiss.

  Like we can’t get enough of each other. Can’t get enough lips, tongue, skin. My fingers curl around her skull, gripping her tight, slamming her against me.

  Her hands skate into my hair, her fingers roping through the strands as she brings me closer. She’s panting, moaning, and nothing on earth is sexier than this woman revealing her desires to me.

  For me.

  And with me. I slide my hands down her back, along the crazy sequined dress and down to her ass, cupping her cheeks.

  A groan rips from my throat as I squeeze her tight, firm ass. Yes, she was naked on me the other night, and yes, she was naked in bed, but it still feels like the first time.

  Like I’m just discovering all her curves, all the softness of her body.

  My hands slide lower, reaching the edge of her short dress. She feels too good. I break the kiss, panting. “So glad you got this dress.”

  “Me too.” She breathes out hard, then lifts up and grinds back down on me, sliding against my cock, humping me.

  Lust sizzles down my spine, radiating out through my whole body as she stares wickedly at me, a wanton, gorgeous woman eager for pleasure.

  “I want you again,” she whispers, her voice all smoky and sexy.

  It’s the hottest sound I’ve ever heard, and I can still barely believe it’s coming from her.

  From my friend, who’s shown me so many sides of herself over the years—except this one.

  “I want you again too. Right now, Summer.” I bring my mouth to her neck, kissing a decadent path to her ear. “But we really need to get to my place where I can strip you to nothing, worship your body, and make you come over and over.”

  “Yes. That. Let’s do that now.”

  She slides off me a few inches, setting her feet down, hunting for her flip-flops. As she roots around for her shoes while tugging down her dress, she stumbles.

  Tips.

  Pitches.

  Right off my lap.

  Everything happens in a heartbeat.

  One second, she’s grinding on me. The next, she’s toppling off the side of the boat and into the lake.

  33

  Summer

  How to instantly become a social media sensation? Fall into the lake while humping your fake fiancé.

  Once I pop up from the murky depths of the lake, he’s fighting like hell not to laugh at me.

  I’m soaked, head to toe, and covered in algae or Central Park Loch Ness guts. Take your pick. Both are fetid.

  “I’m a sea monster!” I say, skimming my hand over my soaking wet and utterly disgusting hair.

  Oliver kneels on the edge of the swan boat, offering his hand as he cackles.

  “You’re evil! You’re laughing at me. You’re a terrible fake fiancé.”

  He rolls his eyes as he tugs me up by my hand. “I’m an amazing fake fiancé. Get back here, you sea monster of mine.” His tone is playful as he pulls me up out of the brackish water. I sling one foot over the edge of the white plastic boat then haul myself up the rest of the way, his hand an anchor.

  I am an ungraceful, sopping, smelly mess.

  I shove the strands of wet, tangled hair from my face.

  “I told you not to do that!”

  I jerk my gaze to the bearded man who rented us the boat.

  He’s on the shore, pointing at us, flapping his arms. “I told you the rules!”

  “Gee, thanks. I wanted to fall in the water. It was on my bucket list. Go to Central Park, ride a paddleboat, and fall in the cesspool known as this lake,” I shout back.

  “I meant no making out, lady. Serves you right,” he yells.

  Oh, well. He might have a point there.

  He’s not the only one watching us.

  He’s flanked by spectators with their cameras trained on our boat. Natch. After all, what’s funnier than a girl falling into a big pond in the city?

  I do the only thing I can. Smile and wave. Just smile and wave.

  I park my butt in the plastic seat next to my fake fiancé, and we pedal to the shore, where the bearded man glowers at us, telling us to never come back again.

  “That won’t be a problem,” I assure him.

  As we get off the boat and walk away from the dock, Oliver peels off his T-shirt and hands it to me.

  My brow knits. “You’re giving me your shirt?”

  “Well, your clothes are a little bit wet.”

  I run my eyes up
and down his carved chest. “Guess I get a nice view and a shirt. It is my lucky day.”

  “Play your cards right, and you can get a shower at my place too.”

  And let me tell you, I practically run out of the park for that chance.

  I peel off his gray T-shirt then my wet sequined dress, dropping them onto the tiled bathroom floor.

  I wiggle my eyebrows as I unhook my soaking wet bra. “I’m sexy wearing Central Park lake water, don’t you think?”

  Oliver smiles as he stretches past me to turn on the shower. The water runs, and he unbuttons his jeans then unzips them. “Let me tell you something, Summer. Your sea monster perfume isn’t going to deter me from fucking you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I shiver from his words, from seeing this side of Oliver Harris, from hearing him say fuck as it applies to me. It’s surreal, but heady too, to experience him like this—wanting me, staring at me, heat and abandon in his eyes.

  Even in my swamp creature state, all matted hair and stinking of pond scum, he still gazes at me like I’m not just the object of his desire, but like I’m precious too.

  Like fucking isn’t just fucking.

  Like it’s so much more.

  That’s how I feel too. And I want to tell him and tell him soon.

  But first, I need to de-skunk myself.

  I let my bra fall to the floor as steam curls from the shower. I peel off my damp panties, hold them up on my fingertip, twirl the cotton fabric, then toss them to the floor as well.

  I step into the shower but keep my eyes trained on my best friend. I’m tempted to make a joke, maybe about swamp monsters or sea creatures, but the look in his eyes stops my breath.

  Intensity flashes across his irises, a deep and powerful longing in his green gaze.

  My heart stutters, then it pounds relentlessly as he pushes his jeans to the floor.

  His boxer briefs go whoosh.

  His cock springs free, happy to see me in my Central Park state of decay.

  “Nice to see you too,” I say as I lean my head back under the water, letting it stream over me.

  He steps in, closing the shower door behind us.

  I shudder at his nearness, at the way he can’t take his eyes off me.

  And at my own spiking pulse.

  But I also want to get clean.

  Seems Oliver wants that too, because he reaches behind me for the shampoo, pours some into his hands, then washes my hair. He’s tender and gentle, running the shampoo all through my strands then rinsing it out.

  I squirt some into my hands and return the favor, loving the feel of his hair between my fingers.

  We’re quiet, besides saying the occasional hi, and that feels good, and lots and lots of mmmms.

  I don’t trust myself to say anything else. To not blurt out some great, immutable truth. Some pronouncement born from years of admiring him from afar, from endless days of maybe, possibly crushing on my best friend.

  Fine, maybe it was more than a crush.

  Maybe it’s becoming real, so damn real, but I don’t trust that this new reality will last beyond the here and now.

  So I let myself wordlessly enjoy the moment.

  He reaches for his shower gel, pours some in his hands, and then lathers up. He rubs along my arms, and I inhale deeply, loving the attention, the care.

  He moves up my arms to my shoulders, soaping me, then down my breasts to my belly.

  After he squirts more soap, he bends, kneeling on the tiles as the water pounds over us. He soaps up my legs, from my ankles to my knees to my thighs, cleaning all the dirty water off me.

  Then he runs his hands up the back of my legs and looks up at me. “I swear this is all I’ve thought about since the other night,” he whispers, and presses his face to my thigh, brushing a kiss against my skin, water droplets sliding down his nose.

  “Same here,” I confess, my voice feathery, my need palpable.

  “Maybe I am simple, Summer. I just want to touch you again. I want to kiss you and have you and fuck you,” he says, then a rumble emanates from his throat as he turns his face from my leg to my center, pressing his lips against me where I ache for him.

  Flicking his tongue against my wetness.

  “Oh God,” I gasp the second he makes contact.

  And because I’m helpful like that, I widen my stance, spreading my legs a little more.

  He groans against me, licking and kissing.

  Desire floods my body. It lights up my veins. It spreads across my skin as he cups my ass and licks me in his shower. I lean back against the wall, and I’m glad I do when my knees wobble as his tongue sweeps across all my wetness, all my desire for him. Kissing, licking, sucking.

  The sounds he makes are a dirty song, a carnal tune of lust and passion, the notes insanely sensual.

  “If this is simple, I’ll take it,” I whisper, my fingers tangling in his hair.

  He hitches my right leg onto his shoulder, and yes, standing is harder now, but he’s got me, and so has the wall.

  And this is on.

  It’s happening.

  And I’m awash in pleasure.

  He’s relentless, kissing and worshipping, and soon pleasure crests in my body, a wave rising up, rushing to the shore. I let go of his hair, grab at the wall, and shudder. A long gust of breath escapes my lips.

  I rock against him, losing myself to the moment, losing my mind to this connection.

  And nothing feels like we’re getting swept up in a moment or a mistake.

  Everything feels like we’ve been building to this.

  It’s the last wall between us coming down, coming down gloriously.

  As the desire tightens in my belly then bursts, I gasp and cry out, coming hard.

  I wobble, and he reaches for my hips, steadying me as he rises. He wraps his arms around me and tugs me close, our wet, naked bodies pressed together.

  “Hi, Oliver,” I whisper.

  “Hi, Summer.”

  “You’re quite good at that,” I say.

  He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Because it’s you.”

  “Or maybe because it’s you.” I slide a hand down his chest, reaching for his cock. He groans, all growly sexy as I wrap a fist around him. I stroke him, gripping and pumping and wanting.

  So much wanting.

  But so much more than wanting.

  As he thrusts into my fist, his breath hot and staggered, I take another step, a bolder step.

  Maybe the riskiest one of all.

  I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know how to make us work. I don’t know what happens tomorrow. But I want him to know this is more than just sex for me.

  I let go of him, run my hands up his chest, and meet his gaze. “Would you make love to me?”

  His lips curve up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  34

  Oliver

  You think you know someone.

  And maybe you do.

  Maybe you know how they like their coffee, or that they snort when they laugh too hard, or that they’re a little bit stubborn—or maybe a lot—but still the most positive, upbeat person you’ve ever known.

  And maybe you need that part of them, needed that part of them for ages, because you haven’t been inherently upbeat since life changed you.

  And you know that about yourself.

  But then, you get this person naked and you learn about her other side.

  I’m learning that Summer luxuriates in her body.

  That when she’s toweled off and dry, she settles into my bed languidly, stretching her hands over her head, her body on beautiful display.

  Sure, I’ve thought about having her here, but always in a truncated way where my brain doesn’t let me finish the thought. Where I force myself to swipe the images away.

  Now the images are real as she parts her legs for me, slides a hand between them, and glides her fingers through her wetness.

  Fuckkk.

  I don’t know that I
can withstand the hotness, but I’m willing to try. I am goddamn willing to try as I climb onto the bed with her, grab her ankles, and spread her legs wide.

  “Let me taste you.”

  “But you already did,” she says with a smile.

  “I am ravenous, it seems.”

  She lifts her hand, runs her fingers across my lips, and I draw them into my mouth, sucking hard, savoring once again the delicious taste of her.

  “You dirty, sexy woman. Enticing me with the way you taste so fucking good.”

  “I think you like being enticed,” she whispers as a shudder moves through her, gliding along her skin.

  I shake my head. “No. I love it.”

  I reach for a condom in the nightstand, open it, roll it on, and then push her knees up higher and higher still.

  Then I notch the head of my cock against her and push inside.

  “Oh God,” she gasps, her back bowing, her eyes fluttering shut.

  And that’s another thing I now know.

  How the girl next door looks when I fill her. When she takes me in all the way. She looks spectacular, all sex-drunk and needy, her lips parted, her knees hiked up.

  Open to me.

  I move in her, swiveling my hips, pushing deeper, pulling back, then plunging in again.

  Her hands slide up my chest. “This feels so good,” she whispers.

  “Feels amazing,” I murmur as pleasure crackles along my spine. “Feels fucking incredible.”

  Her arms loop around my neck, her fingers playing with my hair. Even that touch ignites sparks across my skin. “Because it’s you,” I tell her as I pick up the pace, moving faster, listening to her body.

  She arches her back, moving with me as we find our pace.

  When we do, I bend closer to her, my lips dusting across hers. My shoulders are tight. Tension, exquisite tension, radiates through my muscles as I fight off my own release, focusing on her, only her.

  And on the words I just said.

  Because it’s you.

  Only, that’s not entirely true. This is spectacular, the sex, the connection, the unholy pleasure.