by Tara Sivec
“Can I assume the state of your wrinkled clothing, Putz’s great ass on display moments ago, and the fact that he’s missing a shirt and you’re no longer girding your loins to mean he finally fucked your brains out, and you can stop complaining about him being a tease and how you’re gonna get carpel tunnel from diddling yourself to thoughts of him every night?” Tess asks Birdie sweetly with a bat of her eyelashes.
My head slowly turns away from Tess to look back at Birdie, a deep blush covering her cheeks as she glares across the room at her friend, her lips clamped shut, not denying the sarcastic accusation at all.
She…. Birdie…. Holy shit, she touched herself thinking about me? I can’t…. Nope. Think of something else. Think of something else! 16 x 97 is… I don’t fucking know. Fuck this fucking shit. Math is hard, and so is my dick!
“Why are you here?” is all Birdie says.
All she fucking says, like we don’t need to sit down right now and have a very lengthy discussion about how long this touching lasted, if there was soft music playing, candles lit, any specific fantasies she thought about me that I can do my best to recreate. Also, I think it’s best she just show me exactly how the touching happened, so I can get a proper visual.
“Same reason you are—to get nasty in a maintenance shed.” Tess shrugs as Bodhi pops his head in from behind her.
“’Sup, guys.” He smiles and nods, resting his chin on Tess’s shoulder.
“Anyway, since you guys took the one we were heading for, we had to use the storm shelter on the 17th hole,” Tess continues while my brain is on the verge of exploding along with my balls. “It’s creepy with no windows, and it smells like armpit in there.”
“That was probably me. I am ripe.” Bodhi chuckles, chin still on her shoulder.
“I’m surprised you did it out here,” Tess muses, making me feel like a selfish, disgusting pig again for about ten seconds as she glances around the small, dirty room until she continues talking when her eyes get back to Birdie’s with a mischievous glint in them. “I thought your first-time fantasy was always him screwing you from behind against the desk in your office afterhours. Look at you being adventurous out in nature!”
Math, math, math, numbers, numbers, grandma taking a bath…
With an annoyed grunt, Birdie uncrosses her arms and stalks around me to stand right in front of Tess, grabbing the door from the wall and starting to pull it closed.
“Okay, good talk. Go away and take your smelly boyfriend with you,” Birdie says, pushing her palm against Tess’s forehead like she’s an annoying little sister as she shoves her out of the doorway.
Tess and Bodhi both laugh as they stumble back, and Birdie slams the door right in their faces before whirling around to face me.
“She gets super horny thinking about you going down on her, FYI. You’re welcome!” Tess’s muffled shout comes from the other side of the door as she and Bodhi walk away.
I chuckle a little even though my spank bank is now officially full and no longer accepting any new entries. Birdie’s cheeks are still flushed with embarrassment, and now she’s biting her bottom lip nervously, staring down at her feet, and refusing to meet my eyes. Finally feeling like I can breathe a little since my earlier panic attack, I take a step closer to her, still too nervous to touch her, what with all those diddling and desk screwing thoughts running rampant through my brain right now.
After hearing Tess leak a little dirty insight into Birdie’s head, my dick is pulsing, wanting to make whatever fantasy she has ever had about the two of us come true right now. Just knowing she ever thought about us like that for even one second is almost too much for me to take. I never imagined in a million years she would feel like this. I thought I’d have to spend a lot of time easing her away from being just friends and into something more, give her time to see me in a different way. It’s a dream come true, and I’m afraid to move or speak or ruin it all over again by not being slow and taking my time with her.
“Yes, I often masturbate to thoughts of you, and I have so many fantasies I could probably write a shit-ton of erotica and make more money than I do at SIG. Whatever. Let’s not make a big thing about it,” Birdie rambles with an adorable sigh and a shrug, finally looking up at me through her long, dark lashes.
I need to say something before these Birdie masturbation thoughts turn me into a caveman again.
“I started calling you sweet cheeks the night we played cornhole, because every time you bent over to get your bags in that short romper thing you were wearing, I got a tiny little peek at the curve of your sweet, perfect ass cheeks I just wanted to sink my teeth into, and I jerked off so hard that night I think I passed out for a few minutes, and I definitely forgot my own name for a while,” I say in one breath right after Birdie finishes, not wanting her to feel like she’s been the only one going crazy.
A tiny smile starts to curve the corner of her mouth as she brings her head up to fully look at me, that smile making my heart thump erratically in my chest and my palms start to sweat.
“Birdie,” I whisper, starting to reach out to touch her and then quickly dropping my hand, feeling like I still don’t have the right until she accepts my apology. “I’m so sor—”
Birdie immediately closes the few feet of distance between us and smacks her palm against my mouth, cutting me off as the smile on her face turns upside down and she’s back to glaring at me, the storm in her eyes starting to swirl back up again.
“I swear to God if you apologize to me again, I will bring my knee up against your balls so hard they will fly up into your throat and choke you,” she growls, making me swallow thickly with her hand still covering my mouth and shift my feet to rearrange my junk.
And not because of the scary image of her kneeing me in the groin so hard I taste my own testicles, but because now I’m looking at the skin of her throat, remembering how she held my hand there, forcing me to grip her harder while I fucked her, wanting me to….
Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I wrap my fingers around her hand and slowly pull it away from my mouth, wanting to lace my fingers through hers, but she yanks it out of my hold and puts her hands on her hips.
“You deserved a nice comfortable bed, and romantic words, and soft caresses,” I start, getting nervous the longer I stare into her angry eyes as they look up at me, my words beginning to come out faster and a little more hysterical. “You are beautiful and perfect and my person, and you deserved so much more than a quick and dirty fuck on a public golf course inside a maintenance shed against a disgusting wall. I mean, for shit’s sake, Birdie, I didn’t even take the time to get you naked! What kind of an animal doesn’t get the woman of his dreams naked so he can appreciate every inch of her body? I didn’t even get to see your boobs!”
My hands are tossed up in the air with an annoyed scoff, and I’m so busy losing my shit and berating myself that I momentarily forget who I’m talking to and who Birdie is as a person, and I don’t have time to brace myself.
With her own annoyed huff, Birdie suddenly grabs the neck of her tank top, her fingers grabbing onto the cups of her bra along with it, yanking everything down until her full, round, perfect tits and rosy-pink nipples are out in the open on display.
“Fuuucking Jesus… Christ,” I can barely spit out, my dick as hard as steel as I stare at her naked chest for the five seconds she holds her tank top down before pulling the cotton material back up and covering herself.
“There. Now you saw my boobs. Can we be done with your little freak-out now?” she asks, resting her hands on her hips defiantly again. “Stop pissing me off. Your apology makes me feel like you regret what we did, and I don’t regret one second of what happened in this room, okay? If I wanted you to slow down or I wanted us to move somewhere more comfortable, I have a voice, and I know how to use it. Every mark you left on my skin with your mouth, every twinge I feel on my body where you gripped me, and wanted me, and couldn’t take one more second of not…”
She
pauses, and I realize both of us are panting a little with every word she says, and I’m suddenly remembering the guttural, aching need in her voice when I was taking her against the wall, and every time I heard her say “more… harder… Palmer, Palmer, Palmer…”
Birdie swallows a few times, licks her lips, and looks up at me again.
I watch her take a deep breath, and then she closes the distance between us. With my hands clenched into fists down at my sides, I watch her slide her palms up my abs, over my chest, and rest them on my shoulders. Not being able to take it anymore, my hands jerk out and grip her hips tightly as she leans in closer and slides her body against mine, pushing up on her toes, pressing her cheek to mine, and smashing those perfect tits into my chest as she leans forward more until her lips hover right next to my ear, making my fucking body shiver.
Goddamn this woman and what she does to me.
“Please, Palmer,” she whispers, her warm breath skating against my ear, my dick jumping inside my shorts, wanting to rut against her as soon as she says my name. “Don’t ever apologize to me again about what happened in here. In case you forgot, I came screaming your name against that disgusting wall, inside this maintenance shed, on this public golf course.”
Fuck, is this even real life? Hearing her say that out loud is almost hotter than actually witnessing it and feeling it happen all around my cock.
My arms are around her, and I’m hugging the hell out of her before I can take my next rasping breath, holding her against me tightly, lifting her toes off the ground as she squeals. As soon as I set her back down, Birdie pulls her head back from next to mine and cocks it to the side with a smile as she looks up at me, her arms still wrapped around my shoulders.
“It was kind of awesome,” I finally admit with my own smile, clasping my hands together against her lower back and tugging her closer, wishing my brain could come up with better words to describe the earth-shattering experience of having sex with Birdie for the first time.
“It was perfect,” she sighs dreamily, making my heart melt in my damn chest. “I mean, you fucked me like a champ in the Birdie-launch hug position.” She winks, making my chest rumble with laughter against hers.
“I did do that, didn’t I?” I ask, wagging my eyebrows at her, one of my hands sliding down to squeeze her ass, because I can.
Shit… because I can. I can grab Birdie’s ass, and I can hold Birdie in my arms, and we can talk about fucking up against a wall like it’s totally normal… because it is now.
“Go on a date with me tonight.”
I tell her; I don’t ask.
Because I can now.
Because she’s finally fucking mine.
“Okay. What time and what should I wear?” She smiles up at me without argument.
Because she doesn’t have to anymore.
Because she knows she’s finally fucking mine.
CHAPTER 20
Birdie
“After 18 holes I can barely walk.”
Palmer: I think I have a problem.
Birdie: Did you jerk off AGAIN? My God, man, we just had sex an hour ago. You DO have a problem. They have addiction centers for that, you know.
Palmer: You’re hilarious. Now don’t you feel bad for denying my request of taking a shower together so we could conserve water and forcing me to go back to my own cottage to get ready for our date? Also, I remember hearing something about someone else having a diddling problem recently.
Birdie: Stop saying diddling. It’s weird when you say diddling.
Palmer: You like a little diddly-do in your diddling dungeon, do ya?
Birdie: I am never having sex with you again.
Palmer: I have something in my pants that I believe will change your mind.
Birdie: Your wallet?
Palmer: I think I liked it better when you were so full of my giant cock that you couldn’t speak other than moaning my name. Remember that fun time? We should do that again.
Palmer: Ha! No answer. Diddly-do says what?
Birdie: OMG cut it out! I’m trying to finish putting my makeup on.
Birdie: And slide my warm, nimble fingers down inside my wet panties to play with myself a little. #multitasking
Palmer: You want to kill me, don’t you?
Birdie: Why are you still texting me? Aren’t you supposed to be picking me up in like, ten minutes? Are you even going to put in any effort to look pretty for this date?
Palmer: Shit. Why WAS I texting you? You are a distraction, woman. Oh yeah, that’s right. I was checking my email after I got out of the shower and something came through that I wanted to see if you saw. Anyway, we can talk about it later, no big deal. I’ll let you get back to it. Gotta go pick up my hot date in a few minutes.
“Wow, a stroll along Summersweet Lane for our first date… how original,” I tease, squeezing Palmer’s hand in mine as he swings them back and forth between us while we walk.
I’m actually glad we’re doing something easy and casual like grabbing a bite to eat in town and just walking around. I’m not going to lie; I was more than a little nervous about this date, which was just ridiculous. This man had already been inside me, and I was freaking out about him picking me up and taking me somewhere.
I mean… an actual date with Palmer Campbell. I felt like I was fifteen all over again and I couldn’t believe my best friend liked me and wanted to take me on a date. Or I was seventeen, or twenty, or twenty-five, or every single year since the day I met him and had to suffer through the friend-zone. I couldn’t wrap my head around it all through my shower and the entire time I got ready, even though I dreamed about it a million times, and even though I was still deliciously sore from what we did in that shed. Every step I took walking around my bedroom, trying to find something to wear, reminded me I had no reason to be nervous about anything. His dick had just been in my vagina. That’s about as close as two people can get, and the nerves should be long gone.
I still spent way too long making sure my long blonde beach waves were beach wavy enough, and on making sure my subtle makeup that made my blue eyes pop, my lashes look extra thick and long, and my skin glow was subtle enough. Not to mention how many times I second-guessed what I was wearing—a red, short, floral-printed mini dress with a ruffled low-cut bodice, drawstring ruching, and a fitted waist that I paired with strappy wedge sandals, hoping it was nice enough for a date with Palmer.
When we turned onto Summersweet Lane and he parked his golf cart in front of Chew on This, all my nerves disappeared in an instant. It’s definitely less stressful to just do something simple and easy with him, something we’ve done a million times, and something that feels right and perfect and so us, instead of the pressure of a typical fancy dinner on the mainland where a fan could spot him and interrupt us or God forbid take a picture and start circulating rumors, when I haven’t even gotten his public image back in tip-top shape yet.
Going from nothing but friends for fifteen years to something so much more in the blink of an eye should have made everything awkward and the conversation between us nervous and stilted. I mean, I saw my best friend’s penis! And my-oh-my, what a lovely penis it is. But nothing is awkward, and the conversation never stops. We’re still us… just a handsier version and with more tongue.
Palmer suddenly stops walking right in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Hang Five Arcade, tugging on my hand and jerking me back to him until I bump up against the front of him. He’s always good-looking, but even more so tonight. Wearing a pair of dark-gray fitted golf pants that cling to his juicy ass and a white polo tucked into his pants with a dark-gray belt low around his hips, no hat on his head, so I can see his green eyes with his short brown hair pushed back and to the side, he’s dressed the same as I’ve seen him a million times before. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally seen what’s under the clothes, or maybe it’s because of the way he doesn’t hide how much he wants me when he looks at me. Whatever it is, excited butterflies flap around my stomach when I feel hi
m against me, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how easily and casually he just pulls me in like this, like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it.
Taking our joined hands, he wraps them both around my lower back and tugs me closer until our bodies are pressed together from our thighs to our chests. His free hand comes up to gently cup my cheek as he stares into my eyes, making my skin break out in goose bumps even though the humidity is even worse after the storm.
“Yep, I brought you on our first date to this busy, bustling street in the middle of town that we’ve walked down thousands of times before,” Palmer says softly, as the street does indeed bustle around us as he holds my face in his hand, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek, never taking his eyes off mine.
The sun set not too long ago, and all the colorful lights from the business fronts are flashing and shining up and down the street. Island music is playing from the speaker mounted above the tourist information booth across from us. People are laughing, talking, and taking in the sights, easily walking around us as we continue standing in the middle of the sidewalk. The bells and whistles from the arcade and a breeze from the cool air conditioning float out every time someone opens the door a few feet away. The motors of golf carts putter by on the street, someone shouts someone else’s name as they run by us, and my stomach growls when I can smell that intoxicating scent of greasy fried foods like french fries, onion rings, and funnel cakes. But I don’t pay attention to anything except the man holding me in his arms as he continues talking to me.
“I brought you here, to this street we’ve walked down thousands of times before, just so I could do this,” Palmer says, slowly dipping his head and pressing his lips to mine.
It’s soft, and it’s sweet, and he just holds his lips against mine for a few beats before pulling away, dropping his hand from my cheek, unwinding our arms from behind my back, and tugging me to start walking with him down the sidewalk again. Anxious jitters make my skin feel like it’s being poked with pins and needles when he doesn’t say anything else. He just smiles at me over his shoulder as we walk a little farther until he stops again, this time in front of Summersweet Souvenirs, the entire front of the building nothing but windows displaying T-shirts, beach towels, hermit crabs, and wave boards.