Bend

by Kivrin Wilson

  And I can finally see his face. With a gulp, I jerk my head back to look up and take in his dark and hooded eyes, the firm set to his jaw, the bulging veins in his neck. He wants me. It’s driving him nuts, I can tell. He said it’s a mistake. He’s pissed about it. But he can’t help himself. Because he wants me too much.

  I don’t want him angry, though. I want him to kiss me and touch me and fuck me and be happy about it. So I jerk on my good hand until he lets it go, and then I place it on his cheek. I’m stroking his face where his skin is rough under my palm, tracing my thumb along the line of his jaw. Keeping my gaze locked with his, I move my hand around to the back of his head, burying it in his hair, which is still mostly dry.

  Tugging his head down, I whisper, “Kiss me, Jay.”

  Stop fighting this.

  Something shifts in his eyes. His shoulders sag, and he exhales harshly. “Mia…”

  I smile at him, but I don’t even know if he notices, because he’s lifting me up on the tips of my toes, slanting his head, and dipping down, and then his lips are firm on mine, firm and hot.

  There’s nothing hesitant or reluctant about him now. He’s kissing me like he’s claiming me, like he’s been starving and I’m a feast. I open my mouth—another invitation he accepts, his tongue darting inside. Tasting me. Teasing me. Invading me.

  I let out a half moan, half sob, and his arm snakes around me so he can grab my ass and push me flush up against him. I’m floating on air, dancing on clouds, and dissolving into nothing. With steam swirling around our heads, I’m standing in my shower and kissing Jay—kissing Jay…my Jay…my best friend, Jay—and I can feel him everywhere, his wet skin against mine.

  Drawing my lower lip into his mouth and biting it gently, he breaks off the kiss. I close my eyes, bending my neck back as he moves down to suck and nibble on the skin just above my collarbone. Kissing a trail from there and up to my ear, he captures my earlobe between his teeth. I let out a small whimper. Do I actually like that? I didn’t know I liked that. Maybe his mouth is magical.

  Then he’s letting go of my ass and sliding his hand around to slip it between my thighs, sliding it between the folds until his thumb is on my clit. A whimper escapes me, my hips thrusting into his touch.

  His mouth still on my ear, he whispers, “Spread your legs.”

  Holy shit. I’m gasping for breath, his words so arousing that I feel like my insides are trying to crawl out of my skin.

  Hanging on to him with a firm grip on the back of his neck, I comply, opening my legs, opening myself and inviting him in. His thumb still stroking the bundle of nerves above my opening, he pushes a finger inside my swollen pussy. A mewling sound rises in my throat.

  “Jesus, Mia,” he growls. “You’re so wet.”

  “You did that.” I’m pressing myself against his hand, meeting his strokes. “That’s all you.”

  I feel his whoosh of breath on my ear, and his finger is joined by another, stretching me and sending sparks of pleasure into my core. He shifts us around so that my back is against the cold and hard wall, and I dig my fingers into the soft and mostly dry hair at the nape of his neck as he captures my lips again, kissing me deeply and fervently while he’s finger-fucking me.

  “I want you inside me,” I pant out against his mouth, running my hand down his wide shoulder, his sculpted chest with its light dusting of hair, and his subtle six-pack. Down, down to the defined V of muscles low on his hips, tracing the line of hair forming a path from his belly button toward his groin.

  Again he stops me before I manage to grasp him, shoving my arm aside and pinning it back against the wall. “I’m going to taste you first.”

  My heartbeat drops between my legs, where it drums and throbs while he’s stroking inside me. Weakly, I can only think to say, “Okay.”

  His head dips as he brushes a trail with his tongue and teeth down to my breasts. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you?” he asks before his lips close on my nipple, drawing it into his warm and wet mouth.

  Oh, my God. I squeeze my eyes shut and moan, “No. Tell me.”

  He moves over to my other nipple, sucks it in, grazing it with his teeth as he keeps massaging and probing me. Looking up at me, his pale gaze boring into me, he answers, “Since the day I met you.”

  I’m stunned and struggling to breathe as his hot breath trails down my stomach, and my ab muscles tighten, tensing up. Then he pulls his fingers out of me and grabs my thigh, and when he lifts my leg and hooks it over his shoulder, I don’t just let him. I help him, make it easy, leaning back and pressing my heel into his back.

  “Oh, my God,” I gulp out as his mouth closes around my sex. His tongue is swirling and teasing, and my words are echoing in my mind. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. It’s Jay. Jay is eating my pussy, and he’s so damn good at it. Better than he’s ever been in my daydreams. He’s mouth-fucking me like he means it, like he loves it and isn’t just doing it for my sake.

  I’m shutting my eyes, letting the sensations ripple through me. My orgasm ambushes me—flares up like a short fuse that bursts suddenly and with no warning. I cry out, and Jay eases up the pressure while I’m shuddering and moaning, coming hard and fast with his lips and tongue still hot on me.

  My breathing shallow and nerve endings purring, I’m still recovering as he straightens again. He threads his hand into the tangle of wet hair just above the back of my neck, curling his fingers until the strands tighten just shy of hurting me. With a slight tug, he angles my head back and bends to capture my lips. It’s a kiss with no foreplay, his tongue thrusting in without asking permission, stroking and playing on mine. His mouth smells and tastes musky, almost spicy.

  He backs up as abruptly as he dove in, inching back and saying in an undertone, “That’s what you taste like.”

  I exhale harshly. “You’re killing me.”

  “We’ve barely even started.” He turns off the faucet, yanks aside the shower curtain, and pulls my towel off the towel bar. His movements jerky, he throws the thick terry cloth up and behind me. Steam from my shower is lingering, filling the small bathroom with hot, humid air as he wraps the towel around me.

  He steps out of the shower and tugs me along to the outer edge of the tub with a firm grip on the ends of the towel where they meet at my chest. “Hang on,” he says as he takes hold of me under my arms and lifts me up, and then I’m wrapping my legs around his hips and circling his neck with both arms as he carries me to my bedroom.

  Our eyes are locked as he lowers me carefully to the bed and climbs up on top of me in the same motion, because I refuse to let go of him. I jump at the sensory overload as his thumb finds the sweet spot between my thighs again, and then I’m pulling his head down because I want to feel his lips on mine, can’t get enough of it.

  While we’re kissing breathlessly, hungrily, I reach between us and grab him, my hand bumping against his where he’s touching me. He lets out a strangled grunt, and I tighten my grip. His erection is straining against my palm, the tip of it sticky with precum.

  This is how much he wants me. I’m getting light-headed, feeling empty and aching because he’s not inside me yet.

  When I let go of him almost right away, I sense his disappointment in the way he kind of sags against me. Flinging my arm around the back of his neck, I pull myself up and dig my teeth gently into his neck, feeling his pulse on my lips.

  “I need you to fuck me now,” I whisper before biting his earlobe, sucking it into my mouth.

  He pushes himself up onto his hands so he can look at me. His lips curving in a tiny smile, he arches his eyebrows at me, though he says nothing, and I’m staring at him in confusion. What?

  Then it hits me.

  Say please.

  Seriously? Breathing through my nose, I widen my eyes at him. In response, he just smirks some more, and I kind of want to hit him.

  Fine. Glaring, I grind out a grudging, “Please.”

  His teasing smile fades, and with hooded eyes,
he seizes my hips, lifting them up off the bed, his cock nudging my opening. And then he’s guiding himself inside me, and I suck in a breath and hold it. Hold it as he stretches me and pushes deeper, as deep as he can go, filling me completely. The only sounds are the whispers of our shallow breathing. With our still-damp bodies on the bed, the towel an abrasive surface under my back, Jay starts to move inside me.

  I want to touch him everywhere. So I start by running my hands down his back. Then I grab his ass and feel his muscles flexing with each thrust. Pull him closer until there’s no space between us. He’s rocking into me, and I’m tilting my hips to the same rhythm, meeting him, accommodating him.

  My blood is pumping hard. I’m too worked up, oversensitive from my first climax, and high on the awareness that this is Jay.

  It’s Jay, inside of me.

  Jay, screwing me.

  It feels so good.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “Mia...”

  With my arms and legs, I pull him down, steer his head so his mouth collides with mine. This time it’s me with a probing tongue, me biting his lips while he’s fucking me hard.

  And then I’m coming again, and it’s like I’m soaring and falling apart, waves and waves of bliss washing over me. Jay’s hoarse grunt is in my ear. He goes still, spilling inside me, and I cry out as the liquid heat sends aftershocks rippling through me.

  I don’t let him go, and he doesn’t move away. Our chests rise and fall in unison. I’m smelling sweat and sex and the fabric softener on my sheets. Jay is still between my legs, and all should be right with the world right now, but somehow it’s not.

  Because it’s too right. Too good. And I wasn’t supposed to care that all of this comes with an expiration date, that all too soon he’ll be leaving for a new life without me.

  But I do.

  So. That happened.

  I’m lying spent and sated on Mia’s bed. Above us her ceiling fan spins on high, quickly cooling down my sweat-slicked body, and the glare from its lightbulbs blends with the muted daylight peeping in between the closed blinds to create a glow that seems cloudy and artificial. And that just adds to my sense of having come untethered, of having only a vague idea of what day or time it is—or where I am and why.

  I slant a sideways look at Mia where she’s resting an arm’s distance from me. She’s on her stomach with one arm folded under her head and her injured hand on the pillow, and she’s watching me with eyes that are unblinking, unfathomable, and glassy with afterglow. Her half-dry hair is tangled and mussed, her cheeks flushed.

  Naked and uncovered, she seems entirely unselfconscious. And that—more so than all that porcelain flesh and round ass and long, shapely legs—is the most attractive thing about her. How comfortable she is in her own skin. How little she cares about being measured and judged.

  She’s so beautiful it makes my bones ache. Pretty and perfect, like one of those dolls people might keep in curios and on high shelves, there to be admired but never touched—and definitely never to be played with.

  Maybe that’s why it felt so good to play with her.

  Now, though. Now there’s definitely regret. Regret mixed with a healthy dose of despair, because I know I’d do it again. It’s a sensation similar to having overindulged—on food, alcohol, or whatever—and hating yourself afterward because you feel like shit but know it’s pointless to swear you’ll never do it again. Because it felt too fucking good. And it was worth it.

  I’m not even mad at her. Yeah, she started this. She pushed and pushed, taunted and teased, ignoring my emphatic objections. But I’m a goddamned adult. There was a point when I could’ve made myself walk away. Not sure when that was exactly, because I definitely tried…and failed spectacularly.

  Shit.

  Focusing my gaze on her again, I find myself wanting to reach out and touch her. Cup her cheek, brush my thumb along the contours of her face, bury my fingers in her hair. Something stops me, though. It’s as if there’s a barrier that separates me and some hidden danger, and I don’t even want to know what it is. Actually facing it is unthinkable right now.

  So instead I ask, “How’s your hand?”

  Her forehead puckers, and her eyes go squinty, like she’s considering it. “Achy.”

  “More or less than before?”

  “A little more, I think,” she answers, sounding hesitant. “I really don’t want any more hydrocodone, though.”

  Probably a smart choice, but I don’t like that she’s in pain. “Got any over-the-counter stuff?”

  “In my medicine cabinet,” she replies with a nod.

  I vault out of bed and pad across the carpet to her bathroom. First thing I do is pluck my boxers off the floor and pull them on, and then I look in the mirror-covered cabinet. It’s well-stocked with medications for a variety of minor ailments, which isn’t surprising. Mia doesn’t like being uncomfortable, not when she can help it.

  Grabbing her bottle of ibuprofen and a small tube of antibiotic ointment, I set them on the sink while I thoroughly scrub my hands under the faucet. As I return to the bedroom, I find that she hasn’t moved at all. Silently, I edge around the bed to where she’s lying, twist the cap off the small container, and shake a couple of pills out into my hand.

  While I open the water bottle on her nightstand, she rolls over, visibly shivers, and pulls her sheet over herself as she pushes up on her elbows, which is really too bad. The sight of naked Mia definitely threatens my sanity, but it’s kind of hard to remember why that’s a problem right now.

  She thanks me and washes the pills down quickly, and when I pick up the antibiotic cream, she shoves her pillow up against the headboard and sits upright.

  “You need to use this three times a day,” I tell her as I toss the tube down on the bed.

  With a smirk and dancing eyes, she replies, “Thank you, Dr. B. I know that.”

  Of course she does. My lips twitch but don’t split into a smile.

  Her gaze lowers, raking slowly down my body and back up again, and she’s not even trying to disguise the appreciation that’s glittering in her eyes. Heat flares in my stomach and flows down to my crotch.

  Goddamn. Has she looked at me like that before and I just missed it, or is this a new thing? Because I’m pretty sure if she doesn’t stop, I’ll have no choice about fucking her again. Right now.

  Reaching out my slightly unsteady hand, I wait for her to offer me her bandaged one. She does, and then I start to peel away the tape holding in place the gauze bandage between her thumb and forefinger.

  “We’re gonna do that again at some point, right?” she says suddenly, her voice husky…and cautiously hopeful.

  My lungs constrict, but I don’t look at her, concentrating on my task—or at least pretending to. “I don’t know. Are we going to be more responsible about it?”

  “What?” She sounds confused, and then she lets out a sigh and says, “Ooh. I’ve got an IUD and I’m on the pill. It’s like Fort Knox down there.”

  I glance up and see her pointing a finger down the front of her body, her cheeks dimpling mischievously. She’s trying to be funny and disarming. It’s not really working on me right now.

  “And when was the last time you took the pill?” I ask, arching my eyebrows.

  Her expression looks blank at first. Then her eyes go wide, and she yanks her hand out of my grasp and scoots off the bed. “Be right back.”

  Jesus. She’s exhausting. Maddening. As she disappears into the bathroom, I reach up and rub my eyes, way more disgusted with myself than with her. It hadn’t even occurred to me to ask if she had a condom—which she most likely does. Making me forget such a basic thing…how does she do it?

  She comes back out of the bathroom. Still naked. Her breasts bounce as she hurries back to the bed, and my dick stirs. All rested and ready to go again.

  God-fucking-damn it.

  After crawling back under the sheet and sitting up under it with her knees bent, she thrusts her hand back out at me.

/>   “Not sure why I’m having to explain this to you of all people,” I say as I loosen the bandage enough to fold it back, exposing her stitches and the angry, red skin underneath, “but pregnancy is hardly the only risk.”

  She blinks at me, and then her eyes shift from confused to incredulous. “Seriously?” she exclaims, a high-pitched squeal. “I don’t have any STDs, Jay. For Pete’s sake.”

  She says for Pete’s sake a lot, just like her grandmother does. I’ve always thought it was cute. A part of what makes her her.

  “How many of your patients who test positive for something are surprised by it?” I ask her while picking up the antibiotic, satisfied that I’m making a good point here.

  For a while she only stares at me, tight-lipped. Then, in a strained tone, she asks, “Exactly how many guys do you think I’ve fucked?”

  Aw, shit. I really would rather not answer that question. Since I’ve known her, she’s dated four guys…that I’m aware of. And I’d probably know if there were more, because, unlike me, she’s not big on keeping secrets. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t hooked up with other men. So I have no idea, really, and it’s something I’ve never wanted to dwell on.

  “I don’t know, Mia. You told me you like sex.” I uncap the tube and squeeze a dollop of ointment onto my finger. “Well, I really like sunflower seeds, and I eat them at least once a week.”

  She scoffs, a sound overloaded with disgust. “Okay. My ob-gyn recommends STD testing for all single women who are sexually active. I had my annual a couple of months ago, and I’m clean. How about you?”

  Yeah. No. Not going there. No way am I telling her that shortly after starting my residency, I decided having a girlfriend was an extra stressor that I absolutely did not need and that casual hookups aren’t my thing. She’ll just think that’s something we have in common, and then I’d have to say, sure, but I didn’t decide the solution was to start screwing my best friend.

  “All right,” I’m muttering. “Never mind.”

  Gingerly, I spread the medicated salve over her sutures, bracing myself for her flinch of pain, but she stays still and quiet as I finish and cover the wound again.