“So fucking hot, Hols, the way you let go…” He laved my collarbones, sucking lightly. He shifted, giving me a hard thigh to ride as his mouth made its way down past my light sprinkling of chest hair to my nipple.
“Here?” He raised his head slightly. “Sensitive here, too?”
I made an inarticulate noise.
“Guess we’ll find out.” He laughed before sucking hard on the little nub.
“Fuck.” My back bowed and my legs tightened around his thigh.
“Oh yeah.” He exploited his new knowledge, toying with the free nipple while sucking the first, experimenting to see how much teeth I could handle, how much suction made me moan his name.
“Sawyer. S…not yet, not yet,” I started to chant. “Can’t. Not yet.”
“You going to come?” He chortled, like this was the best news he’d ever heard. “Please, Hols, do it. Don’t worry about me. Come while I play with your nipples and neck. You’re so fucking sexy.”
A frustrated noise escaped from my chest. “No. Can’t.”
My hips kept rocking restlessly, seeking something just out of reach. His eyes widened—his I’ve-had-a-brainstorm face that usually made me nervous. “Hols? Do you need me to say the words? Tell you to wait to come? Is that what gets you off, babe?”
Oh, he was a cunning one for sure. The casual hookups since Yuto hadn’t really bothered to figure out that my mutterings got me more excited, not less. It was like grinding against Sawyer—something hard and immovable only made everything sweeter for me. I didn’t nod, though; that was a level of vulnerability I wasn’t sure I had in me.
Sawyer moved so his lips were right near my ear. “It is, isn’t it? Gets you off if I tell you I’m going to come first, make you wait.”
My hips convulsed under him.
“Yeah. It is. I got you, Hols.” His lips were tender against my skin, even as his voice went harder. “I don’t want you to come yet. But I’m going to suck your neck and nipples until you beg me.”
“Please.” The word was a broken sound torn from my lungs.
He was good as his word, too, sucking and nipping, licking and teasing. My nipples ached and I might need a scarf all week and I couldn’t care less. I flew.
“No, not yet, not yet.” His voice was a stern growl that came straight from my dearest fantasies.
I made a keening noise in the back of my throat, rutting hard against his thigh. “Please.”
“No.” Sawyer sat up slightly, unzipped. “Think I’m going to jerk off on you first.”
The sound that came out of me next was a half sob.
“How good are you, Hols?” Instead of following his words, his hand went to my fly next. He shoved my pants and boxers down. “Good enough at waiting so I can touch you? Still can’t come.”
“I’m good.” I would have promised him a symphony if it got his hand on my dick.
“This good?” He shifted again, pushing his pants out of the way before wrapping one of his meaty hands around both of our dicks. His mouth found my neck, and despite my promises, I almost came on the spot.
“Want to come like this. Your dick against mine. Kissing you. But not you, not yet.” Sawyer’s breath was ragged. Sweat beaded up along his forehead. His eyes locked onto mine, even as his breath and hand sped up.
“Can’t…oh…Sawyer. Can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You can wait. I’ll tell you when.”
“Yes.” I had a strong feeling he hadn’t played like this before, but he knew all the right buttons to push to make my body sing.
“I’m close, Hols. Can you feel it?” His big body shuddered, thighs tensing against mine.
“Yes.” My hands gripped his shoulders hard enough that I wouldn’t be the only one with marks. The slide of his dick against mine was almost too much, and when I looked down at his hand working, I had to close my eyes quickly and use every trick I knew to clamp down on the rising pleasure.
“I’m going to jerk you after…messy…and you’re going to love it.”
“God, yes.”
“Oh, Hols. Here it comes.” His hand jerked harder and I moaned, my whole body tightening, balls lifting. But holding back was its own kind of intense pleasure-pain. His mouth found mine right as the first spurt hit my belly. He moaned into my mouth as his body shook and came.
“Fuck. You are so good. So good.” He let go of his dick, slippery hand working only on me now. “You ready?”
“Yes. Please. Yes.”
“Good.” He stroked faster. “Now, Hols, now. Come for me.”
“Unnh.” After all that waiting my orgasm was right there, but I hung on the edge.
“You were perfect,” he whispered. “So good for me.” Then his mouth found my neck and I let go of the edge, falling softly into the waves of an orgasm so powerful that tears were rolling down my cheeks as I cried out and clung to Sawyer.
I called his name and he made little soothing sounds as it felt like my entire body turned inside out. Somehow we ended up with Sawyer on the floor, sitting with his side to the couch, his head resting on my chest. I wove my fingers through his soft, bushy hair.
“That feels nice,” he said sleepily. He’d lost his pants at some point, and Sawyer naked on my rug was something even my wildest fantasies hadn’t conjured up.
“I should get us a towel,” I said, but my muscles refused to move.
“I’ll do it.” Sawyer didn’t get dressed. Not even his boxers. He simply loped naked across the living area to the bathroom. Water ran, then he was back with a warm cloth. Instead of handing it to me, he sponged off my stomach. “You were incredible, Hols. I had no idea…”
“Neither did I.” I managed a little laugh.
“You’re kinky,” he said, unexpected affection lacing his words. He pushed my pants the rest of the way off, then grabbed the cashmere throw I kept on the back of the couch and spread it over me. “I love it.”
“You’re the one who suggested tying my hands.” I didn’t bother denying his words as I pulled the cover tighter around me.
“Hey, however kinky you need, I’m game.” He winked at me before settling back down on the rug. Still didn’t make a move for his clothes. “Never tried much before, but it’s fun.”
“Fun,” I echoed, then groaned. “Sawyer, what are we doing here?”
He patted my hand. “Having fun. Does it have to have a name? We’re two horny guys who just came gangbusters together and who wouldn’t mind doing that a time or ten more.”
“Repeating this would not be sane,” I lectured myself every bit as much as him.
“But it sure would be fun.” He gave a happy little sigh. “If keeping it quiet is what you need, I can keep it on the down low—”
“Sawyer. You have never kept anything discreet. Ever. You told me and Char minutes after you lost your virginity.”
“I won’t tell her, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He sounded a bit hurt. “You were my friend back then. I wanted to share.... Never mind.”
“Hollis. Char. It finally happened!” Sawyer collapsed on our leather couch, looking even more out of breath and disheveled than usual. He’d even turned down my mom’s offer of food when he first came in, waiting until she was back in the kitchen to speak.
“You did it? For reals?” Char leaned forward. When—not if, but when—Sawyer would lose his virginity had been the topic for weeks.
“Yes.” Sawyer sighed happily, snuggling into the cushions like a content puppy.
My world stopped revolving with that single syllable. I hurt, muscles aching, teeth clenching. Was this jealousy? I didn’t know, only knew that I had to get out of there. Right then.
“I’ve got homework,” I said stiffly and headed for the stairs, but not before I heard Sawyer call it “magical.”
Magical. The word instantly lost all
its sparkle for me.
My gut twisted a bit at the memory, making words slip out of my mouth I otherwise would have held back. “We’re friends now.”
“We are?” He smiled broadly at this, like I’d handed him some sort of present. “Then see, we can be the sort of friends who bang for the holidays. No worries.”
“Sawyer,” I groaned. “Is this part of the holiday cheer package? Use sex to win your bet?”
“Would it work?” He peered intently at me. “Because it could be.”
“No.” I pushed at his shoulder. “You might be good in bed—”
“Thank you.”
“—But you’re not getting me singing carols just because you have a magic cock.”
“You haven’t even seen half of what I can do.” His pride was almost adorable. “Tuesday’s my birthday. You should come over after the dinner.”
“I don’t usually hand out sexual favors as gifts.” I didn’t bother trying to get out of the dinner; Char would roast me if I didn’t come, and something about Sawyer’s eyes told me he cared about my showing up. That made me both warm and queasy at the same time.
“Maybe you should start.” He leered at me, the vulnerability of a few moments ago all but gone. “And we’re going to my place because your cat has been staring at us the last twenty minutes and it’s starting to freak me out.”
I looked over, and sure enough, Benedict was on the side chair, a strange expression on his Siamese face, as if he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d witnessed. I felt much the same way.
Chapter 8
By Tuesday I’d worked myself up into a low-grade panic attack over the dinner that night. I wished I could cancel, but it was a tradition, and upsetting my very-pregnant sister wasn’t something I was willing to do. It was bad enough that I was still planning on being a no-show to Christmas dinner. I couldn’t miss this, too.
Char had started the birthday dinner tradition our junior year of high school. When we were all in the same city, we did a dinner for the Murphy twins in December and then one for us in March. It was all very twinsy and cute and totally not my idea. The duo having a birthday got to pick the restaurant, which meant beer and burgers in December and Japanese in March because it was the one thing Char and I could agree on.
She’d called earlier in the day, leaning on me about Christmas plans. Between her and the bet with Sawyer, my resolve to pretend the season didn’t exist was…well, weakening wasn’t a word I wanted to be associated with, but it was under fire. The silly bet with Sawyer had me seeing details I hadn’t let myself notice in years: the decorated windows walking up Alberta, the wreaths on the doors to the other condos in my building, the goodies at my favorite gourmet grocery store. Maybe this was what people meant when they said grief lessened with time. Or maybe it was that Sawyer and all his distractions were more pressing. And that made me sad in ways I couldn’t really verbalize.
I was still mulling over my melancholy or lack thereof when my phone buzzed. I had no one in the shop so I pulled it out to check.
It was from Sawyer, and it wasn’t the first text since Sunday either. He’d texted when he’d gotten home on Sunday and he’d sent a few innuendo-laced texts yesterday, the most notable being, Been Googling rope. I blame you. He seemed to love getting me all flustered.
Tucker picked Hopworks because they have the play area for Aria. Need a ride?
I did actually, as I didn’t have a car, and squeezing in Char’s minivan to head to the brewery in the southeastern part of the city had limited appeal, but what I typed was, This is all part of your ploy to make me go home with you.
His reply was almost instantaneous. Guilty. Pick you up at the close of business?
Fine. I do need to get home to feed Benedict after, though.
Ha. I’ll pick you up at your place instead, give you a chance to lay out extra kibble ;)
For a brief moment I wished for one of those discerning Siamese cats who would only eat fresh food proffered at the exact right moment. No, I had the composter version that ate everything from corn to off-brand kibble with equal enthusiasm. He wouldn’t mind if I were out late, but the prospect still gave me shivers.
All right. Just typing that felt like a huge leap, the sort we’d made as kids into the deep end at the neighborhood pool. Then, because that was a bit curt, I added, Happy Birthday btw.
Thanks. Oh, and don’t worry about getting me anything, Hols. Really. I’m in more of a *giving* mood this year ;)
Oh damn, Mr. Winky Smiley Face. Now he had me shifting about uncomfortably behind the counter. And I didn’t care what he said about no presents, no way could I show up empty-handed. The last few years, I’d gotten him and Tucker exactly the same thing, usually a gift card to Powell’s Books or perhaps to the restaurant where we were dining. Our tastes were so vastly different that the gift cards made the most sense. I’d exhausted belts and wallets as gift options, but I wasn’t sure what else to get them. I did, however, take pride in packaging the cards nicely.
Regardless of what I did, it had to be near identical or Char would be on to Sawyer and me before the dessert was served. I wandered around my store, considering options, until finally my eyes landed on an idea.
* * * *
When Sawyer picked me up, I had two gift boxes tucked into my bag, both done in my store’s signature style of handmade paper boxes with silver flourishes and bows. For Sawyer alone I might have gone a bit more whimsical. And I didn’t want to think about why that was, why I suddenly had this urge to treat him…differently. But as it was, I was taking a chance not going the gift-card route.
After feeding Benedict I had stared at my toothbrush for several long minutes. Way longer than I needed to. Throwing it in my bag seemed to be a tacit admission that I was spending the night at Sawyer’s. Not throwing it in seemed like something I’d regret later. After all, I was already planning on ordering the pear and blue cheese salad. Hygiene was only kind right?
Oh, screw it. You’re kissing Sawyer and you know it.
Fine.
Tired of arguing with myself, I put it and a travel-size toothpaste in my bag, but I steadfastly refused to add anything from my dresser to the bag. Better the walk of shame than packing for a sleepover. Not that there would be a walk of shame—
Buzz. My phone jangled with a text from Sawyer that he was out front but double-parked. I grabbed my bag and hurried out.
“Hey, nice scarf.” He gave me a wink as I got into the car.
“Thanks.” It was my new scarf, the one from Ev, and I’d paired it with a slim-fitting jacket and a light blue shirt with slim-fitting pants. And boots: totally frivolous things I’d seen online and been unable to resist. A bit dressy for a Tuesday at the brewery, but they suited me. And I wasn’t the only one who’d dressed up. Sawyer had on his bow tie, sans vest this time. “You dressed up?”
“Told you. I’m trying some new stuff lately.” The look he gave me was downright filthy as he pulled out.
“Yes, I do believe you told me your browser is getting a workout.” I gave him a look in return. “But you know what they say about curiosity…”
“YOLO.” He laughed.
“You are such a dude, bro.”
“Says the hipster who definitely knows what nonwhite color that scarf is.”
“Ecru.”
“My point.” He smirked, but he was driving so the most I could do was sigh heavily. “And you even own moisturizer. I saw it in your bathroom. The other night when we…”
“I know when,” I said tartly. “And you try having parched British skin and not wanting to look fifty before you’re even thirty yet.”
“Next year, man. I can’t wait for the big bash Tucker and I are throwing. We’re even talking about having a band.”
“Goody.”
“Oh, come on. You’ll come right? I’ll make sure there’s somethi
ng leafy and green on the menu for you. And wine, not just beer.”
“I’m the only one of us who drinks wine.” I didn’t let on how it made my hands tingle that he’d planned for me.
“More for you, then. Char’s love of champagne doesn’t count?”
“No.” And just like that, the wedding weekend hung between us again, what had almost happened. What tipsy Char had curtailed. A memory from earlier in the wedding weekend popped into my head: him bringing me a glass of good chardonnay at the rehearsal dinner.
“They seem happy,” Sawyer said, passing me a glass as I stood near the entrance to the dining room. Across the room, Tucker and Char posed for pictures with both sets of parents.
“They are.” I took a deep sip, expecting something close to boxed wine, surprised at the heady taste of a quality vintage. “Is this their house white?”
“No. I asked the bartender for something good.” Sawyer winked at me. Knowing him, the wink meant he’d gotten a phone number from the admittedly very attractive bartender. But somehow I doubted it as, for once, all Sawyer’s charm seemed meant only for me.
Dangerous, foolish thinking, that. I took another sip anyway.
“You like me sauced, don’t you?” I asked, still warm from the memory.
We pulled into the Hopworks lot and he grinned. “You are awfully fun lit. I know you don’t do beer, but the sour cherry cider here is really good. You should try it.”
“I’ll see.”
“Damn. I really wish I hadn’t had to double-park back at your place. There’s no chance of you letting me kiss you before we go in, is there?” The turn of his eyebrows was so beseeching that I had to laugh.
I scanned the parking lot thoroughly for Char and Tucker’s van. Not seeing it, I leaned in and gave him the world’s fastest cheek kiss. “Happy Birthday.”
“You can do better than that—” He leaned in, then, at the last moment, pulled away. “Fuck. There they are.”
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