by Cassie Mae
“I knew you were looking!”
“Can you blame me? I wanted you even then.”
I want him to elaborate, but not now. We’re talking too much as it is. Leave it to me and Wesley to fog up the windows from talking too much, instead of from making out, like normal people.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, I wiggle my hands between our bodies and grab the bottom of my shirt. What bra did I put on? I really hope it’s the one Reagan gave me. It makes me look much bigger than I am. Suddenly I’m thinking Wesley will take one look at my chest and think he fell in love with a boy.
I clamp my eyes shut, figuring I’ve already gone this far. And if my shirt comes off, his better follow shortly after. I’m already getting all tingly where his knee is touching my leg, just thinking about having his skin on mine.
In one swift … okay, really fumbled and awkward tug, my shirt’s over my head, making my curls jump in front of my face. I open my eyes to Wesley, who blinks a couple hundred times, raking me over with this gaze I’ve never seen from anyone. We both gulp and we don’t laugh. I’m not even sure if we’re breathing.
“Your turn,” I whisper, running my nails under the hem of his shirt, caressing the tight skin across his stomach. His eyes finally move from my bare skin to meet mine, and a grin flashes on his face.
“Be careful. Sometimes they snag.”
I try to bite back my laughter, but I can’t help it. His forehead rests on mine as I work his polo off, giggling with uncontrollable excitement. It doesn’t get stuck on his nipples, but it does get stuck on his chin.
I’m actually happy I took mine off first, because I don’t feel nearly as bad for immediately ogling him since he did the same to me. The arms supporting his weight are veined and toned, and I start my journey there, grasping his triceps and tracing patterns over his muscles. He flexes and we both chuckle. I follow the curves to the bumps on his shoulders and start swirling my nails downward, drawing a line between his pecs. He does have nipple rings. I guess I only half believed him on that. I hesitate before flicking one with my pinky as my hands spread flat on his chest.
“Gah, Kayla …” He groans, losing some of his balance on his hands resting by my head.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. You’re driving me crazy.”
I bite back a smile and flick the other nipple ring. “Good.”
“Can I touch you now?”
“Please.”
I let my nails run from his chest down his abs. Resting my hands on his hips, I lift from the floor slightly, still trying to get that skin-to-skin contact I’ve wanted since we tossed our upper wear.
Instead he pulls back and I seriously whine at him. He lies next to me, leaning on his elbow and keeping our legs intertwined. Our torsos aren’t touching at all. I’m about to roll on my side and squeeze him to me, but my whole body becomes welded to the spot the second his finger drops to my belly button.
My fingers took a trip down his body, and it looks like his will take a trip up mine. He swirls his hand over my stomach, tickling me a tiny bit, but it’s not enough for me to recoil. When he reaches my sides, I don’t think I’ve ever felt my skin go so tight. My body starts to shudder with every stroke of his guitar-callused finger. My eyelids fall closed and my mouth pops open of its own accord. Half of my mind yells, Don’t you dare drool! while the other half shuts off completely.
He gets to the bottom of my bra and stops. Again I worry if maybe I’m a disappointment. That my sexy pixie vibe is really not all that cute. His hand flattens and he pulls me so I turn on my side. When I meet his eyes I think I may orgasm just off the look he gives me.
“Damn, you’re hot.”
I laugh, letting go of all my self-consciousness. He’s so eloquent. “You too.” Oh, look at that. We’re two peas in a pod.
He drops his lips on mine, but the kiss is way too short. I pout. “What’s wrong?”
His dimple creases in his chin before he sits up. I reach out to him because, hello! Where is he going?
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want you on my lap. If—if that’s all right.”
Yes, we are so smooth and so meant for each other. I ask if I can take his shirt off and he asks if I can straddle him. Reagan and Talon are going to come out here and catch us with our shirts off and asking permission to touch each other.
I get up on all fours and attempt this sexy crawl thing that probably looks ridiculous, but Wesley’s eyes are trained on mine, a semi-amused smile on his face as I make my way to him leaning against the van door, making me feel like a vixen. I half expect us to go crashing out that door when I settle my knees on either side of his thighs, just because we’re that smooth, but the door stays firm.
Our bodies meld together like Velcro, starting from our hips and up to our chests. I have to stay as high as I can on my knees to meet his height, but his legs bend, so I can rest my butt if I want to. His skin is hot and flushed and I think mine matches his in temperature, even though I’m covered in goose bumps. Our hands move at the same time, landing on each other’s neck and cheeks, pulling so our foreheads meet. Then we wiggle noses, all in this seemingly choreographed dance. To test my theory that we share the same thoughts, I trickle my fingers down to his shoulders, his going down to mine. He wraps his magic hands around me, pulling me closer to rest my head in the crook of his neck. Our hands are still moving in unison, only his go down my back while mine go down his chest.
We haven’t kissed since we moved positions, but by the way we’re both panting, you’d think our lips had been glued together this whole time, preventing us from getting air.
I plant my mouth on the skin by his ear, sucking and licking, and by the way things harden below his belt, I know he likes it. I haven’t done this since Reagan dared me to my sophomore year during a game of spin the bottle, so it’s nice to know I still have my mojo when it comes to giving a hickey.
Then our hands go the opposite way, mine sliding around his neck and his to the small of my back. He’s groaning and caressing my shoulder and arm with his lips. I can’t help giggling against him, and I really don’t have a reason. I’m just so happy. He’s chuckling in tune with me, in between kisses and touches. My heart may short out.
I don’t know how I get the nerve, but it’s Wesley, so I’m thinking it’s him that makes me comfortable enough to do just about anything. So I make a wet path with the tip of my tongue from his neck down to his chest, stopping before I get to that damn sexy nipple ring.
Breaking contact for a moment, I debate whether to ask his permission again. But I figure if he minds, he’ll stop me. I kiss the small metal hoop, then flick my tongue around it. His hand moves from the small of my back to the back of my head and for a panicky moment I think he’ll push me away, but instead he massages my scalp as if he’s encouraging me to continue my exploration of his delicious chest. Which I take full advantage of.
He shifts underneath me, causing my mouth to move back up to his. We keep our lips grazing each other, not kissing but not not kissing either. He smiles, and his eyes get this question in them as his hand goes to the back of my bra.
I wiggle on his lap, a definite yes in answer to his question, then tackle him with a kiss. I swallow his laughter as he kisses me back, our tongues mating and teeth clicking. I’m tugging so hard on his hair I may pull it out if I’m not careful.
His hand is still moving over the back of my bra, fingers desperately trying to find the clasp, but he won’t find it there.
He breaks from my lips and peeks over my shoulder. “What the hell is up with this thing?”
I tickle his spine, laughing as he shivers against me. Then he growls because he still can’t figure out the mechanics of my bra. Instead of going to the front where he’ll find the easy pop-open clasp, he curls his fingers under the material and pulls up. I suppose when you can’t find the hooks, you rip it off any way you know how.
Except he gets halfway up my back and stops. Like, not only his hands,
but everything. He’s gone completely stone still.
“Something wrong?” I ask over his shoulder.
“Uh …” He loosens his hold and I sit back on his lap to look at his face. He looks like he’s in pain. “I think we better cool it.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Lots of reasons.”
“Okay, give me one.”
His face goes pink and he traces a finger over the lace of my bra. “Not assuming where this is going, but if it does go farther, I’m not prepared for it.”
He’ll have to be more specific there. “Prepared emotionally? Or prepared as in you don’t have the proper …” I point to the strain in his jeans. “Wardrobe?”
“Neither. Or both? I can’t really think right now.” He shakes his head, his blond hair sticking all over the place. “But I don’t have a condom. I mean, I do in my apartment …” His trembling hands motion in the direction of his place. “Though the box is probably covered in an inch of dust.”
I snicker, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you don’t have any in here. Wesley! You own a shaggin’ wagon.”
“Guess that shows you how innocent I am.”
“Hmm …” I kneel up, bumping my chest against his as I stretch into my pocket. The foil crinkles in my hand as I push the wrapper against his forehead with one finger. Thank you, Reagan, for the condom wars! “Good thing I’m not so innocent, huh?” I try to sound sexy, even though we both know no one’s been under the zipper.
“You’re weakening my resolve,” he says, letting me keep the condom pressed against his head.
“Good. Now tell me the other reason you’re not prepared for this so I can weaken that as well.”
“Damn it.” He finally takes the condom from me. “This would be much easier if you had your shirt on.”
“You asked to take it off.”
“I know.”
“Wesley, hurry up or our first time will be angry sex.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You really want this,” he says with a chuckle.
Duh! What did he think was happening? Of course I want this. I’ve never wanted anything more. “I want you.” I slide against him, and his eyes roll back. “I told you that already.”
“You want more than sex, though, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I want everything.
“Then we have to fix it first.”
“Fix what?” I ask, now placing kisses on his neck.
“What we did to our best friends.”
Crap. I slouch against him, a defeated sigh blowing from my mouth, making him laugh. He rubs my back, and I have to ignore the way that makes me feel. “Why are you so good?”
He laughs again, tilting my chin up and pressing his puffy lips against mine. The kiss is way too controlled for my liking, though. “One of us has to be.”
I sigh, blowing a curly strand of hair from my face, which Wesley instantly tucks behind my ear. “Okay. We’ll fix that”—I gesture to Phantom’s—“before we do this.” I wiggle a finger between the two of us. “But …”
“But …?”
I sigh again. “Can we at least have some fun on second base before we have to go back in?”
He throws his head back, his sexy cowlick sticking up and the dimple super deep in his chin as he laughs. “If I can get the stupid thing open …” He snaps my bra like a fifth grader does when girls start wearing them. I tug on one of his nipple rings and twist in retaliation. Then he flips me underneath him, rubbing the sore spot on his chest. “I don’t think that’s what you meant by playing on second base.”
I take his hand, smiling as I direct him to the clasp in front of my bra. He slides his fingers over it, face heating up. “Now, that would’ve been good to know.”
Our bodies vibrate against each other as we chuckle. Then we fog the windows up the right way.
Step 31:
Remember Your Friends Aren’t Exactly Idiots
(And are just as evil as you are.)
“Damn, you’re hot.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Better fix your shirt.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s on backward.”
“That’s your fault. You put it back on.”
“Sorry. I was distracted by a couple other things.”
I smack Wesley’s hands as they reach for my boobs. He chuckles and pulls me in for a kiss instead.
“Mmm,” I moan. “I don’t think I’ll get tired of that.”
I keep myself as close to him as I can while I pull my arms inside my shirt and rotate the shirt so it’s on the right way, then slide my arms back through the sleeves.
He takes my face again and gives me the grossest kiss possible, keeping his mouth as wide open as it can go as he smothers mine.
“Ew, Wesley!” I laugh and wipe my now very wet face.
“Guess you will get tired of it.” He smirks.
“You ass.”
His eyelids shut and he breathes in the smell of my hair. “I love when you call me that.”
“Ass,” I whisper against his cheek. And because I’m not scared anymore, I say what I’ve wanted to since I found it out. “And I love you.”
He whips back to focus on my eyes, and I smile shyly.
“Aw, Mickey. You beat me to it.”
“Since you called me that, I take it back.”
“Perfect.” He pulls our foreheads together. “Now let it be on the record that I said it first. I love you, Kayla.”
Will my heart ever go back to its normal pace? “You officially get a thousand good-boyfriend stars.”
“What if I want high-fives instead?”
“You take what you can get.”
His lips crush mine, and my back gets pressed against his van. We make out in the parking lot until we’re both gasping for air and our shirts are almost off again.
“Okay, we have to get in there now,” Wesley grunts, jumping away from me and gesturing to Phantom’s. “Or I’m going to end up pushing you back inside that van.”
I want to tell him I’m okay with that, but I know we have to fix things with our best friends first. Especially Reagan. I feel so damn awful about making her see Wesley only to fall in love with him myself. At least Wesley had the decency to make sure Talon and I weren’t dating before moving in.
Well, I’ve always known he’s the better person.
“What are we going to tell them?”
He sighs, reaching up to fix my major make-out hair. Good luck. My wild curls can’t be tamed.
“Everything.”
My fingers curl around Wesley’s as we walk to the back table Reagan and Talon are sharing. They’re sitting on the same side, thank heavens. I don’t think I can let go of Wesley without the fear of him never coming back to me.
The music’s loud enough that we approach without them really noticing till we’re sliding into the booth with them. We keep our intertwined hands hidden under the table, and when we’ve settled in, Wesley releases my hand and opts for my thigh instead. If I wasn’t so scared of confrontation—which I’m sure is about to happen—I’d be soaring from that touch.
“Everything okay, man?” Talon asks, eyebrows pinched.
Wesley nods and squeezes my thigh. “Yeah. Sorry about earlier.”
“You guys were out there forever.” Reagan tucks a purple-highlighted strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyebrows rise at the sight of my hair, and a flash of a smile crosses her lips.
“What took so long?”
Wesley sucks in a breath, and I know he’s about to spill, but he shouldn’t have to. This whole thing was my stupid idea.
“We were fooling around in Wesley’s van!” I blurt out, so loud we get a half dozen eyes thrown our direction. So much for being cool. I shrug them off and lower my voice, ready to tell them it’s our fault they broke up. That we spent hours together coming up with ways to pull them apart. That during those hours and all the conniving I fell for Wesley. And if he w
ants to jump in and say he fell for me too, then he can go right ahead. And that I’m sorry, we’re sorry, for ruining our friendships and putting our own selfish desires ahead of them. But all my words get stopped with the ones that come out of Talon.
“It’s. About. Time.” His forehead hits the table and he fist-pumps the air. “I don’t think I could’ve kept up that act much longer.”
Wesley and I say in unison, “What?”
Reagan laughs and squeals, hopping over the table to squish both of us in a very boob-filled hug. “We’ve been trying to get you guys together for months! Looks like it finally worked.”
Again Wesley and I say, “What?”
She settles back into her seat, and Talon lifts his hand, gesturing for her to explain. Uh, yeah! Please explain!
“Well, someone needs to keep their journal somewhere I can’t find it.”
Oh shit! No! I was so careful. I …
Wait … she’s winking, but not at me.
At Wesley.
His face drains of color, and I smack his leg. “You said it was locked tight! How did she find it?”
He shrugs, and Reagan giggles. “He left his computer on, and I’m a snoop. Hey, you all know that about me and you still love me. It can’t be helped.”
“When was this?” Wesley croaks, face still pasty white.
“Oh, back when these two party poopers left us alone at your apartment. I went to go get games and found your laptop instead. Very juicy stuff, my friend.”
“You put your journal on your computer?” I ask him.
“It’s password-protected. I swear, I don’t remember ever leaving it open.” He turns toward Reagan. “So, you know?”
“That you and Kayla wanted to break us up? Yeah. But I also know that’s not what you really wanted.”
His face changes from white to red so fast, it’s like he’s trying to do a color wheel impression. He nervously runs his hand over his hair. “So you guys have been faking this whole thing?”
“It was Reagan’s idea,” Talon puts in. “Trust me. I don’t like meddling.”
She laughs, flipping her hair and bouncing in her seat. “Of course it was my idea. I know from experience jealousy is the strongest emotion ever, and if I could just get you guys to that point, you’d finally figure out you were totally in love with each other. Not us. So we let you guys think what you were doing was working, and flipped it back on you. Here.” She pulls out her phone and taps the screen a few times. “I just sent you my own notes on the thing. Nighttime reading for you, so we’re even.”