by Tami Lund
Except that sets me off balance, and because we’re wrapped together like a burrito, we tumble into the display of fluffy dresses. All that fabric engulfs us, cushioning our fall.
Alex rolls onto his back, his hands on my ass, guiding me until I’m lying on top of him. They’re massaging, this gentle yet rough motion, and holy hell, it’s making heat bloom between my thighs. I grab the front of his shirt and jerk myself toward him so that we can kiss properly this time.
Our lips crash together, and I slant my head and open my mouth. His tongue immediately invades me, sweeping inside, tangling with my own while he continues that steady massage that now includes a rhythmic up and down motion. Christ, he’s mimicking sex, and I’m going to fucking come—
“Gah!” I break the kiss and gasp as the orgasm slams into me, exploding until it reaches every extremity in my body. And then I go limp, draped over him while my heart charges in my chest and I work to suck in enough oxygen to keep my brain functioning.
Jesus. We didn’t even actually have sex. Not to mention that was awfully damn…
“Wow. That was fast.”
I roll off of him, shoving silk and tulle out of the way so I can climb to my feet. “I told you it’s been a while,” I mumble without looking at him. Why the hell am I embarrassed right now? Since when is it a sin for a woman to get off in forty-five seconds flat?
“Hey,” he says, grabbing my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Then how come you aren’t glowing? Or at least smiling? You’re the one who said instant gratification was the key to happiness. And that was pretty damn instant.”
I glance up at his grinning face and feel my own facial muscles twitching. Finally, I allow a small smirk to break through. “Yeah, it sure was. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“My pleasure.”
“Um, so let’s talk costumes, now that I can, hopefully, think rationally again.”
“Nope. Let’s talk dating.”
This guy is more relentless than Toby with his chew toy.
“Okay, look, Alex, I’m sorry I brought it up. I don’t really want to date you. But fucking, that’s definitely still on the table. More so now, actually. Because if you can make me feel like that while we’re still fully clothed…” I bite my lip and squeeze my thighs together as a fresh flood of heat hits me and my body cries out, When can we do that again, except naked?
He shakes his head. “Nope. No sex. Not yet, anyway. Let’s do this right, Vicks. Let’s try, anyway. I’ll let you in on another one of my secrets. I’m not good at dating, either. In fact, I rarely do it. I’m too afraid I’m going to pick up crazy chicks. And that’s not what I want for the rest of my life. So, like you, I’ve simply avoided the situation altogether.”
“What makes you think I’m not crazy?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But if I’m going to actually give this a try, at least I’m doing it with someone I know.”
Well that’s comforting. Not.
“I think you’ll have fun,” he continues.
“Huh?”
“Dating. I have lots of ideas. Even though I’ve avoided doing it, I’ve wanted to, if I could ever work up the nerve to try.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the screen. After tapping on it a few times, he turns it so I can see what’s written there.
Dating Ideas
And then a list that I don’t get to read because he pulls it away too fast.
“Wait, you seriously have a list of things you want to do on dates?”
Who is this guy? Who am I kidding? This is exactly something Alex Darling would do. And he’s inviting me to go along for the ride.
If I’m brave enough.
“Mostly it’s stuff I think would be cool or fun but I’d rather experience with someone else. It’s a pretty extensive list, so we should probably get started soon.”
Yeah, we should, because we only have the next three days. Which sucks, because this is by far the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me. But—
“What about sex?”
“Don’t worry.” He smiles and taps his phone. “That’s on the list too.”
Chapter Five
ALEX
“This is your idea of a first date?” Vicks says, glancing over her shoulder at me with accusation in her eyes. We’re smooshed together in an elevator along with seemingly a thousand other people, zooming up 103 stories so we can check out the Chicago skyline—and, considering it’s a clear day, probably five other states too—from the top of the Willis Tower.
“Technically, this is our second date. Breakfast this morning counts, doesn’t it?”
“Since you’ve decided we can’t have sex until our tenth date, it most certainly does,” Vicks announces, I suspect much to the shock of everyone else in that elevator.
My girl has no filter.
My girl. I like the sound of that. She probably wouldn’t, though, so I won’t say it out loud. But I will say it in my head every opportunity I have.
“Why not?” someone asks. No idea who. There are a lot of people crammed in this tiny space. The only positive to the situation is the fact that Vicks is wedged so close to me we are practically the same person at this point. And I’m sure she can feel how much that pleases my body.
“He thinks it will be more meaningful,” Vicks supplies, turning to face forward again, so I can’t see what I’m sure is an exaggerated eye roll. “He thinks it will allow us a chance to get to know each other, to figure out if we’re compatible first. Without hormones affecting our judgment.”
“That’s brilliant,” someone else says. A female voice. “We should try that, Lenny.”
“We’re already sleeping together,” another person says. Lenny, I presume.
“We should stop. Let’s date for a while then go back to having sex. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”
“What? That’s a terrible idea.”
Vicks snickers, and I smile in triumph. She’d been vehemently against the idea, too, when I first suggested it. Truth be told, I’m pretty sure she still is, but I’m lowering her defenses. Slowly.
I know she’s scared, and I get it. She’s obviously had some bad relationships in the past, not to mention the influence of her husband-stealing mother and the lack of a father figure in her life. Well, except my own dad, who apparently didn’t stick around long.
But here’s the thing: we were so good together when we were kids. I swear, every time my parents got into a fight, she would show up outside my bedroom window. She’d climb inside because I was too chicken to climb out, and we’d sit side by side on the floor, talking or reading or doing homework. Anything to distract me until the shouting stopped. And whenever her mom kicked Vicks out of the house to be alone with whatever guy she brought home that day, we’d wander around the neighborhood until dinnertime, then Vicks would eat at our house—it didn’t take long for my mom to get into the habit of adding a fourth place setting to the table—and then we’d sit on the patio in the backyard until we heard the roar of a car without a muffler pulling away from the curb, which was her cue to go home.
We can be that good together as adults, too. We just have to get over our individual issues first.
Thus, the dating without sex rule. Because sex, as awesome as it is, creates issues. Either that or it brings already existent ones to the surface. And I want us to already have a solid foundation before that happens. I want us to be convinced we can work through whatever the hell happens after that point.
The door opens, and a wave of sweaty, sticky bodies pours out of the elevator. I grab Vicks’s hand so we don’t get separated and I keep holding it because we’re on a date and I like it.
As we make our way around the circular Skydeck toward the glass cutouts where you can step out onto The Ledge and actually look down through your legs at Wacker Drive and the Chicago River 1,353 feet below, Vicks gives our clasped hands a pointed look. I use the connection to pull her closer so
I can drop a kiss on her hair, and this time she looks at me like I might be a little bit off my rocker.
“Oh, come on,” I say. “Public displays of affection are part of dating.”
Plus, I like touching her. And kissing her.
“You are getting far too much enjoyment out of this,” she says.
“I really am.”
“I’m only in it for the prize at the end, you know.”
“The sex?” Because it surely can’t be the idea that we might continue to do this for the long term. She is far too pragmatic for that.
“Nailed it.”
In truth, I can’t wait for that either. To nail her. Against the wall, on the kitchen counter, in the shower—mine, not hers, because I’m not even sure I can fit in hers by myself, let alone with another body present—on the floor, on the couch, and maybe, eventually, in the bed, too.
But, like she said, I’m an optimist, so I’m hoping this doesn’t lead to only sex but also to sex long-term. With each other. Over and over and over.
I adjust my swollen cock, and she smirks. “We could do something about that, you know.”
“Actually, I don’t even need your help. I can just run to that restroom over there. Probably will only take a few minutes at this point. You know what? That’s a good idea. I’ll be right—”
She uses our clasped hands to tug me back to her side. “I don’t think so. My chances of having sex sooner increase if you have no way to give yourself some release before that point.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll wait until tonight when I’m home alone and can do it as many times as I want before passing out from exhaustion.”
“Goddamn it, now I’m turned on too,” she grumbles while I chuckle.
It’s Labor Day weekend, and although we got here the moment the building opened, there’s still a long line for The Ledge. The closer we inch to the attraction, the more fidgety Vicks becomes. When it’s our turn to walk out onto the glass cutout, she hesitates.
“What’s wrong? You said you weren’t afraid of heights.”
“I’m not. Generally. But that…might be a little more than I can handle,” she admits, staring at the section of the wall that is pure glass and juts out from the safety of the solid floor we’re currently standing on.
I wrap my arm around her and pull her into my side. “I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She allows me to guide her toward The Ledge as she snips, “You have literally no control over whether we’re safe up here.”
“Maybe I’m talking in general terms at the moment. And see, this isn’t so bad, is it?”
We’re standing in the glass cube, downtown Chicago beneath our feet, Lake Michigan spread out before us. The sky is bright blue with a few puffy white clouds, and we can see for miles.
“Wow,” she says in a breathy voice. “This is amazing.”
Nailed it.
I pull my phone out of my pocket so we can take a selfie, and she’s back to rolling her eyes. “You are so cheesy,” she says, but she obliges me and lets me snap the pic.
On our way back to the elevator, I purchase a magnet at the gift shop. “This is for the cash register at your shop,” I tell her.
“Speaking of, I should probably actually open for the day at some point.”
Is that disappointment in her voice?
***
On Sunday morning, I wake to the sound of my phone letting me know I have a text message.
Date 3?
I smile as I type out my reply: Don’t you have to work today?
Not opening again until Tuesday. I had five customers all day yesterday, and only one bought anything. Unlike you, the rest of the world doesn’t shop for costumes on Labor Day weekend.
My smile morphs into a chuckle. Okay, I’ll be at your place in an hour.
What are we doing?
I may be reading way too much into it, but I swear, this text sounds like she’s eager, maybe even excited.
You’ll see.
Fine. What should I wear?
Swimsuit.
Oh, we are definitely having sex after this date. See you in an hour.
Uh-oh, perhaps a day at the beach is not the best idea for date number three. Because what she’s implying is right: I may not be able to keep my hands off her if she’s one of those women who wears sexy, barely there bikinis. Although in truth, a basic, black one-piece is bound to be hot on Vicks. With those legs, those breasts, that body… I think I’m in trouble.
The stretchy, bright red cover-up doesn’t help either. It’s a simple pullover dress, but it clings to her curves in all the right places. And she damn well knows it.
“I didn’t peg you as a woman who uses her sexuality to get what she wants,” I point out as I hold open the door so she can slide into the back seat of the Uber I’ve summoned to take us to Lincoln Park.
“Well, since sex is what I want, it seems an appropriate weapon of choice,” she responds.
Fair point. Sucking in a breath through my nose, I wait for Toby to hop into her lap and then I sit next to her so the driver can pull away from the curb.
The beach is crowded, of course, since it’s a gorgeous, sunny, eighty-degree day on a holiday weekend. I’m glad I decided on this route instead of my original plan of asking Myra if we could go to the private lake across the street from her house. I don’t even know what Vicks’s swimsuit looks like yet, but I’m already as hot and bothered as a teenage boy who’s just realized how beautiful female breasts are.
“Yep, this was a lousy idea,” I say when we find a spot on the beach and spread out a blanket and she whips off her cover-up and damn near gives me and probably every other guy in the immediate vicinity a heart attack.
Her bikini is a pretty basic cut, the kind that never goes out of style because, well, it works. It’s black and white; the bottom has this crisscross pattern with cutouts on her hips, while the top is tied behind her neck and creates a spectacular view of her abundant cleavage. Cleavage I would like very much to bury my face in.
She laughs while applying sunscreen, and then, as if she’s reenacting the beach scene from every cheesy romantic movie in existence, she offers me the bottle and says, “Can you get my back?”
I lurch forward, almost stepping on the dog in my haste, and squirt white liquid into my hand while she lifts her hair off her shoulders. She has a magnificent back. As I rub the protective layer into her skin, I savor the feel of her, the softness of her body, and yes, I’m imagining what it will be like when we finally do take that plunge. And not the one into Lake Michigan, either, although we should probably hurry up and do that so the shock of the cold water will calm me the fuck down. Otherwise, Vicks just might win this unintentional challenge sooner than later. By sooner I mean tonight. Or maybe even this afternoon. I wonder if those bushes over there would provide enough cover…
“Are you done?”
“Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry.” Reluctantly, I pull my hands away from her skin.
She turns to face me and smiles, holding out her hand. “My turn.”
Because I’m not sporting stiff enough wood from touching her, now she’s going to put her hands to my back? I may explode on the spot. This is not going to be pretty.
I hand her the bottle of sunscreen and turn around, closing my eyes, which only serves to intensify that initial moment when she touches me. Even the coolness of the lotion doesn’t detract from the heat pouring from her skin into mine.
I groan before I can catch myself. She chuckles softly. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Are you saying it felt this good when I was rubbing your back?”
“I’m pretty sure I climaxed at least once.”
“Hell’s bells. I knew this was a lousy idea.”
She slaps my back, which I take to mean she’s done. “Nope. It was brilliant. I like seeing you like this, Alex. All hot and bothered and desperate to get between my legs. It’s seriously sexy.”
“You’re seriously sexy
.” I tap her nose. “That’s the real problem here.”
Her cheeks darken, and she ducks her head and digs around in her massive beach bag until she pulls out a floppy hat and places it on her hair.
“Eat first or lake first?” I ask, indicating the picnic basket I’ve lugged along for the date.
“So many potential jokes,” she murmurs, but she’s looking at the basket. “What sort of food did you bring?”
I open the top with a flourish and pull out an insulated wine bag. As I unzip it I say, “Viognier. And don’t worry, I have a little higher tolerance of wine than I do of homemade liquor.”
“Too bad,” she says, and I pour chilled white wine into plastic stemless glasses.
While she sips, I lay out a crab salad, mixed berries, pasta salad, crackers, an assortment of cheeses and sliced salami, a couple ham and Swiss sandwiches I cut into triangles. There are also cherry tomatoes and sliced bell peppers, orange ones because those were her favorite when we were kids. I even brought a small bowl of cooked chicken I cut up for Toby.
“I thought you didn’t want to get laid,” Vicks comments as she plucks a pepper from the plastic baggie.
“I never said I didn’t want to get laid. Only that I want us to get to know each other first.” I pile salami and a slice of smoked Gouda onto a cracker and shove it into my mouth.
“We’ve known each other since we were five, Alex.”
“Minus the past twelve years.”
She sighs and picks up the bowl of crab salad. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
She arches her brows.
“Okay, how about your brother? Well, you have two now, don’t you? Tell me about them.”
“You sure know how to put a damper on things, don’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
She waves at the spread. “Because in the last ten minutes, I’ve pictured us in no less than seventeen different sexual positions, and then you go and bring up my brothers, and there’s nothing sexy about talking about my siblings.”