Dirty Little Desires

by Cassie Cross

  That’s his thinking face, I’d know it anywhere. For once in my life I’m scared to find out what he’s thinking. Does he regret letting something slip? Does he think he led me on? What if he’s not leading me on? What if the tides are turning here, if years of platonic are on the verge of becoming anything but?

  Just when I’m about to send myself spiraling into some kind of weird panic attack, my stomach lets out this loud, embarrassing growl and Oliver sits up.

  “I know a great bar down the river. Wanna go?”

  I roll off the lounge and stand, reaching high into the air to stretch out. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  Fully dry by now, Oliver and I both slip our clothes back on, and I take the driver’s seat.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, amused.

  “I won the ball toss fair and square,” I remind him, in case he’s pretending to forget. “The winner gets to steer the boat, and I’m gonna collect my prize.”

  “Do you know how to drive a boat?”

  “Well, no.” Kind of conveniently forgot about that part. “Can’t you drive while I steer?”

  Oliver laughs, shaking his head at me. Still, the affection in his eyes makes my heart feel warm and full. “Slide up as far as you can,” he tells me, and I do as he says.

  He reclines the back of the chair a little, then swings his leg over so he can situate himself behind me.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, leaning so close to me that I can feel the heat from his body against my back and his breath against my ear.

  It’s more than okay. “Yeah.”

  The air between us is charged and full of anticipation, and I’m glad I have a task to focus on so I don’t just turn around and kiss him.

  Oliver drives the boat and helps me steer it, and the further we go, the more I relax into him. To the point where my head is resting on his shoulder, and his hand is perched on my thigh. I could stay like this forever.

  Oliver takes over when it’s time to pull the pontoon in front of the restaurant, and once the boat is docked and tied, Oliver takes my hand and helps me off the boat. Here in the fading light of day, he looks so tanned and relaxed. His hair is a little messy from the wind, and I want to push my fingers through it, want to go up on my tiptoes and wrap myself around him, breathing in deep.

  The bar looks like a well-loved dive, with bright lights strung across the patio and oldies playing in the background. Oliver and I take a seat by the water—it’s a prime location, one that he somehow requested ahead of time, no doubt—and place our order. We order some shrimp and fried fish along with a margarita for me and a beer from a local brewery for him.

  “Today was so relaxing. I had a really good time,” I tell Oliver, then take a sip of my margarita.

  He smiles. “Me too. But I always have a good time when I’m with you.”

  Blush creeps up my neck and warms my cheeks, making me feel light and tingly.

  “I always have a good time when I’m with you.”

  “It’s not surprising,” he says, fiddling with the edges of the napkin his beer is on. “That we have so much fun together, I mean. You’re my best friend.”

  The admission steals the breath out of me, because for the first time those words make me feel like they’re not relegating me to a platonic place in his life. The softness of his eyes, the warmth of his smile, the intent with which he admits it make me feel like our friendship is the foundation for something so much more.

  “We should probably do things like this more often,” he says.

  “You mean long weekends with one night of failure where we spend the next day trying to forget all about it?”

  Oliver huffs out a laugh. “Something like that. Or we could just spend more time together having fun, no failure involved.”

  “Time together as friends?”

  Oliver looks adorably confused, like yes, Felicity, of course as friends. Why would you even ask?

  “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” He’s grinning, and the combination of the amazing lighting from the sunset and the jarred candle on the table is doing a lot for him, and I’m about at the end of my rope.

  “I’m gonna…I need to use the restroom,” I say quickly, pointing to the ladies’ room to my left. “I’ll be right back.”

  Oliver gives me a surprised nod, and I practically run to the bathroom and splash some water on my overheated face. In the mirror, I watch the water droplets fall from my cheeks, desperate to somehow grow a backbone in the next thirty seconds.

  I’m tired of this back-and-forth.

  Maybe I should just admit how I’m feeling? I think Oliver feels the same sometimes, and the past day has just made me wonder whether all the things I thought were platonic were anything but? Then he says things like “Yes, let’s spend more time together as friends,” and I’ve never hated an F-word so damn much. But if that’s how he feels, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, and I don’t want to lose what we have.

  Just…buck up, Felicity. Deal with it. A life with friend Oliver in it is better than a life with no Oliver at all.

  Keep the status quo. Don’t mess anything up.

  Yeah, that’s probably for the best. The frustration will die down once I’m back in New York and in my own apartment, several blocks away from Oliver where we’ll have some time apart. Being in non-stop close proximity isn’t helping things.

  I look in the mirror, smooth my hair down a bit, take a deep breath and then head back to the table.

  Oliver glances up the second I walk out the door, like he’s been sitting there willing me to open it. His lips are pressed together, and his hands are folded on top of the table. He looks…tense. Did I make things weird? I probably made things weird.

  When I get back to the table, Oliver watches me as I sit down.

  “Felicity, maybe we should—”

  The waitress interrupts us and places our plates on the table. I smile and thank her, then do my best to avoid the awkward moment by shoving a shrimp in my mouth. Oliver follows suit, and once we get to eating the conversation gradually drifts to lighter topics. The boat, our flight tomorrow, what we both have planned for the week back in the city.

  Oliver pays the check, and he leads me out onto the dock so we can make our way back to the boat. Voices from the restaurant float out across the breeze, but an early 80’s ballad blasting from a boat nearby drowns them out.

  Earlier today I had a thought about asking Oliver if we could cruise along the river and look at the city all lit up at night, but the thought of slinking into my room and avoiding him completely seems pretty appealing at the moment.

  Once we’re on the boat, Oliver turns to me and holds out his hand.

  “Dance with me,” he says.

  I let out a shocked laugh. “What?” Surely I didn’t hear that correctly.

  Oliver grins. “Dance with me. I told you the other night there would be an again, and this is it.”

  I’m so charmed by his spontaneity that I don’t even have time to second-guess myself. I take his hand and he pulls me in against his body, wrapping his arms around my waist. I bring my hands to rest at the back of his neck, then rest my head against his chest as he draws patterns against the skin at the small of my back.

  It feels intimate, feels amazing, feels like I’m going to spontaneously combust.

  Oliver’s lips brush against my forehead, and I’ve had enough. Screw awkwardness, screw ruining our friendship, screw all the times I’ve wanted to ask but haven’t because I’m scared.

  I’m not scared right now. I have to know, once and for all.

  I pull back just far enough to be able to look Oliver in the eyes. “What’s happening?” I ask.

  His eyes are bright, his face serene. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then glides the pad of his thumb against my cheek.

  “I’m done pretending. I’m not gonna do it anymore,” he says softly.

  With a short, shaky bre
ath I ask, “You’re done pretending what?”

  So gently, he cups my face in his hands. “That I’m not in love with you.”

  I’m breathless. Speechless.

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  Oliver grins, like he’s free, and I grin right back.

  He presses his lips against mine and I melt right into him, feeling warm and floaty and cherished. I’d spent a lot of time imagining what this moment would feel like, but Oliver’s taste, his smell, the feel of his warm hands pressing against my back pulling me closer, so close defies imagination.

  I pour everything I’ve always wanted to say, but could never find the words for, into this kiss. My world shifts just a fraction of an inch, changing blurriness into bright, crystal clear focus, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, everything feels…right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Through some kind of miracle, Oliver and I manage to keep our hands (mostly) off of each other until we’re back in the hotel room. Once the door closes, he twirls me until my back is pressed against the wall. The kissing intensifies quickly—desperate tongues, nipping teeth—and our hands are all over each other, touching and exploring, getting to know each other in the only way we aren’t familiar with yet.

  I get totally swept up in Oliver’s kisses, his hands sliding along every curve, his mouth tasting every every inch of skin it reaches. I’m not even sure how I ended up with my legs around Oliver’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back as he kisses me breathless.

  With the wall holding up most of my weight, Oliver goes exploring, teasing the skin on my belly as he inches his hands beneath my shirt. He licks his lips before he latches onto my neck, the sensations making me lose track of myself to the point where I let my head loll back and smack into the wall.

  Oliver immediately reaches back and rubs the spot as I hide my face against his neck, absolutely mortified.

  “I’ve never caused a sex injury before,” he says, cradling me against him.

  When the mortification dies down, I sit up, careful of my head, and look Oliver in the eyes. They’re all crinkly around the edges like they usually are when he’s happy.

  “Is this just sex? You and me?” Not that I don’t want the sex, of course I do, but I don’t know if I can sleep with Oliver as part of a friends with benefits situation. He has my whole heart, even though I doubt he knows it, and I want to be as careful with it as I can.

  Oliver takes a deep breath. “Felicity,” he whispers, cupping my cheek. “There’s no just anything with you.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, needing the confirmation more than I anticipated.

  “Are we moving too fast, or…I’m willing to wait as long as you need, I know this is probably sudden, and—” He releases his hold on me, lowering me until my feet touch the floor, but he still keeps me close.

  “No.” I rest my hand on his chest. “We’re not moving too fast. I just wanted to…if we do this, I can’t…” My brain is all lust-addled and I can’t figure out the right way to express what I want to say. I do my best to steady my breathing, the rest my hand over Oliver’s heart, hoping he’ll understand.

  “How long?”

  His breath catches. “A long time.” He gets it, I knew he would.

  I laugh, and he smiles at me. “That’s not a good answer. Are we talking six months? A year?”

  He kisses me sweetly. It’s a far cry from the frenzied making-out-against-a-wall thing we were doing just a minute ago, but it’s perfect for this moment.

  “Ten years?” He brushes his nose along my cheek, then kisses me again. “Fifteen, maybe? I know it’s not the most romantic thing, but I can’t think of the exact moment I realized it. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

  I press my lips against his. “That is the most romantic thing.” This is all happening…this love I’ve held close to the chest for nearly half my life is finally blossoming right in front of me, and it’s overwhelming. Happy tears sting my eyes, a few slipping down my cheeks when I try to blink them way.

  “Hey, hey,” Oliver whispers, brushing the tears away. “None of that.”

  I smile as best I can, and say, “I love you too, you know.” My voice is shaking with the weight of it, and letting go of this huge secret I’ve been holding onto makes me feel giddy and light. “I have for so long.”

  The smile he responds with is absolutely gorgeous.

  Now that my fears of a one-night-stand have been put to rest, I’m impatient to move things along. Oliver seems more intent to luxuriate in this, to take it slow, because when I reach for his shirt to rip it off, he clasps his hands around my wrists.

  “Let’s just…” I rest my hands on his sides, sliding my hands up along his ribs, feeling the goosebumps bloom along his flesh as I slowly lift up, up, up.

  Oliver doesn’t break eye contact with me until he absolutely has to, and he grabs at the back of his shirt and pulls it off, tossing it over onto the sofa.

  I take my time learning the soft slopes of his chest, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his abdomen. I kiss my way along his pecs, letting Oliver’s increasingly ragged breathing guide my way.

  “I’ve always loved your body,” I say breathlessly, unable to be embarrassed about admitting it when he’s looking at me with half-lidded eyes all drunk with lust.

  I get a relaxed smile in response. “I’ve noticed.”

  I purse my lips, trying to figure out if I should protest, when Oliver traces along the low-cut v-shaped neckline of my sweater. “The feeling’s always been mutual.”

  He slides my shirt up over my head, tossing it somewhere over by his. I wrap my arms around him, needing to feel his warm skin on mine. He holds me close, his hands running along my spine as he pays a lot of attention to the spot just below my ear that makes me go weak in the knees.

  I reach for his hand. “C’mon,” I say, leading us back to his bedroom. The lights are muted in here, setting a romantic mood.

  We make our way over to his bed, and my nervous fingers fumble with the button and zipper on his pants. Oliver steadies me, and with one push his pants fall into a puddle on the floor. His chiseled body is a sight, lean muscle and tan skin, and his erection tenting the cotton of his boxer briefs.

  It’s enough to make my breath catch. This is really happening.

  Oliver moves in close and kisses me as he reaches behind me and tugs on the strings of my bikini top. When he pulls away, the slip of fabric falls, and Oliver moves in quickly, touching and tasting my skin, laving his tongue across my nipple.

  Needing something to hold onto, I card my fingers through his hair, gripping locks of it in my hands. It’s just right, apparently, if the heated moan Oliver gives in response is any indication.

  He picks me up bridal-style, laying me down on the bed with a quick bounce, then he leans over me, making quick work of my pants and bikini bottoms. When I’m naked in front of him, Oliver leans down and kisses me, slow and warm, till I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

  Then he kneels down at the bottom of the bed near my feet, fingers gently brushing along my shins as he looks at me like he’s trying to memorize this moment.

  “I always imagined…” he begins, shaking his head. “This is so much better.”

  Pointing my foot, I do my best to hook my toe on the waistband of his boxers. “Same, I think.”

  Oliver laughs, getting the drift. He smiles as he hops off the bed. He pushes his boxers down.

  “Wow,” I breathe, voice shaky as I get my first look at his impressive, impressive body. I push myself up close enough to touch, and slide my hand along the length of him, giving him a gentle tug. My name falls from his lips roughly as his eyes flutter shut. He gives me a rough grunt accompanied by a hum that lets me know he wants more of this later. It’s too much now, so I back off.

  “Same,” I say, refocusing. “It’s definitely same.”

  Oliver tilts his head back in a full-bodied laugh, an
d it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

  I’d spent a lot of time over the years that I’ve loved him wondering what sex with him would be like. I imagined his body, imagined that it would feel good, but my brain could never conjure up the wonder of being vulnerable with my best friend, that it would be safe, warm, fun, and…so easy.

  Loving Oliver is like breathing to me.

  I fall back on the bed as Oliver climbs back up. He picks up my leg and kisses my ankle, down my calf, behind my knee, the inside of my thigh. He kisses my hipbone, his tongue leaves a wet trail up my belly to the undersides of my breasts, across my nipples, along my collarbone.

  He slides his hand between us, parting my legs as he kisses me. He gets to work, making my hips buck as he rubs tight circles around my clit and curls his fingers inside of me in perfect tandem. He watches every expression, reacts to every noise I make, like learning my body is his new job and he wants to be the absolute best at it.

  My heart starts pounding as I get close. So close.

  “Oliver,” I say raggedly. “I want you. Now.”

  He doesn’t need any further encouragement. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. I tear it open, he puts it on.

  Once we’re safe, he settles between my legs, propping himself up on his elbows. A tender moment passes between us as Oliver slides the backs of his fingers along my cheeks, looking at me with so much affection.

  “I love you,” I say with a soft smile, because we’re about to take a huge step that we can’t undo, and doing that in love is the very best way in my opinion.

  Oliver brushes his lips against mine. “I love you.”

  His heart thumps wildly against my chest as he pushes inside, and he lets out soft sighs as his hips start rocking against mine. I wrap my arms around his back and hold on tight, wanting to be as close to him as I possibly can, and wishing I could still get closer. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, kissing the crook of his shoulder, as we move together so slow and so perfect.

  We don’t say anything. We just breathe together and hold on as each kiss melts into another one, as each touch makes me want a thousand more.