A Perfect Moment

by Becca Lee

  She smiled as I kissed her. “I want you too,” she finally said as we pulled apart. I reached over to my bedside table and removed a condom. A few moments later, I was sheathed and gently probing her entrance.

  I looked into her eyes as I entered her, not wanting to miss a single moment, a single expression. I entered her fully, up to the hilt, and groaned deeply as I slammed my mouth against hers. It was too good, too much. I was going to explode at any minute. I stilled, allowing her to adjust, but realised that it was unnecessary; she was ready. So ready that she moved her hips against mine. We continued to make love—a term that would have previously terrified me and had me slamming my head against a brick wall, but hell, that is what this was—until sweat covered our bodies, making us slick. I pushed harder against her, helping her release within a short few moments. And not a moment too soon, she unravelled around me.

  Her muscles throbbed just a few seconds before I called out her name in ecstasy.

  I was spent. I looked at El’s half-open eyes and smiled down at her, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, before my mouth sought out hers. She kissed me back immediately, her tongue stroking my tongue. I chuckled and pulled away from her. I swiftly disposed of the condom and then lay next to her warm body in the bed, pulling the light cotton sheet over us.

  “Best sex ever.”

  I laughed, completely surprised by her admission. “It sure was, babe.” I kissed her head and pulled her body to mine so that we were spooning, her naked back flush with my chest. “It’s everything I ever dreamed it would be, and more, if that’s possible.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “Holy hell!”

  “What is it?”

  “We could have been doing this all this time, all these years. Shit.”

  I sighed lightly. “I know. It’s killed me.” I frowned when I thought of Fuckwit and the other boyfriends she’d had over the years.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. She must have felt my body tense.

  “Nothing. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter now. We’re here. You’re in my arms, in my bed,” I ground my already hardening penis against her backside, making her laugh. “It’s how it was always meant to be.”

  She turned in my arms and watched me carefully as she spoke. “So, what now?”

  I smiled down at her, hoping my voice and face would make it clear how honest I was being with her. “Now, we have fun. We make love. We tell our family.” She grimaced slightly at that, but I continued, “You learn to trust me.” She made to speak, but I put my finger on her lips. “I mean really trust. I know you trust me as your friend, but I need you to trust me with your heart.” My words had her smiling and her eyes glistening. I kissed her lightly on the lips. “Then, I plan for us to spend the rest of our lives together, having you in my bed whenever I want and having fun making babies.” I expected to blanch as my words formed. Me, not her. While I’d always loved her, doted on her, I’d never considered having a family. I was too young for shit like that, but hell, with El now in my arms, all I could think about was fucking her bare and hoping to hell to have some of my swimmers take, and have our baby growing in her beautiful stomach.

  When I had been in hospital recovering from the accident a few years ago, it was Ella who had helped me through it. She hadn’t known this at the time; I didn’t think she even knew it now, but her daily visits and her compassion had stopped me from spiralling into despair. While others had looked at me with pity, she had looked at me with understanding. I’d loved her before that, but damn, if her support and lack of judgment hadn’t made me love her more.

  I almost missed the tear trickling from her eye landing on the pillow. “Hey, what’s wrong? Too much? You’re freaking out, huh? I wasn’t necessarily meaning babies now or anything, it’s just ...” Somebody shut me the hell up. I was blabbering nonsense and annoying myself, let alone her. “Well, just think about it. I mean, don’t you want to—”

  “Preston.” She laughed. “It’s fine. Stop talking crap. It’s just, you’re beautiful—”

  I scoffed. “I think you’ll find the term is manly, or handsome, or I have rugged good—”

  She smiled and cut me off. “Yes, all of those things.” She rolled her eyes. “But what you said, about our future—I like the sound of it. Don’t get me wrong; I feel anxious, crazy anxious. My heart is beating double-time at the possibility and at the thought of being hurt again.” I made to speak, but she prevented me with a shaking of her head. “I know you would never intend to hurt me, but you’ve had this image of me, this idea of me in your head for the last ten years, and the reality may be vastly different. Sometimes shit happens and life can be a bastard. I’m scared of that crap. I don’t know if I can fight or survive life’s shit again.”

  I understood what she meant. I honestly did. But life didn’t have to be that complicated, Women were always second and third guessing. Bollocks to that. “Sometimes, when life threatens perfect, it’s time to step up and kick life in the balls.”

  Her laughter broke the tension from her face and transformed her into something beautiful. “In the balls, huh? So we’re in agreement that life is a man, hence all the shit that it throws at us.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Yep. The arsehole called life can kiss my arse. If not, I’ll beat the crap outta him. This could be perfect, El. Us.”

  “Perfect?” I saw longing in her eyes and heard it in her voice.

  I smiled back. “Perfect for sure. That doesn’t mean I won’t irritate the shit out of you, ‘cause apparently, I do that sometimes,” I mocked. “But what it does mean is that your heart is safe with me. I loved you as a friend before I started getting raging stiffies for you.”

  “Hey!” She punched my arm and laughed. She was so damn easy, but damn if I wasn’t constantly stiff for her.

  “And that friendship will always be at the centre of us. Okay?”

  She nodded her head in agreement, and snuggled closer to my chest. Her breathing steadied out. I couldn’t believe it. After ten years of praying for a night with El, it was finally real. I’d meant what I’d said, and I didn’t give a shit at how pussy-whipped it made me sound. There’s nothing in the world that I wanted more than to make her happy. And I was determined that I would do just that.

  Chapter Seven

  Ella

  I woke up with a delicious feeling of sore muscles. The memory of the night’s sweet and heavy kisses, Preston’s heavenly caresses and him planted firmly between my thighs a total of three times, brought a smile to my face.

  Every touch, every word had been perfect. We’d talked into the early hours, in between getting hot and heavy, and didn’t succumb to sleep until after 3am. I turned towards his bedside clock. It was 10am. Thank goodness for holidays! Preston’s movement and hand stroking small circles on my stomach made me turn my head to look at him. He smiled at me and kissed me tenderly on my shoulder. “Morning, beautiful.”

  I couldn’t hold back the goofy grin that formed, nor did I want to. “Morning,” I stretched and yawned. “Sorry.” I laughed, clamping my hand over my mouth.

  “No sorry needed. I love seeing you stretched out. You look hot.” He pressed his groin against my leg so that I truly understood exactly how hot he thought I was. A delightful shiver travelled through my body at his touch.

  I giggled. Yes, actually giggled. A grown, educated woman of twenty-eight years old giggled at the fine specimen of a man next to me. My giggle was quickly followed by a groan at my ridiculous response. I was acting like a seventeen-year-old.

  “What?” Preston asked.

  I peeked a look at him. “Just groaning at my giggling. Pathetic really.” I’d always been blatantly honest in my friendship with Preston. I didn’t want that to change. Honesty, no matter how tricky it could be, was by far the best.

  A throaty laugh erupted out of his chest. “Only you would think a giggle is pathetic. It’s cute.” My raised eyebrow set in challenge did nothing to prevent him from continuing. “W
hat? Don’t look at me like that. Cute is good. Sexy, even. Giggling gives me a stiffy.” His face was set in a broad shit-eating smile.

  “Nice! Seriously. You talking about your erection as a stiffy is what? Meant to get me all hot and horny for you?” I said with a stoic face.

  He laughed again. “It doesn’t matter the word, babe. The fact remains you’re beautiful and I’ll always be hard and ready for you.”

  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep a straight face. Laughter burst out of my lungs.

  “Come on. I’m starving and really need a shower.” I laughed when his eyes lit up at the possibility of a shower together. “You’re insatiable. You go and sort out breakfast while I shower. Alone. Please.” I kissed him lightly on his gorgeous lips, bounced out of bed and headed to the en suite.

  Turning on the shower taps, I heard him grumbling and huffing around the bedroom before the echo of his feet padding away reached me. I stood under the steaming shower, trying my hardest to absorb the events of the past three days. Everything had spiralled so quickly, moved so fast that I didn’t think my feet had quite hit the ground yet. Truth be told, my head and my emotions were in a tailspin—part of me was still slightly freaked out that I’d seen Preston’s penis, let alone the fact that we’d had sex, not just once, but three times. Yet as well as being freaked, I also felt good and a little fuzzy. Good fuzzy. It had been a long time since I’d felt warmth in my stomach that wasn’t from a good hot and spicy soup. The warmth that had settled in the pit of my stomach was definitely a good kind of heat. One that was making me grin, and laugh, and think constantly about Preston’s cute butt muscles.

  So far, I’d managed to push the freaked reaction away. I didn’t want to run and hide any more. I believed Preston, and I believed in his feelings for me. Even the thought of our family and friends knowing about our relationship—eek—didn’t have me cowering in self-denial like it had just two days ago. I marvelled at how feelings could do a one-eighty in such a short amount of time. The level-headed, somewhat bitter, scared-half-to-death woman in me blanched a little at that thought. Surely, a change in emotions was fickle? How could there ever be any chance of a future with emotions that could change like the wind?

  Stop it! I chided myself. I loved Preston. He was my friend. I wasn’t crazy enough to contemplate the ‘in love’ part; hell to the no was I anywhere near navigating that whirlwind of emotions. I thought back to what Preston had said about trust. He knew me so bloody well. I gave an unladylike scoff in the shower while working the shampoo through my hair. Perhaps a little too well, if that were possible. On the flipside, though, I convinced myself he knew all the crap, all the skeletons, all of the stories that I would have preferred were long forgotten.

  So, he knew it all. The good, the bad and the downright ugly, yet he still wanted me. I gave a little wriggly, albeit ridiculous, victory dance in the shower. I would deal with my trust issues and make this work.

  My shimmying motion was interrupted by a burst of unrestrained laughter. I froze and turned. Preston was holding his stomach, once again laughing at my expense. I gave him the evil eye and then shrugged. “Like what you see?” Bloody arse thought he was funny. I’d show him.

  His face straightened slightly, only small waves of laughter rippling out of him.

  I squirted shower gel in my hands and proceeded to wash myself, taking my time, using circular motions and working from my breasts to my groin. I’d seen this on a dodgy porno once that Jo and I had checked out when we were eighteen. We’d done so out of fascination—honest—and watched on with equal amounts of horror, embarrassment and curiosity. Her mum walking into the den and catching us was the most humiliating part though. Just another example of Preston knowing all of my skeletons; he’d been following his mum at the time. A sixteen-year-old stumbling upon his big sister, and her apparently, ‘hot friend’ watching two dodgy 80s throwbacks going at it doggy-style, no doubt changed his perception of me. Come to think of it, I wonder if that was when his crush on me had started. I would definitely be finding out.

  My hands slipped over my breasts and nipples, and I gave an exaggerated groan. “Ahhh ... mmm ... I need ... I need ...” I pitched my voice higher with every word. I looked at Preston then. His face was a mask of excitement and surprise. “Preston,” I cried. He took a step forward and removed his shirt. I licked my lips, in what I hoped was seductive, rather than me looking like I had unwanted food on my face. “Preston ... I need ...” I gasped, “my towel.” I stood up straight, switched off the water and held my hand out to him. “Thanks, Preston.” I smiled innocently.

  His eyes widened before narrowing slightly. “What the hell ...?” He adjusted his pants. “Shit, El.” His mouth was gaping before he looked around in wonder.

  “The towel please, Preston.”

  He harrumphed. “I should make you get your own, pulling that stunt. You trying to kill me, woman?” He handed me the towel without releasing it. He stood just a few centimetres away from me. “I have a raging—”

  I covered his mouth with my hand. “Do not say that word.” He smiled beneath my hand. “I mean it, Preston.” I removed my hand, side-stepped him and dried myself off. While drying, I smiled at my ease and comfort around him. He'd worshipped my body so thoroughly the previous night, and this morning there wasn’t an inch of me that he hadn’t seen, touched or tasted. Because of that, there was no chance of feeling anything but comfortable in front of this man. A heat of desire flashed across my skin at the memory of his mouth, and I shivered.

  “Come on. Get dry and let’s get breakfast. I’ve made your favourite.”

  I looked at him and smiled, picking up my pace. French toast and Canadian syrup were calling me—yet another reason why it could be so great having Preston as more than my friend. He could make one hell of a breakfast.

  ***

  After a day of failed surf attempts—on my part not his—I was exhausted. Just a few years of not enjoying the surf, and I felt like a novice all over again. I used to have fairly decent skills in my day. I rolled my eyes at the thought. Any sentence that started or ended with in my day was a serious sign that I needed to knock back a few beers and get with the program. I was just twenty-eight, at my prime, yet, today, while I’d had fun, I’d felt old, unfit and bloody shattered. Of course, Preston had no issues. A dedicated surfer, he could always be found in his free time down at the beach, searching for waves. And damn, if he didn’t look mighty fine doing it. Surfing that is ... not searching.

  At the beach, I’d recognised many familiar faces; his surf buddies, and a couple of his work mates, too. Of course, there were several young, and unfortunately hot, women within the group. I’d immediately felt self-conscious before I’d proceeded to mentally bitch-slap myself. I refused to allow myself to feel intimidated by twenty-two-year-old airhead girls. I couldn’t even dignify calling them women when I thought about it. The airhead description soon became apparent when all they did was gush, and preen, and attempt to drape themselves all over Preston.

  There was a moment when my blood may have boiled. I felt pissed off at one point, and rightly so. Not just because of my trust issues with men and infidelity, but two stupid bitches kept sidling up to Preston, stroking his chest and attempting to whisper in his ear. Fortunately, it didn’t get to the point of bitch smack-down. Preston, without even looking in my direction, had immediately dismissed them. Initially, this was with no explanation, until the stupid-ass pouting started. Imagine those ridiculous duck-face selfies you see of vaguely attractive women, trying to look sexy and seductive, but really all you want to do is scrub the heavy makeup off their faces, smack them around the head and tell them to get a grip. Well, they looked like that. Hello? Who wears makeup to the beach, for Christ’s sake! It was with the pouting that I overheard Preston say he was “taken” and that he “wasn’t interested” and was definitely “not available”.

  When I heard this, a stupid-arse smile appeared on my salty face, but no sooner had it appe
ared than the doubts began to kick in. Again. After our hot and sweaty morning together and my liberated, “Hell yes, this could happen” moment post-shower, I’d been plagued with crappy doubts throughout the day. On one hand, some were valid and still lurking, with the trust factor being the main issue; that, in addition to potentially ruining our friendship, as well as my friendship with Jo. Yet there were other doubts I had, even though I knew deep down I was being ridiculous. My being older than him was a concern for one. But it wasn’t really an issue; I knew this, but it still plagued me. That was the point. I couldn’t help my stupid brain, which constantly over-thought everything. After years of protecting myself—my heart especially—my brain was pushing me into protect-your-heart warfare. This consisted of crazy self-doubt about everything and nothing, which pissed me off something rotten, as I was not that woman. I was fiercely independent, and a ball breaker. True story: It had involved Jo, a pool ball, and a stupid git who thought he could grope my arse.

  I took one last look in the mirror and forced a smile on my face. I could and would do this. Trust. That’s all it would take. I trusted Preston. I knew he would never hurt me. We’d been friends for so damn long that there was no way he would break my heart. The forced smile eased into a real one. I grabbed my house keys and headed out to my car.

  We were meeting at Johnny’s Bar. They served fabulous fresh fish. My stomach rumbled at the thought of it. Surfing had really worked muscles that I hadn’t used in a long time, too long—that, plus surfing had always made me ravenous. As I pulled into a parking space along the side street, I’d come to a conclusion that it was definitely time to get back on my board. I was a little ashamed of myself that I’d let Fuckwit ruin something that I loved. Stepping out of my car, I decided that this was good, a good step to my erasing all of my hard-ass feelings about the past. I knew life wasn’t all chocolate rainbows and Champagne, but if I could at least open myself up to the possibility, then why couldn’t it be? Preston was the start.