by Jackie Lau
“Why are you talking weirdly?”
“I’m attempting to slow the degeneration of the English language,” I say, though frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing right now. “Look. Jeremy is my only friend in Toronto, and he reads all of my books before I send them to my agent. I can’t risk it. What if he finds out somehow, or I start acting weird around him?”
“Surely you have other friends.”
“Paulina. She lives in Colorado.”
“How do you know her?”
“She writes fantasy novels, and we met at one of the few conferences I’ve attended. Paulina Fuentes. You might have heard of her.”
Naomi’s eyes practically bug out of her head. “You’re friends with Paulina Fuentes?”
“May I suggest you work on your hearing?”
She sticks out her tongue and continues to stare at me. “Have you seen her since that conference?”
“A few times. Last fall we got a cabin in the Adirondacks for a week. We wrote for several hours each day, then got drunk in the evenings, occasionally went for afternoon walks to see the fall colors.”
“And there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”
“Of course not. She’s married and has two teenage kids.” Paulina is ten years older than me and very much in love with her husband, who had no problem with her spending a week alone in a cabin with a younger man.
I suspect most husbands would not be so understanding. But he is right to trust me. Nothing has ever happened between me and Paulina, and nothing ever will. I am not tempted the way I am with Naomi.
“I also have a friend from grad school. He’s over in Europe, working on ITER.”
Naomi looks at me in confusion.
“Fusion thing,” I say. “I haven’t seen him in a year, but we get together when he comes back to Toronto to visit his family. And that is the complete story of my friendships.”
She nods slowly. “I still can’t believe you’re friends with Paulina Fuentes. I love her books almost as much as I love yours.”
I roll my eyes at her flattery. “I’m not going to sleep with you because you’re a fan. Done that before, don’t need to do it again.”
“Really?” She laughs. “You slept with someone for that reason?”
“Yeah. And then I had to find a new coffee shop.”
Naomi puts her hand on her stomach and laughs even louder.
She really does have a lovely laugh.
“I hadn’t had sex in a year,” I say. “That’s probably the main reason I slept with the barista, to be honest.”
“How long has it been now?”
“Six months.”
“I guess you’re not desperate enough.” She pouts. “Why don’t you sleep with me not because I like your books, but because I’m super cute and fun and dragged you to a three-day social event on a long weekend?”
She is super cute and fun. I rub my hands over my face and close my eyes. I hope that when I open them, she really will have sprouted tentacles.
Alas, that is not the case. She is still just as lovely, and she’s smiling at me as though she finds me entertaining, even when I’m being my usual self.
“Jeremy’s sister, Jeremy’s sister,” I mutter.
“I promise I won’t say anything to him. I want you, you want me. It should be that simple.”
“What if you fall in love with me and I break your heart?” I ask. Sarcastically, of course.
“Why would that happen? Do you have a magic penis? I didn’t get a good look at it when we were in the lake, but...”
I burst into laughter.
Dammit.
“You’re not denying you want me,” she says.
“Because it’s the truth. But that doesn’t mean anything will happen. I have morals.” I say this mostly to remind myself. It’s getting harder and harder to remember.
“Do these morals include never stopping for coffee on a three-hour drive and never eating Timbits for lunch?”
“That’s enough.” I roll on top of her and tickle her sides.
Before we can get into a tickle fight, a loud bell sounds.
I freeze. What on earth is that?
“There’s an intercom system,” Naomi explains. “The bell means it’s time for dinner. No need to look like you’ve been caught robbing a bank. It was just foreplay.”
“No, it was tickling.”
“Which is a type of foreplay when it’s between two adults who are attracted to each other.”
“Not true.”
“It is true.”
I kiss her, and then we go down for dinner.
* * *
We are sitting on the beach in Muskoka chairs—a.k.a. Adirondack chairs, as I learned when Paulina and I rented that cabin together—waiting for the fireworks to start. Tom wanted to take the boat out to get a better view, but the rest of us preferred to sit on the beach, so here we are. Since there are only six chairs, Krista volunteered to sit in Jordan’s lap. Of course she did. The two of them are still making out.
Naomi volunteered to sit in my lap.
Of course she did. The woman is determined to drive me crazy.
I’ll admit, I’m just about ready to crack. She’s been sharing my chair for twenty minutes, her ass rubbing against me.
It’s enough to drive any man insane. Even a man with a lot of determination.
Now she’s roasting marshmallows over the fire pit. One of them catches fire, and she blows it out.
“There,” she says, handing me the stick. “It’s ready.”
“It’s not ready,” I say. “It’s past ready. It’s burnt.”
“They’re not ready until they catch fire,” Ridhi says. “Right, Ian?”
Ian shakes his head like a sensible man. “The ideal marshmallow is an even light brown, achieved by slowly rotating it at a proper distance from the fire.”
I nod. “Exactly what I was going to say.”
I wish I was capable of focusing on our potential bromance rather than the woman who’s sitting on me, but most of my attention is on Naomi. I can’t help it.
“You guys suck,” she says. “Half the fun of roasting marshmallows is when they catch fire.” She takes the stick back from me and slides the marshmallow off with her teeth.
Her mouth is so distracting, and she knows it.
She roasts another one, careful to not let it burn. When it’s done, she pulls it off the stick and holds it to my lips. I eat it slowly, savoring the sugary goodness, the chance to lick her fingers.
It briefly occurs to me that marshmallows are a really strange food. Who thought of mixing sugar with gelatin and turning it into spongy white cylinders?
Then I lick the last of the gooey marshmallow from Naomi’s fingers, and I am merely thankful for the invention.
She roasts one more marshmallow for herself before snuggling back against me, her arms around my neck, as she and Ridhi sing songs they learned at Girl Guides. “Black Socks” and “Barges.” Fortunately, no one encourages me to sing. I have a terrible voice, and I do not see the pleasure in embarrassing myself. Carly dragged me to karaoke during the Worst Birthday Ever and forced me up on stage, and it was awful.
Naomi, on the other hand, has a nice voice. Not an “Oh my God, she could be a star!” voice, but a pleasant in-tune voice, which is loads better than mine.
Despite my bad memories of campfires at Camp Rocky Cove, I enjoy sitting here with Naomi and her friends, the water lapping the shore, the stars above. I do like being around people sometimes—shocking, I know. I could do without Jordan and Krista, since they are taking PDA to a whole new level, but at least they’re quiet. Unlike last night, from the sounds of it. Naomi is no longer trying to outdo them in public affection, so that’s good. But private affection...
I can’t help but crave it.
She kisses the top of my neck, just below my jaw, and I close my eyes and release a shuddering breath.
“The fireworks should start any minute,” Julia says.
“I think—”
Her words are interrupted with a bang, and fireworks burst in the dark sky. Red and white, our country’s colors. We turn our chairs to watch the show, and I wrap my arms around Naomi’s waist. She wiggles her ass against me—damn her—then turns back and winks at me before focusing on the show.
It’s been a long time since I’ve watched fireworks. Last Canada Day, I was alone in my condo, watching Netflix, but this year, I’m on a beach, and there’s a woman in my lap.
“Oh!” she exclaims as a whole bunch explode at once. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Yes,” I say, “it is.”
I alternate between looking at the fireworks and looking at her excited face, glowing in the soft light of the campfire.
When the show is over, I do the unthinkable—another public kiss. I close my lips over hers and—
“Time to make banana boats!” Ridhi says.
I snap my head away from Naomi’s as everyone adjusts their chairs to face the campfire once more. With the exception of Jordan and Krista, who have disappeared.
Disappearing upstairs sounds like a good idea, actually.
I hold Naomi tighter. I want to keep her with me. I want to see her face twist in pleasure, and I want—I need—to be the one to give it to her.
But then she says, “I love banana boats! I haven’t had them in years!”
She’s excited about this, too, so I won’t ask her to leave yet, even though I have no idea what the hell banana boats are.
Ridhi cuts a lengthwise slit in three unpeeled bananas, then puts mini marshmallows and chocolate chips in the slit. She covers the bananas in foil and places them in the embers of the fire before singing “Old Hiram’s Goat.” I even find myself tilting my head in time to the music.
“I always wanted to be a Girl Guide,” Julia sighs after the end of the song—which, of course, contained deep philosophical musings about goats. She shifts her chair closer to Tom’s and takes his hand.
Ridhi removes the banana boats from the fire, and we let them cool for a few minutes before eating them with spoons. Naomi and I share a single banana boat and spoon. She scoops up a bite of banana and melted chocolate and marshmallow and slides it into my mouth. It’s far from the most sophisticated dessert, but it tastes glorious, and she’s feeding it to me. She’s beautiful, shadows on her face in the fading light of the fire.
I can’t hold myself back any longer.
“Spend the night with me,” I murmur.
Chapter 12
Naomi
We walk back to the house.
“Just to confirm,” I say. “You said you want to spend the night with me, which we would be forced to do anyway, as we are sharing a room—”
“You know what I mean.” Will’s words flutter through my body. I can feel them in my core. “You know exactly what I mean, Naomi.”
“You’re sure?” I want him so very much, but I don’t want him to regret it in the morning.
“I am. But to be clear, this is just sex, nothing serious, and only while we’re in Grand Bend.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “That’s all I want.”
Two nights. That should be enough to get him out of my system.
As soon as we’re inside our room, Will presses me against the door and pins my arms at my sides. He captures my mouth in his, and it’s an eager and desperate kiss, like he’s trying to get as close to me as he can. He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him. My hands slide to his cheeks, and I kiss him and kiss him.
This time, it won’t end with a kiss.
His erection presses between my legs. His stubble scrapes my cheeks. It feels like the flames of the campfire, the fireworks shooting up into the sky, are still around us. But we are here, inside. Together. Just us.
He walks to the bed and sets me down on the edge. I let him strip me, starting with my pink shirt and my bra. He says nothing as he removes my clothes. He is a doer, not a talker, and I’m not complaining. He doesn’t need to tell me that he finds me beautiful or that he loves my tits; I can see it in the way he looks at me. He drops his head and takes my nipple into his mouth. I gasp as his tongue circles my areola and his teeth slide over the tip.
“Yes,” I say, but quietly.
We’re all that matters, but I’m still aware that there are other people in the house, in the room next to this one, and that Will would prefer me not to be too loud. He wants to keep this just between us, I know, not something for other people to overhear. He wants me all to himself.
And I love that.
He cradles my head in his hands and lowers me back so I’m lying on the bed, my legs dangling off the end. Then he unbuttons my shorts and slides them down, taking his time, savoring each step. I hear his sharp intake of breath as he lowers my panties.
He returns to sucking my nipple as he slides a finger inside me. I arch my back, wanting more, wanting all he can give me.
I am so glad he changed his mind.
Will kneels on the floor in front of me, a devilish smile on his lips. “You said something about clitoral stimulation.”
He slides a second finger inside me and curls his fingers upward as he thrusts. Then he lowers his mouth between my legs, and even though I see his tongue dart out of his mouth, it’s still a surprise when it makes contact with my clit. He circles his tongue around it and thrusts his fingers in and out, and his eyes are on mine, watching my reaction. When he closes them, as though wanting to savor my taste even more, I tilt my head up to the ceiling and open my mouth in a silent scream as shudders rack my body.
His touch slows, leading me down from my orgasm, and then he is on top of me, kissing me. He rolls his hips against mine, showing me what he plans to do. Showing me how hard I make him.
I reach for the bottom of his shirt, and he raises himself up and lets me pull it off. His chest is dusted with dark hair. I touch him, exploring the hard planes of his body.
“You’re gorgeous,” I say, and we smile at each other.
We are kissing again, his hands in my hair, his chest bare against mine. I try to wiggle my ass upward so we’re fully on the bed, but I don’t make much progress with him on top of me.
I love feeling the heavy pressure of him. All of him, for me.
He rolls onto his back and slides up the bed, his head on the pillow.
“Come here,” he says, holding out his arms.
I sit on top of him, aware of my moisture against his shorts, his hard cock beneath. I bend over and kiss him again. Giving and taking—we work so well together. It doesn’t matter that I’m his best friend’s little sister. It’s just us now, in this moment.
I sit up and unbutton his shorts, sliding them down his legs along with his boxers. My breath catches as I see all of him for the first time, my attention focused between his legs, his cock resting against his belly. When I curl my hand around his shaft, he tilts his head back and covers his face with his hand.
“Baby,” he murmurs, and I love hearing that word on his lips. It feels right.
I stroke him up and down a few times. Not too hard or fast, because I suspect he’s close to losing control, and I can’t help but feel some pride that I’m the one doing this to him. I run my other hand over his chest again. I won’t tire of touching him.
He doesn’t let many people close. I feel special.
I scurry to the bathroom and pull out the strip of condoms I keep in my toiletries case. Best to be prepared. When I was packing my suitcase on Thursday, it did cross my mind that I might actually use some this trip, but I hadn’t dared to hope too much.
I roll the condom on him, my hands shaking slightly. He puts his hands on my hips and raises me up. I slip the tip of his cock inside me and lower my body onto him.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
I move up and down, rolling my hips at the same time, and he holds me. We are together at last, and it’s exquisite. I tip my head back and give him a show, covering my breasts with
my hands and pinching my nipples. He moves with me, and when he pushes up hard, impossibly deep inside me, I let out a shaky cry. Not a loud cry, though. I am able to control myself—barely. I can’t shatter the quiet, heavy night around us. That might break the spell.
I drop my chest to his and kiss him. He smells of campfire, and he tastes faintly of cheap chocolate and banana. I almost feel like we’re outside, having sex under the stars.
He rolls us over so I’m beneath him, and he thrusts into me, deep and steady. I wrap my legs around him and arch my body up.
“Will,” I say. “You feel so good.”
I close my eyes to focus on his touch, and then his thumb is on my lips. I flick my tongue out and lick it, and he moves his hand between my legs. He drags out even more pleasure as he rubs my clit with his thumb. I hold on to him, my arms around his back, as the pleasure grows and grows. I open my mouth as I come again.
He slows as my body turns to gooey marshmallow. Then with a few hard strokes, he growls and finishes inside me.
I feel like I have been transformed.
He pulls out and goes to the washroom to dispose of the condom. When he comes back, he curls his body around mine and nuzzles my neck. His cock is soft against my ass, but I know that sometime tonight, he will take me again.
“Mm,” I say.
“Mm,” he echoes.
His hand slips over my breast, drawing lazy circles around it. We’re enjoying the intimacy of being able to touch wherever we like.
“I’m on your half of the bed,” I say. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Are you trying to start another argument?”
“You know, I was fully aware that I was taking up more than half the bed yesterday.”
“I suspected as much. You would have to be blind as a bat not to realize I was right.”
We laugh, and soon we drift off to sleep.
* * *
I wake up and check the clock. It’s two in the morning.
Will and I are still naked, and his arm is still around me. I try to untangle myself without waking him up, but he mutters something unintelligible as I climb out of bed, and when I come back, he’s awake.