by Kendall Ryan
“Good. Have I told you how much I like you in this dress?”
I’m thrown by the compliment, and even more so by the sensation of his fingers brushing back my hair. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but am silenced by his lips pressing against mine yet again.
My heart stutters. I gasp for a breath, but he won’t let me get more than a sip of air. With his one hand cupping my jaw and the other tangling deep into my hair, I’m totally at his mercy. He angles our kiss just so, and my lips part to feel the tip of his tongue meet mine. If I thought our kiss outside was good, this one is on a whole other level.
I lean into the kiss, inviting him to give me more, to completely consume me. And consume me, he does.
His tongue sweeps against mine so expertly that I can’t help but moan. His hands travel hungrily down my throat, brushing the sides of my breasts and my ribs before resting on my waist. His thumbs massage one, two deep circles against my hip bones, and I actually buck against him.
“Holy shit, Slate!” The exclamation bursts out of me. I feel like I may pass out, practically gasping for air. His breathing is just as labored, and his eyes are dark with a passion I’ve never seen in him. It’s fucking hot.
“Let’s go to your room.” His voice is deeper and more seductive than anything I’ve ever heard. And holy hell, do I like it.
Wordlessly, I hop off the counter. Pulling him down the hall, I lead him to my bedroom. There, Slate spins me around, dragging me back into his embrace. Our kiss is messy now, our hands pulling and tugging at fabric and buttons.
Why isn’t this the least bit weird? It feels so incredibly natural to be doing this with him. It makes zero sense, but rather than question it, I kiss him back, my tongue swirling deliciously against his.
The back of my knees hit the edge of my bed a second before we both topple onto the duvet. Penny, who was most likely sleeping, squeaks in annoyance, jumping away from us in her surprise.
“Sorry, Pen,” I whisper against Slate’s lips, and feel his smile against my mouth. I could live off the way this man kisses.
He grinds his body against mine, one hand yanking my leg up and over his perfectly toned ass. I hook my calf there, right in the perfect dip where his lower back meets that exceptional behind. We roll to our sides, finding just the right angle where—
“Ah!” I gasp, feeling his hardness through his jeans. It presses confidently into my needy core. The silken material of my dress has long since bunched up between us, exposing the panties I wear underneath. Lacy, simple, and now entirely soaked. I wonder if he can feel my heat radiating against him. With the way his hand holds my ass and draws me even closer against him, I’m guessing yes.
We kiss for a long time until I’m breathless and almost trembling with need. Most guys would have already gotten off and left by now, but then again, Slate’s not most guys. He seems perfectly fine with just making out with me. And holy hell, his kisses are like a Class 2 narcotic—highly addictive and extremely dangerous.
His fingers dig deeply into the curve of my behind, grazing the edge of my panties with a distinct goal in mind. I open my legs for him, so his hand can slide between us. The heel of his palm presses assuredly against my clit as his fingers drag along the soaking-wet fabric covering me. I nearly come right then with the conflicting sensations of deep pressure against that bundle of nerves and the soft tickling of his long fingers gliding up and down the length of my panties.
“Slate,” I whimper pleadingly.
“Is this okay?”
“Very.” I whimper again.
“You want more?” he asks, meeting my eyes.
I nod without thinking. “Yeah.”
He kisses my lips again and then pulls back. “How much more? I don’t want to rush you. Don’t want to assume . . .”
I consider his question. While part of me wants him to shut up and let me mount him like a bull at the rodeo, the other part of me appreciates that he’s aware enough to set some ground rules. It’s sweet, actually.
I shudder as his fingers trail over my wet panties again. “We both get to come,” I say on an exhale.
“I like that idea.”
“But no sex,” I add.
He meets my gaze again. “Whatever you want. You’re calling the shots here, Keat.”
“I think we’ve got first base properly covered. How about we skip to third base, then?”
This seems to please him, and his mouth moves to my neck where he leaves openmouthed kisses. “As you wish.”
The line is from a movie we both love—The Princess Bride—but my brain barely has time to catalog that before his fingers deftly push my underwear to the side, and he slides one, then two of his fingers inside me.
“Fuck.” His voice is a husky rumble in his throat.
My eyes sink closed as pleasure shoots through every nerve ending in my body.
I kiss him deeply while his fingers continue pumping with a fierce desire. His thumb rubs my exposed clit, and I can already feel my climax building at an astonishing rate.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t let him take me there before I even see his dick!
I grasp greedily at his belt, tugging and yanking until it comes undone. I slide my hand inside his pants, finding him so hot and hard that my body gives an involuntary clench around his fingers.
Slate makes a low sound in his throat, and I don’t know if it’s because he just felt that, or because he approves of my hand on his dick. Maybe both.
God, this is crazy.
I can’t resist the temptation to look down between us, and when I do, I have to bite my lip from moaning at how perfect he looks. His long, veiny cock throbs against my touch, and his whole body shudders. The rhythm of his fingers sliding in and out of me doesn’t falter, even as I fumble experimentally with his thick length.
“How do you . . . want me . . . to touch you?” Each word is punctuated with a small hiccupping gasp as I try to keep up with him.
His eyes are darker now with smoldering desire. “Take me by the base, firmly.”
I swallow and obey, sliding my hand down. It’s exciting knowing what he likes, getting to see this new side to him.
“Good. Now stroke me from the bottom to the very tip.”
I do, enjoying the feel of him in my hand. He’s so firm, yet his skin is so soft.
“Again. A little faster.” Slate’s voice is ragged, and I still can’t believe it’s me making him lose control.
I pick up my pace, a little thrill racing through me at discovering what he likes.
“Yes.” When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs, and he lets out a grunt. “Rub your thumb over—yes, right there.”
I follow his orders exactly, rubbing my thumb over the wet tip of him. Stroking him while he works his long fingers inside me is better than any sex I’ve ever had. If just the sensations of our hands are making us this wild, what’s it going to be like without the barriers of clothes? With him buried inside me? I shudder and suppress a moan.
“Perfect. Now try and match my speed,” he says, challenging me with a sucking kiss on my neck.
I pick up my pace, jerking him off with zero abandon. His thumb presses onto my clit, no fumbling search necessary. He rubs quick intentional circles that fall perfectly in tempo with his long fingers pumping in and out of me.
His eyes meet mine, and our lips brush in familiarity.
“This will make you come?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“Not before you.” His lips part as he watches me in wonder.
I’m so, so close. A few more seconds and my orgasm rushes up on me like a tidal wave. The moment it hits me, I let loose a moan I never knew I had in me. My body bucks in an unrelenting dance against his hand.
“Look at me, Keat,” he whispers, and I do. And with a kiss to belittle all other kisses, he falls over the edge with me.
The first thing I normally do on Monday mornings is catch up on all the emails that inevitably pile up over the weekend. But I’m
still riding the high of my Saturday night with Keaton, and I can’t stop replaying every blissful moment of discovery we shared long enough to focus.
How her delicate fingers looked wrapped around my hard cock. How she approached my instructions, tentative at first, but quickly gaining confidence. And then turning the tables on her, watching her eyes flutter and feeling her beautiful body shudder as I brought her to climax with my hands . . .
I give up on thinning out my in-box for the moment and go to the office kitchen. Maybe some coffee will help me get into the proper working groove. As I pour myself a cup, the memory of Keaton’s curious, determined, lustful expression while she jerked me off strikes again, and I can’t help but smile.
“What’s with you?” Travis asks from where he’s waiting by the microwave.
Jeez, I didn’t even see him standing right there in the room. I really am distracted today.
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s got you in one hell of a good mood.”
I try to wipe the goofy smile off my face and shrug nonchalantly. “Just woke up on the right side of the bed, I guess. Is that a crime?” Wait, I’m acting too defensive. Way to broadcast that I’ve got something to hide . . . and to the resident snoop too.
“It is on a Monday morning. You get laid or what?” He smirks, and the urge to flip him off comes out of nowhere.
“You nosy or what?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my tone.
Normally it wouldn’t even matter and I’d just tell him the truth—oh yeah, I had a lucky night out recently, whatever, who cares? But Keaton isn’t some random fling I’ll never see again. Even if I don’t mention her name or any other details, which I never do anyway, this feels different. Something that’s none of his fucking business.
Travis laughs as if he’s scored a point on me. Fortunately, the microwave chooses that moment to beep, and he busies himself with the cup of oatmeal he’s making. I head back to my office and close the door before he can start bugging me about my private life again.
As I mechanically answer, forward, and delete emails, my mind keeps wandering to Keaton, my best friend I just discovered a whole new side of.
The embers of attraction were always there, I’ve come to realize. All it took was one little kiss to blow on the ashes and make them roar to life. And now I’m unable to chase her out of my head long enough to pay any attention to work, and fighting back a boner every time I remember what we did this weekend.
Dammit, why did she have to go out of town right after I discovered just how badly I want her? How badly I’ve always wanted her, but somehow never realized.
My gaze strays to my phone for the billionth time, and I curse the fact that now, of all times, her company chose to send her to some fucking development conference for an entire week.
Screw it. I don’t care if I come across as clingy; I’m not the kind of guy who plays the who’ll break down and call first? game. And maybe taking five minutes to nail down our plans to see each other again will help me get my mind back on track.
I grab my phone and send her a message that’ll hopefully put a smile on her face.
How’s the conference going?
Only a few minutes pass before she answers. Either I caught her in one of the few moments she isn’t busy, or she’s stuck in the middle of some boring event.
Making lots of good contacts, I think. Tired, though. Looking forward to coming home.
Me too. You’ll be back in town Friday night, right?
Yeah. Pretty late.
A line of bubbles wavers on the screen and I wait for her to finish responding, only for it to disappear.
Hmm. Typed something and deleted it? Well, if she won’t take the plunge, I will.
So, I was wondering . . . you want to get together again next weekend?
Her reply is immediate.
I’d like that. :) How about Sunday brunch?
I was expecting something more along the lines of dinner, maybe a movie, followed by spending the evening in her bed. Still, I’m hardly disappointed by the prospect of hanging out with Keaton while eating giant waffles and getting day-drunk on Bloody Marys.
Can we do Saturday instead? Sunday afternoons are when I catch up with my mom.
It’s a lame excuse. The phone call to my mom won’t take more than twenty minutes of my day. I just want to see Keaton a day sooner.
Sure. As long as I can still sleep in.
As you wish. I’ll come by around noon.
But I answered too soon. The second half of her reply pops up a second after mine.
And after, we can go back to my place for more “sexploration.”
I swallow hard. It’s a good thing the door is shut, and I have a desk covering my crotch right now. My coworkers don’t need to see that. The only person who gets to see that is Keaton . . . five whole days from now.
God, I don’t know how I’m going to make it.
On my drive home from work, I detour to Keaton’s apartment. Karina, Gabby, and I promised her that we’d cat-sit while she was gone, and tonight is my turn for Penny Patrol.
I unlock Keaton’s door with the borrowed key and take off my shoes. When I don’t immediately see Penny, I’m not concerned. I figure she’ll grace me with her presence once she hears the kitty kibble rattling into her bowl.
But even after I refresh her food and water and clean her litter box, no cranky orange cat appears. Since I can’t leave without even seeing her, I look underneath the couch, dining table, TV stand, even in the bathtub and behind the toilet.
Keaton’s apartment isn’t that big—where the fuck is she? Did she slip out the door somehow?
Finally, I check Keaton’s bedroom, feeling a little weird barging in here while she’s away, and spot Penny curled up like a fluffy basketball on her pillow.
“There you are. You really had me going for a minute.” Penny’s green eyes open ever so slightly, just the tiniest, haughty slits. I sit on the bed and stroke her rounded back. “Didn’t you hear the dinner bell? What, you’re too good for that stuff now?”
Ignoring my teasing, she yawns and stretches luxuriously, spreading her claws out in front of her.
Well, Penny isn’t sick or missing or trapped, and she’d probably remove my hand if I tried to pick her up to take her to her food, so this is good enough for now. She’ll get hungry and eat on her own, eventually. Time for me to go home.
I stand up . . . but can’t help lingering, looking around, remembering what happened on this bed a mere two days ago. Just the familiar smell of Keaton is enough to simultaneously loosen my shoulders and tighten my groin.
Impatient desire hits me, and I don’t even try to resist texting her.
I’m standing in your bedroom.
I blink at those words on the screen and continue typing.
I swear that’s not as creepy as it sounds. I’m checking on Penny.
Keaton’s reply comes a second later.
Thanks again for doing that.
Being in here . . . remembering what we did in that bed . . .
Part of me wonders if I could get Keaton to sext with me, and a smirk overtakes my mouth at the idea.
Was I that bad?
I suppress a chuckle. Leave it to Keaton to bring her trademark self-deprecating humor into a moment like this.
You know the answer to that. It’s your fault that my boxers are getting tight remembering it.
Don’t traumatize my cat, Slate.
Whoops. Too late . . . I’m already hard.
For a second, I wonder if that’s totally fucking weird to send to Keaton, and I’m worried I’ve gone too far. But then she replies.
There’s an easy solution to that. Go out and get laid.
I frown at my phone. That’s the last thing I want to do. Which is weird, right? But rather than overthink it, I text her back.
No thanks. I’d rather wait for you.
Really? Then I guess I’ll have to make it worth the wait.
But as I turn to leave the bedroom, a framed picture on the back corner of Keaton’s desk catches my eye. I was too preoccupied with her body to notice it the last time I was here. It’s a snapshot of us with our friends from college.
I smile at how young we all look. Man, we’ve really changed since then. Keaton and Karina wearing matching T-shirts from their honors sorority, Gabby with that crazy rainbow-dyed hair she used to have, and . . .
My stomach sours. Tanya. Laughing and clinging to my arm like a leech.
I remember now, Tanya said I looked like an asshole in that picture. Then again, she said I was a lot of things. Stupid. Selfish. A loser only she would ever love. A disobedient animal who needed to be led around by the dick—wear this, buy me that, change majors, take some shitty job working for her father, can’t you see I’m just trying to help you?
I grit my teeth and turn the picture frame facedown so I won’t catch a glimpse of her the next time I’m here.
No, I was never the one Tanya was looking out for. She was just trying to mold me into the impossible fantasy she carried around in her mind. The perfect arm-candy breadwinner who would never, ever embarrass or inconvenience her by acting like an independent human being. And when I couldn’t be that mind-reading robot who always did and said and looked exactly how she wanted, she finally lost patience and kicked me to the curb.
Looking back on it now, I can tell what a huge bullet I dodged. But at the time, I was wrapped hopelessly around her finger, and her rejection ripped my heart out. Just goes to show how stupid love makes you, I guess.