by Kendall Ryan
I draw his lips down to mine in a long kiss so he can taste the answer on my tongue.
“Keat . . .” He breathes out my name as his firm cock kisses my damp center again. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”
I wiggle beneath him, sliding my wetness along his shaft. I swear my brain short-circuits at how good that feels.
A sexy grunt tumbles from his lips and his eyes latch onto mine.
“Yes.” I moan again, my hips still moving.
“You sure?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
“Very.”
“Stay still for me.”
I do as he says and watch as he quickly rolls on a condom. Then he clutches my hip in one hand as his other hand clutches the sheets by my head.
“If you don’t like anything I do, if you want to stop—” He’s cut off by my lips pressing to his in a firm kiss.
“Want you,” I gasp, working my hips against him.
“Keaton,” he growls.
Then inch by slow inch, he begins to fill me. I can barely breathe, thrown by how perfectly we fit; his girth sliding exquisitely against my tight walls.
“Fuck,” he bites out once he’s buried inside me.
He’s right. It’s completely overwhelming, yet so right at the same time. How is that possible?
My body grips his perfectly, and I press my mouth to his neck.
Slate draws back slowly, pushing in again, and the lowest, sexiest growl tumbles from his parted lips as I squeeze around him.
“You feel so good,” he says with a groan.
We’re both panting, our mouths open, gazes fixed on each other. His eyes spark in that way that they do when we’ve just exchanged an inside joke. I don’t think we could get any more inside than this, I think, a small smile tickling my lips. His own lips curl upward, and now we’re laughing breathlessly at the perfection of our melded bodies. He drops down and gives me a soft kiss on my smiling lips. With a gentle nudge from my hips, he begins to move within me, faster now.
And my smile falls away.
The very air in the room shifts. I’m being tossed by warm waves of ecstasy, my wet sex pushing and pulling against his hard, confident length. I wrap my naked thighs around him, enveloping the pulsing muscles of his legs and ass.
“Tell me it’s good for you.”
My gaze meets his. “It’s perfect.”
His mouth is at my neck, kissing and nipping, and his breaths come in harsh pants. “You feel so tight. So damn good.”
His words fill me with a sense of bliss, and everything he’s doing feels amazing.
Being with Slate like this—it’s better than I could have ever imagined. With every thrust, I’m threatening to come apart. His hot breath against my neck and his throaty murmurs are driving me wild. I imagined him being quiet during sex, but I like that I can hear every breath, that I’m the one making him groan out soft, need-filled sounds.
I meet him thrust for thrust, one of my hands combing wildly through his soft hair. My other hand is trapped beneath his, our fingers locked in a tight embrace above my head on the sheets. It’s coming; we can both feel it. Slate’s cock pumps harder inside me until the only thing that exists is him.
“Fuck, Keaton.”
He moans against my ear and I’m lost, hurtling into an abyss of my own making. I shake with each gust of my orgasm, rocking against him so violently that he comes a second later. He pushes through the quakes, his cock still thrusting against my quivering walls.
I never want this feeling to stop. From the way he’s repeating my name like a prayer, I don’t think he does either.
Our orgasms finally fade, and I take a deep breath. The bed shifts as the sex god collapses next to me, our legs still entwined.
I open my eyes. I’m not sure when I let them shutter closed. Or when my glasses came off.
“Wow,” I gasp. Between shaking breaths, I try to decide whether to just let myself melt into his sheets forever or attempt to be a functioning human again.
“Yeah,” he murmurs back, half his face buried in the softness of his bed as he lies, sated, on his belly.
I gaze at the way the sweat glistens on his back with every rise and fall of his breaths. Who knew this man was so damn beautiful beneath the sarcasm and jokes?
“I do feel like something was missing, though,” he says out of the blue, propping his head up on one bent arm to meet my gaze.
My throbbing heart drops like a rock.
“What? Was it boring?” I ask, biting back any obvious signs of hurt in my voice. If he has comments on my sexual performance, I damn well want to hear them.
“Not at all.” He smiles. “You are superb.”
His hand cups my cheek in a surprisingly intimate gesture. I wonder briefly how our regular gestures and platonic nonverbals will change now that he has literally been inside me. Or rather, fucked my brains out.
“Then what was missing?” My eyes narrow, but my smile remains from the compliment. I can’t help but glow a little. I don’t think anyone has ever used the word “superb” to describe even my most impressive work on the job, let alone in bed.
“I guess I imagined our first time involving a lot more . . .” He trails off, as if struggling to find the proper word.
“Spit it out!” I smack his ass lightly.
“Cat hair.” His expression remains thoughtful and distant, although his eyes sparkle with mischief. My heart leaps back into action, resuscitated by the normalcy of our usual banter.
“You are such an ass.” I poke him on that very target for emphasis.
“You like it,” he says with a grin.
I squeeze that supple muscle in response, not saying yes, but definitely not saying no.
“What time is it?” He flips over and stretches, not unlike how Penny does in the morning after a long night curled up on the duvet.
A few moments later, I’m back on my feet, fishing around for my cell phone in our pile of discarded clothes. I’m surprised I can still stand, to be honest. How amazing is it that I have such a great friend who happens to be amazing in the sack?
“It’s almost eleven,” I say with wide eyes. “I should go. Getting up for work tomorrow is going to be a bitch.”
While I pull my shirt back on over my head, I hear Slate intake a breath, as if to say something. But he says nothing.
Working on my buttons, I ask, “What?”
“Nothing.” He smiles, but I can tell it isn’t nothing. What was he going to say? “I’ll order you an Uber.”
He launches off his bed, grabs his cell phone off the floor, and walks toward the kitchen, gloriously nude. Jesus, it’s not fair how attractive he is.
He must feel me ogling the delicious curve of his backside because he asks, “Do you need some water to rehydrate from all that drooling?”
“I could use some rehydration, yes,” I admit with a chuckle. Busted.
Why be embarrassed for getting caught staring at my best friend’s ass? We just had explosive, life-changing sex, and I’m definitely not embarrassed about that. I feel incredible, still riding the high of the happy post-orgasm chemicals dancing across my brain.
And he’s not acting weird, so why should I? Don’t overthink it, Keat.
I take in the sight of Slate’s bed, now thoroughly mussed from our romping. His room, like the rest of his apartment, is neater than I’ve ever seen it, except on holidays. I can’t help but wonder what the occasion is.
Am I the occasion? That thought makes my belly flip.
“Uber will be here in two,” he says, returning with two glasses of water.
He hands me one and sits on the edge of the bed beside me. We clink our glasses in familiar camaraderie and drink. I let my thoughts slide to the back of my mind with each refreshing gulp of water.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says, setting his glass aside.
“Like that?”
He looks down at his still flushed naked body. “I guess I should spare Maggie the Uber drive
r, shouldn’t I?”
“Hmm.” I flick water at his bare chest, enjoying how he jumps back with a little hiss. Just like a cat, I think with a smile. “Perhaps.”
“You brat,” he mutters, pulling his pants on. He reaches around me to grab his shirt off the floor, planting a quick, firm kiss on my cheek before turning toward the front hall. “All right, Little Miss Workaholic, let’s get you home.”
See? I tell myself. Absolutely nothing has changed. He’s not acting weird, and neither should I.
I’m still smiling from our exchange when my car arrives. Slate helps me into the backseat. Time for good-byes. I’m expecting another high five or at least a fist bump.
I don’t expect his hand to cup my cheek so gently and his lips to press against mine in a soft, warm kiss. I don’t expect to lean into that sensation, to draw his lips between mine in eager response. We linger like that . . . for just a moment longer than friends with benefits ought to.
When Maggie the Uber driver shifts in her seat and adjusts the radio, we get the hint and break apart. Slate’s eyes have that giddy sparkle that completely gives away his happiness, and I wonder what my expression must look like to him.
The door closes, and Maggie and I are on our way down the road back to reality.
Okay, Keaton. Maybe something has changed.
“Holy crap, this place is packed,” Gabby mutters as we walk into the bar.
She’s not kidding—I can barely hear her over the chattering crowd, let alone the music, which is cranked to a twelve out of ten.
“Just another Saturday night downtown.” I sigh in resignation. “At least there’s still a few seats left at the bar. We won’t have to split up.”
Karina frowns. “No tables? Ugh. Those bar stools make my ass hurt. But I guess it’s not the end of the world.”
We wander toward the bar where I spot my friend Jack, who owns the place, and I give him a fist bump. “Hey, dude. Good to see you.”
“You too,” he calls out over the music.
The place is packed, and although he isn’t usually working behind the bar, I guess I’m not all that surprised to see him here, helping pick up the slack.
“Business good?” I ask.
“Excellent.” He nods. Then he gestures to the bartender beside him, getting her attention. “Get them anything they want tonight.”
I shake my head, about to tell him that he doesn’t have to do that.
“Hi, guys, sorry I’m late,” Keaton calls out from behind us.
I turn. “You’re not late. We just got h—” My mouth drops open.
Holy shit.
Keaton is wearing a wine-colored minidress that clings to her every curve. If I weren’t so enamored with the way she looked in it, I’d want to throw a trench coat over the top of her just to keep anyone else from looking at her.
There are no sequins, or lace, or any other embellishments that most women prefer these days. But she doesn’t need them. She’s perfection. The plunging neckline shows off a dangerous amount of cleavage, and already I can feel my cock stirring.
Between the hem, which barely reaches halfway down her sleek thighs, and her black strappy heels, her legs look about ten miles long. What the fuck? When did Keaton’s legs get so long? I’m about to ask her when I get ahold of myself.
Her long, dark hair is pulled back to show off her elegant neck and delicate collarbone before cascading down her back. Overall, her outfit is simple, but damn, is it ever effective—it lets her stunning body and face speak for themselves.
All I can say is, “Wow.”
Gabby wolf-whistles loudly. “Ooh, look at you, girl! That dress should be illegal.”
No kidding. I’ve seen Keaton all primped and polished before, and I certainly loved that dark pink number she wore on the first night we kissed, but this is on a whole other level of hotness. It doesn’t help that I’ve already been distracted by her in new ways ever since we started hooking up.
I’ll have to be careful not to let any boners make a surprise guest appearance tonight . . .
“I love it,” Karina coos. “Is it new? Let me see the whole thing. Come on, do your little turn on the catwalk.”
“Aw, thanks, you guys. I guess I just felt like sprucing up tonight.” Grinning, Keaton twirls to show off, revealing how the dress bares her back all the way down to those twin dimples above her ass, and shows the perfect outline of her round backside.
Fuck.
My hands tighten into fists at my sides to keep from doing something stupid, like reaching out and touching her. I have to take a deep breath and convince myself not to drag her down the hall to Jack’s office in the back and make her change.
“And no, it’s not new. I bought it years ago and just never had the guts to wear it. I was so glad when it still fit.” Then she gives me a small, sultry smile that only I can see, and a possessive heat stirs inside me.
I take a deep breath in an effort to calm myself. When we take our seats at the bar, I sit at the end of our little row, next to Keaton. I don’t want any random douchebags creeping up next to her—with how incredible she looks, someone would definitely try it if I didn’t play bodyguard. It’s really just the gentlemanly thing to do.
The frenzied-looking bartender takes our drink orders and whips them out to us with impressive speed. Keaton’s customary whiskey and Coke, followed by a tequila shot for Gabby, a vodka soda for me, and a mango mojito for Karina.
Normally, being out with the girls means I have built-in wing-women who other women seem to flock to—essentially making it easy for me to get laid. Tonight, though, that’s the furthest thing from my mind.
Karina sips her drink with a loud sigh like she’s just set down a hundred-pound weight. “Ah . . . it’s so good to get out of the house and see you guys. I’ve been this close to losing my shit all week.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger and pinches them together.
“What’s Mateo doing now?” Keaton asks with an air of sympathetic weariness.
“Our wedding is practically tomorrow, so we should be done planning by now, right? But we’re still arguing about the fucking guest list. I keep saying we don’t have the money to invite his five billion cousins, not to mention the logistical nightmare.”
Gabby squints in confusion. “Doesn’t he hate most of his cousins? Why does he even want them there?”
“He does!” Karina groans. “The problem is, he’s afraid his aunts will get their collective panties in a knot. And some bullshit about his inheritance. I think he should just let ’em whine. It’s not like it’s unfair if both of us invite only immediate family, but no . . .”
She continues venting, adding more swear words as she alternates between talking and drinking. But I don’t hear the rest because Keaton has shifted to cross her legs, the hem of her dress riding up to expose a generous swath of upper thigh. The delicious glimpse draws my gaze like a magnet. I can’t help myself, now that I know exactly how soft that creamy, secret skin feels, how surprisingly strong those legs are, wrapped around my back, pulling me deeper inside her . . .
Fuck.
“Hello? You there, Slate?” Karina says, prodding me.
I tear my gaze away. “Yeah,” I say with a grunt.
She raises one eyebrow. “Really? Then what was I just saying?”
“Uh . . . your fiancé is trying to avoid family drama?”
Gabby giggles. “That’s true, but we changed topics, like, five minutes ago.”
Dammit. “Okay, you got me.” I sigh. “Sorry. I was thinking about . . . this work problem.” Hard work. Very hard. Hard being the operative word. I sneak another glance at Keaton’s legs.
“You’re really spaced out tonight.” Gabby slurps her electric-blue cocktail. When did she even order that? I really haven’t been paying attention.
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.” Especially because Keaton and I haven’t had another chance to hook up since last weekend. So I’m horny on top of everything else.
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve grown accustomed to regular sex. Once or twice a week, I take a girl home from a bar to relieve the ache, but lately, that hasn’t been the case. Because of Keaton. She’s asked me to help her, and I’m committed to seeing it through. And after last weekend . . . I swallow.
Damn, that night was amazing. If I didn’t know otherwise, I hardly would have believed it was our first time together. We were both so in tune with each other. I can’t remember the last time I felt a connection like that. It was like we just knew—each other’s bodies, how to move, anticipating what each other needed next.
And I was unimaginably turned on . . . my dick could have pounded nails.
Not only is Keaton gorgeous, but her responsiveness is such hot, wonderful fun. I could spend hours exploring her, learning what pleases her best, drawing out every possible erotic response. And watching her fumble with me, touching me in careful, measured strokes? The memory of it brings a smile to my lips even now.
I want to growl with impatient lust. A week is too fucking long to wait. I’ve spent every hour of every day itching to get reacquainted with her naked body. All I want to do is get Keaton alone again and make her squirm and scream and—
Gabby’s voice interrupts my increasingly dirty reminiscing. “So tired you haven’t noticed the hot blonde checking you out over there?”
“Huh?” I’ve barely heard what anyone has said, let alone spent any time trolling for tail. All I’ve done tonight is try not to get caught ogling Keaton.
Keaton points to the other end of the bar. “That one. She’s been eyeing you up for, like, twenty minutes now.” She cocks her head with a challenging smirk. “Go get her, Slate.”
I shrug, not bothering to turn and see for myself. “Nah, I’m good.”
Karina’s eyes widen until they’re comically large.
“Seriously, dude?” Gabby almost shouts. “There’s a total babe staring a hole in your pants, and you’re not even going to look at her? Or any of the other gazillion women here? Did aliens replace you with a robot clone?”
“Oh my God, you’re right. He must be coming down with something.” Karina reaches out to touch my forehead, and then my cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”