“Is that going to be our code word for sex? Cookies?” I lift my hips when he dips his hands into the waistband of my pants, drags them down my hips.
He’s grinning from ear to ear. Kisses my belly button. “You think we’re going to have enough sex to need a code word?”
“God I hope so.” I groan when my pants get thrown to the floor. Then, “But I wasn’t thinking about sex when I baked those cookies for you, so get that out of your head.”
“I might be clueless about some things, Laurel, but I know what it means when a girl drops by my place with baked goods.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Fine, I’m busted—I did want you eating my cookies.”
“They were good. Melted in my mouth.” His lips graze my throat. Clavicle.
“Sweet?”
Laps at my nipple. “So sweet.”
Ugh, this boy. Those words. That tongue.
“You’re sweet.” I brush the hair out of his eyes so I can get a good look at him. “I find you irresistible.”
He studies me, braced on his arms. “Yeah?”
His voice is a deep timbre that gives me the chills, brown eyes mesmerizing.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” I run my hands down his muscles, his rock-solid biceps. Ugh, these arms. “Embrasse moi.” Kiss me. “Then let’s get under these sheets.”
He pulls down the corner of his quilt so we can scurry beneath it. When we do, I slide off my panties, dropping them beside the bed.
“There, naked.”
He swallows. “I don’t know if I’m going to last—it’s been a few years. I don’t want to embarrass myself…or disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me? Not possible.”
I wonder if I should suck him off, get him to come quick so when we finally get to the business of having sex, he lasts longer. I’m selfish like that.
Throwing back the covers we climbed beneath, I drag my breasts down his bulky frame, hands looping the elastic waistband of his navy underwear. Drag them down, mouth on his thick, erect—
“Oh shit,” he groans when I suck. “What are you doing?”
“Foreplay.” I hum, finger immediately seeking the hot button under his cock. Press down in tiny circles just like I read once in a magazine. His hips twitch, legs start to shake.
I smile around his dick.
“Shit Laurel, if you keep doing that I’m going to come.”
That’s the whole point of this pre-sex blow job.
I suck hard and long, palming his balls. Hum onto his cock, the tip hitting the back of my throat. Feel the telltale signs of pulsing—a good sign. Too easy.
“Stop, oh fuck…I’m gonna come.” He’s panting after only a few minutes.
Suck, suck, suck.
Rhett’s head tips back, glorious throat constricting. Hands grip my shoulders. “Fuck, oh fuck, fuck yeah.”
Small tremors. Thighs quiver.
Rhett comes in my mouth and I suck, swallowing. Remove my mouth, wiping it with the back of my hand. Admire his body as he lies there, spent, the aftershock of the quickie ’gasm wearing off.
I lean over toward the bedside table and grab the water bottle, twisting off the top. Chug. Gurgle. Replace the cap and slip under the covers, pulling them up around us.
Lie facing him, watching as he comes down off his climax, eyes hooded. Lips set in a content line, I spread out beside him, hip against his cock.
One kiss. Two.
One to my brow. Tip of my nose.
Bow of my lips.
I open for him, legs spreading when his hand drags along my inner thigh. Tongues touch lazily. Unhurried. Dreamy. My tender breasts full.
Aching.
Rhett’s rough, callused fingers splay, gripping the sensitive skin between my thighs. “You’re beautiful.”
I’ve heard it a thousand times before, but this feels like the first. Coming from him? It’s significant.
I’m not just a pretty face to Rhett. Not just arm candy or a trophy to be won and flaunted among his pompous friends. If anything, he wants to keep me for himself.
“Tu es belle.” He kisses my temple.
Tu es belle—it sounds familiar. He’s said it to me before, I know he has, but I don’t have time to wonder what it means as I allow myself to get lost in his touch.
Rhett
“Tu es belle.” I kiss her temple as my fingers explore between her legs. She is beautiful, hair spread out on my pillow, blue eyes sparkling ardently. Lips swollen from my kisses, pale skin red, marred from my beard stubble.
When Laurel stretches like a cat, arms above her head, my body begins responding in kind to the sight of her naked flesh. Her round breasts and flat stomach. The shaved valley between her slender thighs.
She tips her head, arches her back as my fingers part her slit. I run one up and down, tiny circles against her pussy. Laurel bites her bottom lip, nostrils flaring.
Lips part the barest of a fraction. Eyes roll.
Reaching out, her fingers rake through my hair, watching me as I finger her. Shit, I don’t know if I’m even doing it right—but her face is flushed and she’s squirming a lot, which I take as a good sign.
“You’re getting hard again.” She wiggles her hips.
Impatiently? Excited.
I am getting hard again—thank Christ. Eyes scan the bed for the condoms I threw down earlier. They’re near the foot of the bed, close to the edge, but not so far I won’t be able to reach them when I need to slip one on.
Condoms.
I’ve only ever worn them twice—for the same fuck. The first time I tried putting one on, it snapped when I rolled it, breaking. The second attempt went marginally better, the actual sex act lasting only as long as it had taken to put the damn thing on in the first place. Beth, my first partner, wasn’t a virgin, didn’t come when we fucked, and whined about it the entire drive home.
We stayed friends—because we’re from such a small town—but it was always awkward after that. Just awesome.
Laurel is wet, my fingers slick. Thumb caressing the swollen nub hidden there. She moans. Thrashes her head.
Whines.
Gazes at me with eyes so glazed over with a looming orgasm it makes the throbbing between my own legs increase tenfold.
“I want you i-inside me when I…oh God…”
“Should I get the…” Condoms?
“Yes,” she hisses. Her legs squeeze closed when I fly to the foot of the bed, snatching up the strip of condoms and tearing one off. Rip the package open with my teeth like a savage, roll it on like I’ve done it a hundred times.
When I rise to climb over the body personifying every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had, I take a second to appreciate the view: Laurel’s legs spread wide, inviting me to slide inside that smooth pussy. Long, wavy red hair. Amazing rack. Hands white-knuckling the bedspread.
Impatient. “I can’t stand it anymore. Hurry.”
Trembling, I reach down, grabbing my cock, guiding it into her heat, hoping like fuck I stick it in the right hole.
Then?
A collective moan when my dick slides in, inch by glorious inch, guided by the white light behind my eyelids. Vision a blur. Loud, passionate groans our only soundtrack.
I push into her gently, elbows braced on either side of her gorgeous face, bending to kiss her. Her mouth opens, tongue plunging into mine. Starving, sexy.
Over and over.
I can’t believe I’m having sex with Laurel Bishop, my brain screams, momentarily distracting me from all the sliding in and out I know I should be doing.
God she feels good. Hot.
Fuck she feels good. Slick.
Jesus she feels good. Tight.
I thrust into her, pleasure coursing through my blood, veins. Head. Feet. Legs. Balls. Dick.
“Rhett,” she whimpers, tapping my bicep. “I knew you would feel good.”
“You’ve thought about it?”
“Only a hundred times a day.”
Her fingers dig into my hips, nudging me off her. Shoves me to my back, legs swinging into a straddle. Eases down around me, sinking onto my dick. Undulates her hips, back and forth, in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.
And this is the part where I fucking die and go to heaven…
Holy Christ. Holy shit.