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“Physical.” Her voice cracked slightly.
“Yeah. We’ll do whatever we want with each other, whenever we want, but only here. In the Bahamas. When we’re back in Florida, we’ll pretend it never fucking happened. What do you say?”
“That’s like Friends.”
“Sorry?”
“You know, they had that London agreement? Chandler and Monica?”
“I’ve never watched Friends.” I frowned.
“You know that’s like a crime against humanity, right?”
“I’m about to eat your pussy so good, you’re going to come like you’ve never come before,” I said, my dick growing thicker and harder at the prospect. “Are you really worried about my TV-watching habits?”
Summer had gone pink in the cheeks again. She exhaled upward, unsettling some of her hair. “Well, you certainly know how to redirect a conversation.”
“That’s not the only thing I know how to do.” I walked over to her and lowered myself to my knees next to the sofa. I shifted her leg aside so that the skirt she wore tightened, providing me with a tantalizing glimpse of the lacy underwear she wore underneath.
“Matt,” she said. “I can’t do much.”
“Let me handle it.” I set about positioning her, carefully. I placed pillows behind her back and some under her injured ankle. I gently lifted her skirt over her thighs and gingerly slipped her lacy red panties down her legs.
A thong. Christ. It was already soaked through with her juices. I couldn’t wait to taste her.
Once again, I widened her legs, brought her forward gently so she was comfortable but perfectly positioned for me to set to work on her.
Her pussy was open to the air now, to my lascivious gaze. She was swollen and pink and dripping for me. I lifted the rose off the coffee table, running my finger down the side of the stem to ensure the thorns had been removed and stood up again.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, my lips lifting into a half-smile.
She panted on the sofa, her hands and fingers shifting as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.
“Uh, you can see how I’m feeling.”
“I want to hear it from you, gorgeous. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Like I’m about to blow,” she said.
“You want to come for me already?”
Summer bit her bottom lip and nodded. “So close.”
“Baby, I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“I’m not your baby,” she replied.
“Then what are you?”
Summer shook her head.
“My woman,” I said.
Another shake. “Just a friend, remember?”
She’s mine. My woman. No, just a friend. She was right.
I dropped down next to her again, my knees on the carpeting, her pussy near the edge of the sofa. I blew on it gently, and she whined.
“Oh my god, don’t tease me,” she said.
“I’m not teasing you, Summer. I’m taking my time. I’m going to give you the most mind-shattering orgasm you’ve ever had.”
“Matt,” she said. “Matt, I can’t wait.”
I blew a second time, watching as her pussy clenched tight and grew even wetter. Carefully, I lifted the rose and stroked the petals over the insides of her thighs, drawing long, low moans from her throat, just as I’d envisioned.
She cupped her breasts over her camisole and squeezed. Her nipples rose to attention, and she toyed with them, her eyes glazing over with pleasure.
“That’s it,” I said. “Touch yourself for me.”
“I want it. I want you inside me.”
I wanted nothing more than to do that, but it would only wind up hurting her. She needed special treatment, to be cared for. That was what this was about. I drew shapes with the rose, slowly dragging it over her skin down to above her ankle and up again, across her perfectly shaved pussy but nowhere near the lips.
“Please,” she whined. “Stop playing with me.”
“Hmm.” That called for another round of stroking her with the rose bud.
Summer’s panting had reached its peak. She dragged her shirt down over her breasts and freed them, squeezing and stroking herself.
“You need some help with that?” I asked, my voice gravelly deep.
She couldn’t reply.
I ran the rose up over the rim of her skirt and the fabric of her shirt and onto her breasts. I circled each nipple, drawing gasps from her again. She circled her hips on the sofa. It was past time I gave her what she wanted.
“Hold this,” I said, placing the rose in her hand.
I shifted closer, leaned on the sofa, and ran my tongue from her dripping pussy hole up to her clit.
“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Oh fuck. Oh wow.”
“Use the rose on yourself,” I said. “Play with your nipples.” I didn’t check whether she’d followed my orders. I was fixated on her wetness, her pussy, her need for me, so clear and delicious.
I dragged my tongue over her again, relishing the immediate reaction from the cussing to the gasping to the clenching of her pussy. I collected her juices on my tongue and smoothed them over her clit.
