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He shakes.
The bet works. We make it all the way to the apartment without a single word about sex, Archie, or The Incident.
Even inside, as we rush to lower our voices, we only mention Archie in a let's not wake him way.
We watch a movie on the couch. Dare's pick. A black-and-white film about war. I fall asleep halfway through the movie. Wake to Dare, laying me in my bed.
I look up at him with sleepy eyes. "Hey."
"Hey yourself."
"I should brush my teeth."
"You really should." He smiles, teasing. But there's something else too. Something I can't explain.
I expect him to leave as I slide out of bed, but he doesn't. He stays in my room while I clean in the bathroom, while I change into my pajamas (he turns and closes his eyes), while I slip into bed.
He sits down on the mattress next to me. "Promise me one thing, Val?"
"Depends what it is."
"You'll tell me if anything is too much."
"If that means you'll drop it."
He nods.
"Good night, Dare."
"Good night." I lean in for my good night hug, but when I get closer, I close my eyes and bring my lips to his.
His fingers curl around my neck as he kisses back.
I wrap my lower lips around his. I scrape my teeth against his soft flesh.
Again, he groans against my mouth.
Practice.
That's what I tell myself.
Even after he leaves and I do away with my pajama bottoms and I replay our kiss again and again.
Chapter Twenty-One
DARE
The last thought in my head as I fall asleep?
The taste of Val's lips.
The feel of her body melting into mine.
The need in her eyes.
She runs through my dreams, again and again. And, in dreams, the devil on my shoulder is in control.
She doesn't want slow. She wants you.
She kissed you unprompted.
She kissed you like she meant it.
She meant it.
Look at her demand? Learn any technique she wants, any way she wants.
What else could that mean?
I wake hard enough to cut glass. Morning wood is nothing unusual, but this is a whole other level. My entire body is hard.
Not possible, but, hey, that doesn't change the ache in my balls. In another circumstance, it would be the best kind of torture. Now?
I need to take care of this situation.
As soon as I piss and brush my teeth—I have some fucking standards.
I press my ear to the door to listen for activity in the main room. Nothing.
As quietly as possible, I sneak to the bathroom, wash up, move through the living room.
Only there's a noise in Val's room. The rustle of sheets. A soft groan.
No.
She's not—
There's no way.
I should go to my room, go to a coffee shop down the street, go anywhere else.
I don't.
I tiptoe to the door. I raise my hand to knock. I stop when I hear another groan.
There's no mistaking it.
Val is touching herself.
And it's sexy as fuck.
I shouldn't listen, I know, but I'm too shocked to move. My body refuses to budge.
It's like my dick took control of the entire vessel. No way, Dickson, I'm the one in charge here. And you might deny me all of her, but you won't deny me this.
She lets out another groan. Then another.
Then the sweet sound runs together.
Her breath hitches.
Her limbs collapse on the sheets.
I swear I hear my name on her lips, but there's no way.
Footsteps call my attention. Shit. She's moving.
But she's too fast. I don't have time to run, so I knock.
She stops. "Dare?"
"Yeah. You up?"
"Yeah." Her voice is breathy. "Are you?"
In every sense of the word. "You want to leave in twenty?"
She lets out another confused murmur.
I try to ignore the way my body shudders in response to her need. "For the beach?"
"Oh," she says. "Right. Yeah. Make it thirty. I need to get coffee. Archie used the last of it. I can grab you something while I'm out."
Good. I need the time, here, alone. "Whatever you're having."
She moves toward the door. "I'm not decent, so I'm not going to say morning."
Is she naked? In only her undies? Her jeans?
The thought of Val, in my lap, in only her jeans, my hands on her perfect tits—
Fuck, I'm going to come in my boxers at this rate.
"Me either," I say.
"Why'd you knock then?"
"Coffee."
"Oh. Right. I'll pick some up. You get dressed."
"I'll get dressed, but I won't get decent."
She laughs, but it's awkward, like she's the one picturing me naked.
No. That's my imagination. And, well, I better use my imagination before it's too late.
I slip back to my room, I lock the door, I ditch my boxers.
And I let my thoughts drift to last night.
Val, in that sexy as hell wrap top and those tight jeans, sliding onto my lap like she belonged there.
Then, the shit that could have happened.
Me, unwrapping her top, pushing her bra aside, wrapping my lips around her nipple.
Her, unzipping her jeans, climbing onto my lap, demanding an in-person demonstration.
