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I don't remember how it feels to be touched.
Show me. Please.
Here.
There.
Everywhere.
I come way too fucking fast. Even so, when I hear her return with coffee, I go straight to a million vivid mental images.
I get hard.
Again.
And, this time, I know there's absolutely nothing else that will satisfy.
Only her.
The second I step into the main room and set eyes on Val, I lose every bit of sense.
She looks gorgeous in her white sundress.
Chic and feminine and sexy.
The top is tight on her perfect chest, loose around her hips, high on her thighs.
Those thighs.
How would they feel against my hands?
My hips?
My cheeks?
"Aren't you hot in that?" she asks.
I shrug like I'm wearing a long hoodie for no particular reason and not because it's the only way to hide my hard-on. "Cold in here."
"It's hot outside. You might want to lose it." She looks at me carefully, like she knows I was listening.
No. That's me imagining things. That's my dick, writing fantastical porn-tastic scenarios. That's not happening.
"I got you a latte." She sets a cup on the kitchen counter and takes a sip.
"Is that what you got?"
"No. I don't need as much milk," she says.
"Some people would find that sorta thing condescending."
"Some people." She smiles, at ease, not at all concerned with our kiss last night or whatever I heard this morning. "But not you."
"No." This is normal. I can be normal. I can look at my best friend without picturing her naked. "But only 'cause I like you."
She blushes.
Okay. Maybe we're not normal. Maybe, now that I've kissed Val, nothing will ever be normal again. But I can try to pretend. "I'll forgive you this time."
"You're merciful."
"That's what they say."
"Uh… how… you know what, I don't want to know." She clears her throat and sets a small bag on the table. "I got you a breakfast sandwich too. Egg and bacon."
"No Iberian ham?"
"Trust me. You'll beg for anything but Iberian ham after a week."
"Beg, huh?" Red alert.
"Yeah, beg." She smiles, but I can't tell if she catches the sexual implication or not.
How about I tie you to the bed and lick you until you beg me to stop? How's that for mercy?
Val doesn't mention the kinky conversation. She plates the sandwiches and brings them to the table. "Eat. You need your strength."
Visions of athletic sex fill my head.
"For the beach."
Right. Of course. We're engaging in our favorite best friend activity. Not orgasmic activities.
"You're quiet this morning. Even for you." She cuts her egg and avocado sandwich in half and takes a bite. "Are you okay?"
No. I want to hear you again. I want to kiss you again. I want to take you to my bed and claim you forever. "Jet lag," I lie.
I join her at the table, take a long sip, let out a way too satisfied sigh.
She notices. Her breath hitches. Her fingers curl into her cup. Her gaze flits to my crotch. "Are you going to wear that to the beach?" she asks.
Good. We're moving to a subject that isn't how much I want to see her come. "I'll bring a change of clothes."
"Okay."
"Are you wearing a swimsuit under there?"
"No. I have my bikini in my bag. It's a long walk. And you're going to want to stop a bunch of places on the way. The Gothic Quarter is gorgeous."
"You don't have to lie. We both know why we're stopping."
She smiles, do I? "Why's that?"
"There's a Mango on the way."
Val laughs.
I hold out my hand to shake. "A bet is a bet. Unless you want to concede."
"Never." She stares at my hand a moment too long, like she's thinking of where it's been, but she doesn't say anything.
She shakes.
We pack our stuff.
And without a single additional word about what I overheard this morning, we leave the apartment and head toward the Gothic Quarter.
And even as I lead her into the Mango store and pick out clothes, I feel it in the air. I'm picturing her touching herself. Replaying the sound.
Wondering how it would feel to step into the situation.
And there's no way to get my thoughts to appropriate places.
Chapter Twenty-Two
VAL
I'm not sure how I find my way to the dressing room, with a stack of suit jackets and matching slacks, but here I am.
And there's Dare, standing fifteen feet away, outside the dressing room.
Not outside the area, of course, but outside the stall.
He's right outside the door.
He's in his clothes.
I'm taking off my clothes.
I'm not picturing him without his clothes. No, no, no. I did enough of that this morning.
And the timing, with how quickly he knocked after—
Did he hear me?
Was he listening?
No. He wouldn't listen.
Sure, that's someone's kink, but it's not Dare's. And Dare doesn't think of me that way anyway.
Even if we're here because he's sure I'll look hot in a pink suit.
Even if we're both replaying the kiss from last night again and again.
