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What will they say? More importantly, what will I say? Words bubble up my throat, tempting my tongue.The man I spent the night with is a pleasure Dom. How many orgasms do you think you could handle till you begged a guy to stop? I’m desperate to find out, to test my limits, to explore the edge with him.
All my friends’ eyes are on me as I clutch the pink and black bag in both hands. My fingers itch to open this unexpected gift. I feel both stuck and excited.
“Who’s it from?” Harlow asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Is it your birthday and you didn’t tell us? You’re in trouble,” Layla teases.
I swing my gaze from Harlow to Layla to Camden, debating my words. Finn’snothing happenedechoes in my mind. In public, I need to stick to that.
“Or,” Camden puts in, “did you just send yourself something?”
I could kiss her. She gives me a small, supportive nod, permission to spin a white lie into a way out of this awkwardness. But do I want that?
Yes, I want to protect Finn. But I think back to those moments in the town car before I got to his place, to texting my friends, and to how wonderful it felt to share my excitement.
Even if he’s sent me a gift, Finn’s out of my life. But I want these women in my life. Fine, they don’t know all of me. They don’t know about my OCD, my manipulative ex, or the way my family pointed fingers after the night Willa drowned.
But this bag in my hands simply contains a pretty gift, not the secrets of my soul. And there’s more than one way to tell a story.
“While I’m a big fan of self-gifting,” I begin, laughing nervously, “it’s not from me this time.”
Harlow grins my way mischievously. “So, Jules, I guess last night wasgooood.” She stretches the last word into ten syllables, inviting me to tell them more.
My chest swells with a strange sort of hope. The hope for friendship that lasts.
“Really, really good,” Layla adds.
Their voices are kind. They’re interested, hopeful that I’ll say more.
I’m the bold one, I’m the bold one. I’m the bold one.
I square my shoulders, flick back a strand of blue hair, then own my right to tell the story of my first time.
“Well, girls, let’s see what the man from last night sent me,” I begin with a sly grin. I set the bag on the counter and open it, unfolding the soft, pale pink tissue paper. Then I stifle a gasp. I knew it was lingerie because I know the store, but wow. These are gorgeous. I reach inside and gently pull out a pair of bright, beautiful pink undies. They’re low-waisted, with a tiny bow and soft, delicate lace. They’re almost identical to the pair Finn ripped off me this morning and I blush fiercely at the memory.
“Girlfriend. Details. They are gorgeous!” Layla coos.
“And I want to know why he sent them,” Harlow says, tapping her toe playfully.
Before I say more, I read the note attached.If I saw you in these, I’d probably rip them off too.
The blush? I feel it everywhere, including deep in my body. That dirty, flirty man. He’s a clever man too. He didn’t sign the note, so I do something really daring. I read it out loud to my friends.
When I finish, Layla howls with delight. Harlow thrusts her arms in the air. Camden fans herself. I flop down on the bed, giddy. I feel a little like champagne, all bubbly. “More, I want more,” Harlow says.
Sitting up, I unspool some of last night. “He’s very, very giving.”
Harlow wiggles a brow. “I do love a giving man.”
“Like borderline obsessed,” I say. “He did things to me I’d only read about.”
“Like?” Layla asks.
I bite my lip, getting lost in the memory. “He kept me up late with orgasms. And he made sure I would never forget it.”
My apartment is quiet for a moment until Harlow sighs with envy. “That’s hot,” she says finally.
And it is hot. It was an intense night of pleasure, and, surprisingly, trust.
