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Sure, she's hot in all the conventional ways, but that, too, is fake. Hair extensions, false eyelashes, fire-engine lipstick, saline breasts. I don't judge her for pretending.
It's worse.
I see myself in her manufactured groan.
She's full of shit the same way I am.
I turn off the video. I switch to music. An old R&B playlist. Not the most original choice, sure, but some things are classic for a reason.
A ding interrupts the sultry riff.
A text from my sister.
Daphne: Cassie asked about you today. If she gets in touch, please play nice. She's having a hard time.
Cassie.
My sister's best friend. The woman who used to look at me like I had potential. Who now looks at me like I'm a massive piece of shit.
No argument here, Cass.
My cock whines at the sound of her nickname. Cass. The last time I saw her was at Daphne's birthday party. It was early enough I was buzzed, not wasted. My sister doesn't leave the house after eight thirty p.m.
We were at a restaurant in Malibu Hills. One near our parents' place. So Daphne could crash at home if she wanted to get drunk. Not that she ever gets drunk.
Cassie was there, in this gorgeous black dress, one with a low back and smooth fabric that clung to every one of her curves.
She glared at me like I was the scum of the Earth, but she promised to play nice, for my sister's sake. That is, if I took my eyes off her ass.
And I said something stupid about how I'd stop staring when she stopped staring. Which made her even angrier.
And she blushed, and fuck—
It was every bit as sexy as it was when we were teenagers. Sexier, even, 'cause back then, she liked me. Now, she despises me.
There's something about her open hatred. It's just… hot.
For the first time all day, I feel something besides an emptiness or a desire to numb my thoughts. For the first time all day, I feel awake and alive.
This is probably the most dangerous thought I can have—'cause Daphne will kill me if I fuck her best friend, and Daphne's trust is the only thing I want—but that, too, makes it hotter.
Off-limits.
Forbidden.
Totally taboo.
Fuck me.
My entire body roars to attention. I don't just want. I need. The sort of need I usually associate with a bottle. Only I don't crave a drink.
I crave the intensity in her green eyes. The smirk on her lips. That shade of raspberry she wore at the party.
What would it look like on my neck, my chest, my cock?
What would those pretty lips feel like around me?
Fuck. I'm so fucked, and I don't even care.
I close my eyes. I let my thoughts go straight to places they shouldn't. The sound of Cassie's groan—the one she usually makes over music, or coffee, or dark chocolate.
That black fabric, cutting a long line down her bare back, clinging to her round ass.
Those long, curvy legs.
What would they feel like wrapped around my waist or my hips? Pressed against my cheeks?
What does she sound like when she comes?
She's got passion everywhere. She must have it there too.
I work myself with steady strokes. It's almost too intense, too pure, too real.
Almost, but it's not.
And then something in the air shifts, and I hear a shriek.
"Fuck." A woman's voice. No. Not any woman. Cassie.
What the fuck?
Did I watch too many of those cheesy pornos? Have I lost touch with reality?
Maybe that's it. I'm not just an alcoholic. I'm plain crazy. The sorta insane where I believe my sexual fantasies become real.
"Shit." That's her voice again. "Do you… could you… fuck."
I turn to the sound. And there's Cassie, standing in the hallway, in jeans and a snug tank top, her light-brown hair falling to her cheeks, her lips that perfect shade of raspberry.
The door is halfway open.
She has a perfect view of the action.
My cock doesn't calm down. Somehow, I get harder, closer. I try to find some sort of sense—what does a reasonable person do in this situation—but I don't. I'm too glued to her green eyes.
They're wide with interest.
Like she wants to watch as I finish.
No. She does want to watch.
And I want her to watch.
She's a voyeur, and I'm an exhibitionist.
Or maybe that's the porno fantasy insanity talking.
"Could you." Her cheeks flame red. Her eyes stay on my dick. "I figured Daphne would tell you I'm coming."
Not exactly.
"Sorry. I didn't see anything." Cassie finally realizes she's staring; she brings a hand over her eyes. "I, uh, I'll use the bathroom. And you can meet me downstairs when you're… ready."
She leaves.
I find enough sense to close the door.
I try to tell my cock to calm down, really.
It doesn't.
So I wait until I hear her footsteps move down the stairs, then I replay the scenario in my head, and I end it the fun way, with the two of us naked in this bed, her body pressed against mine, her groans in my ears, the two of us watching ourselves in the mirror.
