Mike wandered out to the deck and opened the top of the grill that was, conservatively speaking, the size of a small compact car. Built-in refrigerator, four gas burners, an espresso machine with a blender, and separate shelves for bar items. You could live in the damn thing in a pinch. The next version of the grill probably would come with a bomb shelter attached.
“Fired up!” he announced.
“Sure am,” Laura muttered.
Dylan snorted, then turned on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. One eyebrow arched slowly, with suggestion. “You ready for a little something else to top you off?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She felt so vulnerable suddenly, so exposed. Not in the same way she’d felt postpartum, but more that the inner self in Dylan saw her inner self. Like they weren’t just na**d together.
They were na**d together.
Caught off guard, she uttered a little white lie. “No. Just joking.”
The eyebrow lowered and Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell when you’re hiding something, you know.”
“Okay! Okay! I spent $300 on a new Coach bag last week! It was a splurge!” she confessed abruptly, knowing that was absolutely, positively not what he was talking about.
The diversion did not work. “I don’t care about purses. I care about pussies,” he crooned, reaching down her belly, hand sliding to the spot she needed him to touch—again. Again! Her body warmed—revved, really—under his steady command, fingers finding the spot where she needed them, and the surge of pleasure that pounded through her made her grin.
“Happy?” Dylan asked as he glanced up at her, hands parting her thighs, face flush with want.
“More than happy.”
“Is that possible?”
“You make it possible,” she whispered, her voice catching on the last syllable as his hands caressed her belly, his mouth paying attention to the soft folds of tender skin a bit lower. When he went down on her it was like being transported to a slightly different universe, one where feeling and sensation replaced thinking and talking. If only you could live in this world forever.
Too bad it took sex to teleport oneself into it.
Note to self, she thought. Need more sex.
And those were the last coherent thoughts Laura had until she called out Dylan’s name, cried for mercy as the cl**ax grew to be a force so big she couldn’t release it. Muscled hands pinned the soft flesh of her hips, holding her in place, not letting her buck away from her own clenching cl**ax. Emotion and pure kinetic energy tried to find its way out of her with a controlled sort of letting go, and that was the hitch: you couldn’t control a supernova. You couldn’t control a superstorm.
You could try, but you’d only be left frustrated.
And very, very wet.
Dylan’s tongue strummed her like a stringed instrument, the butterfly movements making her arch up and shift into higher, deeper, finer levels of arousal and build-up, the layers interwoven and seeming not to be related until suddenly the cl**ax was there, at the ready, a big wave of orgasms that made her move without will, grind against his mouth without humility, seek pleasure where pleasure was offered and trust that Dylan would give and give and give until she was sated.
That was intimacy, right? The ability to be completely bare with another person, raw and real.
And if you were lucky, like Laura was, you got love and intimacy, too.
Times two.
Her pu**y walls moved of their own accord, like they had a hive mind that made them twitch with delicious glee, paroxysms of ecstasy slowly, lazily finding their way out of her, drawing out the joy of what Dylan had just done. She rested on her back and closed her eyes, reveling in pure sensation.
Mike sauntered back in, whistling some tune that Laura knew was a pop song from one of the smaller college radio stations in the area. That was the only way he could possibly know that short melody. “You two done?” he asked, not at all seeming to be bothered by the fact that she had just gotten one of her orgasms in quite nicely, thankyouverymuch. And was now in the lead in The Great Orgasm Race.
“She is. I’m not,” Dylan said, pulling the sheet up and peering down at his own upright cock. “Looks like my refractory period is a bit faster than yours.”
“I wasn’t hanging out in bed with a luscious piece of ass for the past ten minutes. I was busy putting marinated steaks on the grill and making garlic bread.” Mike reached down to give Laura a quick kiss, and she tasted garlic, oregano, basil, and something else.
As if reading her mind, he whispered “Marjoram” in her ear, and she giggled.
“It’s true, Dylan. Mike was playing Anthony Bourdain while we were just having more orgasms.”
“‘Anthony Bourdain’ and ‘orgasm’ don’t go in the same sentence,” Dylan declared, checking under the sheet again. “And…gone. Bye bye, refractory period,” he whispered to his own penis with a little wave.
“You wave at your body parts?” Mike teased.
“Only the ones I name.”
Mike had been walking to the doorway, but came to a dead halt. Laura loved how the muscles down his back, ass, and thighs all stopped with pinpoint precision, a long assembly line of kinetic perfection.
“You named your—your penis?”
“Yep. Every guys does.”
“Uh, no,” Mike announced. “No, we don’t. Quit claiming to speak for all men. How did I not know this about you? We’ve known each other forever.”
“You know damn well I named it. You’ve heard me call it by its name a million times.”
Laura’s turn to get confused. “We’ve been together now for long enough that I’d know you named it. What’s its name?”
“‘My appetite.’”
Laura and Mike shared a WTF? look. “My appetite?” they asked in unison.
Dylan nodded. “That’s right.”
“Why?” they asked.
“Because it’s my appetite!” Dylan said the words as if they were self-explanatory, hands outstretched in a gesture of emphasis.
“What do you mean?” Laura asked slowly.
Dylan sighed, looking at the ceiling. “A long time ago some friends and I were joking around about what to call our cocks.”
Mike placed a hand on Laura’s arm and squeezed. The look on his face was priceless. Wide ocean eyes looking at her with incredulity. “Men don’t really do that. Don’t believe a word he says. I think he binge watched too many bromance movies and this is the result.”