“We’re not just f**k buddies. There’s more.”
It’s something she can’t put her finger on, but there’s more to their relationship than just sex. They are friends. Good friends. They do everything best friends do together, especially now that Cassie is spending so much time with Caleb. Not that Sam is complaining. There’s never a dull moment with Brian.
In fact, they do everything a boyfriend and girlfriend does together. When he is with her, she is all that matters. His entire attention is devoted solely to making her happy, except that they are not committed to each other. When he walks out of her door, he’s really out, and she doesn’t have a clue what he is doing or who he is f**king. He doesn’t have a clue who she’s seeing either, nor does he ask. She doesn’t tell him.
Only . . . she’s not seeing anyone else.
That’s what he is, she tells herself firmly. A Pretend Boyfriend. A gorgeous, rich stud who makes her feel all gooey and special inside when he’s with her, and all empty when he isn’t.
But he’s with her right now, and she’s feeling fantabulous.
Don’t think about it, her inner voice commands. Just enjoy him while he’s here.
He seems to be enjoying himself all right. His kisses become more heated. He probes his tongue firmly between her lips, licking them, tasting them. He licks the insides of her cheeks. He’s bent on exploring her mouth as much as possible, until there is not an expanse of tissue left in there that is not savored. Meanwhile, his hands roam up and down her body. He cups her br**sts beneath her blouse, feeling the heft of her mounds inside her brassiere. She is always on sexual alert whenever she’s with Brian, and so she wears her best underwear. Lately, she has taken to shopping at La Perla – just to give him an eyeful before he rips her sexy lingerie off.
Oh, but he makes her melt inside! Already her hormones are coursing within her pelvic cavity, making all the organs within swollen and needy. Her pu**y contracts, and she feels a twinge of aching desire. She badly wants him inside her. She can make love to him four times a day and it still wouldn’t be enough.
If she isn’t careful, she’s going to fall madly and desperately in love with him, and that would be the disaster of the decade.
“Wait,” he says, panting against her mouth. She can feel his erection beneath the thick fabric of his jeans.
He moves away from her. He goes to the windows and shutters the blinds frame by frame, so that no one can peer in from the sidewalks. Then he comes back.
“What? You’re not undressed already?” he teases, shrugging off his jacket.
Oh, so now she gets why he has rented out the whole store.
Anyone can walk in any minute, even with the door locked. The waitress could take it in her mind to come back and demand entry. The boss could decide to check up on his waitress and throw an apoplectic fit if he glimpses what they are at.
The excitement of doing the unbidden is already turning her insides into mush. Her pu**y responds by ejecting her voluminous creams.
He undresses her, discarding item by item like a striptease. Then she watches him take his clothes off one by one. He slowly wrenches off his shoes and socks, and then his T-shirt . . . until he is standing in only his jeans.
She knows he doesn’t wear anything underneath.
He smiles at her tantalizingly. He unzips his jeans slowly – oh so slowly, his eyes burning into hers. His dark pubic thatch materializes.
“Now let’s pick out the ones we like,” he says, indicating the ice-cream on display.
*
When they have finished arranging everything, they have put six tables together and picked out two dozen small cups of different ice-cream flavors. They are both naked.
She lies down on the tables and he places himself upon his elbows beside her.
He digs his index finger into a tub and smears a dollop of tiramisu-flavored ice-cream onto her right tit. He bends his head and proceeds to lick it slowly off, trailing his tongue in a wet pool around her nipple. He repeats this with a pinch of lime sorbet and an ounce of cookies-and-cream. Then he posits a milky lump of vanilla on her left nipple and closes his mouth around it.
He sucks slowly, languorously. As if he has all the time in the world. Her nipple responds to his suckling by filling up with a warm rush of instantaneous blood. He gropes the mound of her left breast and lifts it so that he can take more of her nipple into his wet, wet mouth. Oh, how she loves the way his tongue swirls around her tip, massaging and flipping it so that it shudders and bounces in the hollow of his palate.
Her vagina turns into water.
He continues to dab the different flavors onto her br**sts, creating icy patterns, delicious whorls of increasingly complex and colorful craftsmanship – all which he licks and sucks off her skin with relish. Her flesh is both flushed with excitement and pale from his icy ministrations – so that her tits resemble a red-and-white streaked and glistening mélange.
He drips strawberry sorbet onto the midline that traverses the longitudinal axis of her belly. He pushes the melting pink ice down, down, down with the tip of his tongue . . . until the chilly crystals cascade into the puckered bowl of her belly button. She gasps. Her abdominal muscles contract from the illicit sensation.
His tongue swirls around the basin of her umbilicus, and continues its way south. Down, down, down until it hits the hedged barrier of her pubic hair.
He looks up, smiling. Mischief dances in his liquid brown eyes.
Her flesh down there is very hot.
“So what do we do now?” he teases.
“Tongue me,” she begs.
“Say pretty please.”
“Pretty please.”
“That was too easy. I want you to beg for it.” He places both his hands on her inner thighs and parts them.
“Please, please, please, please,” she says.
“Please what? I want to hear you say it.”
“Please . . . lick me.”
“Lick what?” He knows she doesn’t quite like to get graphic, and she knows it gives him a rise when she does.
A shudder passes through her. “Lick my clitoris.”
“And what toppings would you like on it?”
Oh. A blush heats her cheeks. She doesn’t reply.
“Rocky Road?” he suggests, showing her the tub.
He doesn’t wait for her assent. His finger scoops up a generous load of Rocky Road ice-cream and he pauses between her open legs. She’s frankly unnerved when he gazes at her revealed pu**y like this – as if he wants to devour her.
He licks his lower lip as he dribbles half-melted ice-cream onto her pu**y. The first drop strikes the hood of her clit, and the sensation is electric – like a chip of ice upon her hot, hot flesh. She claws the table top, her whole body tense . . . waiting.