I’d slept with Winston. Winston. Sure, he had been a high school boyfriend. And of course there had been times since when I’d thought about it, moments when our paths crossed at just the right time to make my eyes wander, my pulse quicken. I just… I’d never actually acted on any of those impulses.

And I was pretty sure that’s what I’d felt: an impulse. But emboldened by a beer in my system and with Freddie’s lust for Winston causing me jealousy and maybe some vicarious enjoyment, I’d gone through with it.

Now things were weird.

Not that it wasn’t good sex, mind you. It was totally awesome, shake you to your core, dream about it for weeks afterwards kind of sex. But now, I felt strange around Winston.

He’d been totally cool, friendly, and his usual jokey self after I apologized to him. I mean, he could probably handle anything now that he’d been doused in the stresses of the public eye for going on eight years, had dealt with a death in the family and his brother Kyle’s addiction. On the other hand, I was still reeling.

My life, my work, my relationships, they all seemed off-kilter now. The last week or so, I’d been putting in long hours at the office to try to come up with a viable case for the Carmichael divorce. Brad was humoring me but obviously thought I was wasting the client’s fortune on research for potential litigation. It was as if he chanted ‘settle,’ ‘settle,’ ‘settle’ in his mind when he looked at me. And somehow, I heard it.

Greg had been posting on Facebook about his new girlfriend, which made me delete him in a fit of righteous anger. Freddie and the gang at work were also busy with their own files, so I’d had no time to discuss any of the developments with Winston with anyone.

I didn’t want to ruin the friendship, because I needed his support. I knew I’d be lost without it. However, when I couldn’t fall asleep at night, sometimes I’d think back to the time we slept together to help me relax so I could drift off. I’d fantasize about him in the shower, wake sweaty from dreams where Winston’s muscular arms had held me so wonderfully tightly I wanted to rake my fingers down his back and scream.

If I’d thought sleeping with him would help me move on from Greg, well it turns out I was right. I didn’t feel much in the way of heartbreak anymore. I certainly didn’t long to get back together with Greg. What’s done was done.

But the problem was that now I’d awakened the part of me that wanted Winston. When I wasn’t trying to scrub my brain of the feverish images springing up each night, I was averting my eyes when he walked by in the morning, half-dressed and rumpled. He was really goddamn sexy. It was hard.

Suddenly, all I noticed was how Winston was tall, his impressive body almost a full foot taller than mine. How Winston’s eyes were the perfect shade of blue to match half of his t-shirts. Or how Winston’s lip curled when he smiled, how the hair on the back of his forearms was ruggedly handsome like a lumberjack but he could still pull off wearing a leather jacket like any self-respecting city-slicker rock star.

My attention span was about thirty seconds, the time it took between him saying something and my eyes to wander to his jeans, noticing the ever so slight outline of his package, or the curve of his butt from the other side.

It was like my mind had been set on fire by touching him, so that I had a fever that demanded constant Winston attention or it would destroy me. I wasn’t sure what to do. All I knew was that I couldn’t keep living like this.

So I went up to him on the weekend, made sure to dress in my most casual, figure-concealing sweatpants and hoodie.

“I think I should move out,” I said, crossing my arms as I sat next to him on the couch. “Get my own place.”

“Shit,” said Winston. “Are you sure? What’s wrong?”

If it had been anyone else, any other one of my friends, I could have pushed through and lied. Come up with something to cover my motivations just enough to get out. But with Winston staring at me, those blue eyes guileless as he gazed at me through his concern, I wavered.

In that moment of hesitation, he saw the truth.

“Is it too weird to be here?”

I sighed. “I’m having a bit of a hard time.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Though I wanted for there to be an easy answer, I couldn’t find one. I shook my head.

“I could walk around naked, just be totally casually nude all the time so it makes you laugh.”

“That would not make me laugh,” I said. I paused, gathering courage. “I’m worried I’d jump your bones again.”

“K,” he said. “I already told you that it was ok and you didn’t need to keep apologizing. I’m a grown man. I can take having sex with a beautiful woman, it’s not going to ruin my life or anything.”

There was a ringing in my ears from the joy of hearing him call me beautiful.

How silly is that?

He was looking at me so intently, the lines around his eyes more prominent from his worry. He cared about me. Feeling that affection, that concern, it made me relax just a little. I felt safe around him.

If only I hadn’t muddied the waters by sleeping with him.

If only I didn’t long to do it again and again, fantasizing about it every time I saw him.

If only his lips didn't part ever so slightly as he watched me, didn't make him look like the most kissable goddamn man on earth.

"It's driving me crazy," I whispered. "Wanting you like this."

I wasn't sure if I'd said it out loud, the moment after it escaped my mouth. Because Winston didn't react, didn't say anything. He almost looked like a statue of a man in repose.

While he sat motionless, I felt the tell-tale signs of my attraction growing, my body longing to be closer to his, touching him, feeling him in every single way possible.

And I gave in. What was one more time, compared to the long days, hours, weeks, that could pass afterwards? So I leaned forward, suddenly forgetting that my clothing was supposed to put a damper on things, and I straddled him.

"Winston," I said. "I just can't seem to get my mind off you."

Whatever spell he'd been under, whatever caution had kept him quiet and motionless, it broke just then—gently, surely. He tilted his head up to meet my eyes, and he smiled as if he hadn't a single care in the entire universe.

"That's fine by me," he said. And with that phrase, he thrust his hips slightly, just enough so that I could feel him rise up to mine, could sense the way he was growing.

I dove back into the kiss, my lips hungry for contact as if they'd been starved for weeks. As if I'd never felt the joys of human touch, and Winston was my only teacher. My only practice. My only outlet.

He wasn't the only man in the world, but he was the only one haunting my mind. A benevolent, delectable spectre. The outline of him was etched in my mind at night and ever-present during the day. Whether real or imagined, Winston was almost always around me now. And I welcomed it, just as I welcomed his tongue into my mouth, tasting the fresh coffee he'd been drinking.

Though I wanted to strip him rapidly, take off my bulky clothes and straddle him wildly, running into our orgasms like we were desperate for release, I knew a little more from last time.

"Are you sure?" I asked, pausing as my chest rose and fell from how much I wanted him, my breath accelerated, exhilarating. If he said no, I would respect that. I knew that there had to be boundaries between us at some point. I just hoped it wasn't now.

Not while I felt so intoxicated by his presence. Not when my world had been shattered and his touch was a balm that made everything seem right again.

Winston smiled a shy smile, then glanced down. When his eyes met mine again, they were wide, clear. "Kaycee, you mean so much to me. If this is what you need, I'm here."

It was a surprisingly tender expression of interest in a hookup. I almost faltered, unsure of what he meant by those words. But he resumed the kiss, keeping me from asking anything. Which was likely just as well, seeing as we were both clearly aroused, needing touch and friction more than to parse our statements carefully.

I'd never pictured myself entering into a friends with benefits situation. Thought I was too driven, too goal-oriented to want anything if it didn't lead anywhere. But now... the fact I knew and trusted Winston made him all the more appealing. Suddenly, I understood the attraction behind friends with benefits. It was a familiar situation, elevated to include sex.

And boy, did I want sex. While Winston's tongue begged entry to my mouth, his lips surprisingly soft against mine, the thought crossed my mind that I didn't want just any sex. I wanted sex with him. That didn't mean anything, though. It was proximity, not passion. I shook my head briefly to rid my brain of thoughts.

Why bother overthinking something that felt this good?

As Winston's hands massaged my breasts, his breath hot on my collarbone when he reached down to bury his face in my cleavage, I couldn't shake the indescribable feeling of mixed emotions. It was making me want him, it was welcome, it was a homecoming of some sort that I couldn't quite place. Beneath those urges, though, was a cloudy hesitation milling in my solar plexus.

I buried it with lust. I dove into my desires headfirst, turning off that oh-so-logical part of my mind that I needed to use every day at my work. I didn't need it here. With Winston, I needed to focus on my body. Just like he was doing.

And he was knocking it out of the park, if I did say so myself. The lust he stirred up inside me was almost frightening: it was as if he could press a button somewhere in me that collapsed the need to talk, the way I usually wanted to spar verbally instead of exorcise my demons physically.

When Winston drew aside my blouse, leaving my bra unhooked from previous motions and my skin tinglingly exposed, I gasped despite myself. And as he looked up at me, those stormy blue eyes alight with his own lust, I grinned.

"You're good at this," I said to him.

"Want to see how good?" he said, which made a blush rise on my cheeks. It wasn't the only thing rising, either. Winston's insistent cock was pressed against me, long and hard and oh-so delicious.

It was time for me to get a taste.

"I do," I said. "But I have other plans for you."

Winston didn't respond, just raised an eyebrow as if challenging me to follow up on my threat. So I got down on the carpet, which was soft against my knees. That would make my plans all the more enjoyable. I ran my hands along Winston's firm, muscular thighs, until I reached the bulging tent of his jeans that held his formidable cock. With a languid motion, I unzipped the jeans.

Winston tilted his head at me inquisitively. He didn't dare speak, dare interrupt the scene. I knew he wanted me to do what I was about to do. The hushed poise of his posture was all I needed to confirm that thought. And when I reached into his pants to grab him, his eyes rolled back in his head appreciatively.

"That's just my hand," I said, stroking him lightly, toying with him a little. "Imagine how good it will feel when it's my mouth."

"Mmm," he groaned. "You should show me."

"Should I?" I said, my grin widening to the point of wickedness. "Is that a good idea?"

While I pretended to mull over the notion, I kept using my hand to gently but surely stroke Winston, each touch causing him to twitch and move into my palm all the more eagerly.

"Oh, you're evil," he gasped, his hips moving involuntarily to meet me.

"Maybe a little," I said. Though I was still grinning, the sight in front of me was starting to wear down my defences. Though I enjoyed making Winston gasp and buck beneath me like he couldn't possibly live without my touch, I was getting too worked up to keep prolonging the pleasure I knew I wanted to give him. Teasing was fun, but I wanted him in my mouth. Now.

So I bent down, pulling the front of his jeans down further so that I could reach him in the open, and I licked the tip of him. Just a small motion, meant to get started, to introduce my mouth into the flow of our actions. I hadn't been prepared for how deliciously salty he would taste, or how the difference between hand and tongue would cause him to groan in a deep, gruff voice.

It was unbelievably sexy. It almost didn't sound like Winston, but I could see him in front of me, recognized his smell, his skin, the touch of his drumming-strengthened hands on my shoulders. I was getting a new perspective on him, and to be completely honest, I loved it. If I wasn't careful, I could get used to it.

But there was no time to contemplate whether or not sex with Winston was a dangerous, addictive proposition any further. I had work to do.

With an efficient motion, I took him into my mouth deeper, managing more of his length than I think he'd expected, based on the sound he made. It was appreciative and animalistic. Winston's hands slid up my neck to the back of my head, where he firmly but carefully guided me back down.

I could feel him thrust slightly, as if my mouth were so mind-blowingly enjoyable that he had to have more. Luckily for him, I wanted more. The feeling of giving him that pleasure, making him feel so good he could barely control himself, was on the verge of exploding from my touch, it was all so much more rewarding than I'd expected. My body was thrumming with lust even as I played with his.

"God, Kaycee," he groaned. "You should never stop sucking my cock."

"Mmm," was all I could respond, because he was still deep inside my mouth, wrapped in my tongue. I had my hands curled around him as well, pumping with each motion so that there was a seamless tandem between my mouth and palms. It would be easy to increase my speed, to plunge down and whirl my tongue just so, pushing him over the edge.

Did I want to?

I glanced up from my position, my eyes connecting with Winston's, an exhilarating moment of jagged electricity as we stared at each other wordlessly, him thrusting and holding my head, me sucking and moving up and down, hands stroking and tongue swirling. This was ecstasy.

This was Winston.

How could I have let him slip through my fingers before? How could I have gone so long without him in my mouth like this? The notion seemed inconceivable, as preposterous as if you'd told me that rather than family law I should have been pursuing a career in football mascotry.

Winston's breathing became ragged, his eyes unfocused and thrusts more forceful. When another groan escaped him, he pulled back slightly.

"I'm getting close," he said. "Do you want to keep going, or..."

As if there was any potential answer to that question that I wanted to say. I could respond wordlessly, and I did. With glee in my chest from the sheer, sensual joy of the moment, I sped up. I kept my hands and tongue working, my mouth focused on Winston as if my life depended on it. And with a rugged, thick cry, he came.

I felt him twitch in my mouth, each wave of the orgasm meeting my tongue, until he lay there regaining his breath with a goofy smile on his face. Guess I'd answered his question satisfactorily.

I went to grab some water to recuperate, but when I got back, Winston was no longer sitting there. If it were anyone else, I'd have assumed he left the place to give me the not-so-subtle hint to scram. But I knew him, and I was staying here, at least for now. That wasn't his style.

"Winston?" I said, scanning the room with a half smile on my face. Was he trying to play hide and seek?

"In here," he said. His voice was coming from the bedroom, so I went over to join him. He was stripped down to his underwear, every inch a perfect specimen of man, dusted with dark hair, muscled like he needed his body in peak condition at any moment. And though I'd just given him an orgasm that had seemingly drained him of all energy, he was poised assertively by the bed, where he'd tied a set of restraints to the bedposts. A blindfold sat next to the pillow.

"What do you think?" he said, letting me take it in. "Interested?"

I'd dabbled with some kinkier sex a boyfriend before Greg, and though it was entertaining sometimes, it wasn't normally my style. But something about the darkened glint in Winston's eyes, the complete and total trust I had in him, made my pulse speed and throat constrict with excitement. It was more than appealing: it was fully intriguing.

"Yes, please," I said, my enthusiasm meeting Winston's energy and mixing to make the air seem stormy. I couldn't believe the chemistry we seemed to have; it was like the whole house crackled with desire. He didn't take long to tie the blindfold around my head, carefully removing stray hairs from the Velcro so that they wouldn't pinch.

Then he encircled my wrists in the restraints, doing them up so that I was firmly tied, and moved on to my ankles. When he was done, I could sense his presence at the foot of the bed, could tell he was sizing me up, drinking in the sight of me splayed and waiting. Hell, he was probably enjoying making me wait all that much longer.

Having him in my mouth had turned me on to a devastating level, where I was quivering just from the memory of his thickness, his warmth. I was sure that Winston could see how much I wanted him. He was toying with me in equal proportion to the way I had played with him mere minutes before.

Except I couldn't see. I could move only in a restricted fashion. And he was being very, very quiet. For a second I wondered if he'd lost interest, had no intention of doing anything for a while so that I would lose the memory of where he was standing. But then I felt a slight shift in the bed, his weight leaning on the frame at the foot. It was low enough that he leaned over, and in a brief, dazzling moment he licked me.

It came out of the blue, no other part of Winston touching me, just a warm, surreptitious tongue placed precisely on my clit for a split second, then taken back. A taste. A tease. A preview.

And then he continued, each and every motion heightened to the point of vivid ecstasy by my darkened, restrained state.