CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Her arms are around my neck and her mouth claims mine. She kisses me furiously, like a storm, a lightning storm of kisses raining down from the sky, bursting with heat and sparks and thunder.

She’s buzzed. I can feel it in the loose, languid way she moves, in the softness of her limbs, and in the panting in her breath. I taste gin on her lips, and the liquor has never tasted better in my life than when it’s mixed with Charlotte. Everything about her bombards my senses—her taste, her scent, her breath. I smell honey on her skin—she used honey blossom from that collection she showed me. Knowing this small detail about her, where this intoxicating scent comes from, makes the blood roar in my veins. Makes me want to know what she’ll smell like tomorrow. How she’ll taste the next day. When she gets out of the shower, what scent she’ll rub into her body, and whether it will drive me wild, too.

This honey smell is spectacular. Heady and bewitching and all her, and I know whatever she puts on the next day and the next will turn me on with the same raging intensity, because she is so fucking alluring.

Especially when she sucks on my lip like that. I groan and rope my arms around her, yanking her closer. She’s climbed up on me, straddling me in the back of the cab as it slings us up the avenue, the lights of late-night Manhattan whipping by.

She says my name again on a smoky moan. It sounds like an orgasm as it leaves her red lips. “Spencer. I want you,” she whispers in my ear. “You got me so wet from that kiss yesterday. I’m so wet right now, too. Everything you do turns me on.”

Oh God. Oh hell. Oh, fucking save me from myself.

There is no way. I need to press the brakes. This car is speeding out of control. It’s going to crash in a fiery blaze. I have to stop it.

“Charlotte,” I warn, and I try to peel her off me, but what’s this now? She’s lifted up her skirt and positioned herself on the outline of my cock, and this is sweet, unholy torture of the highest degree. I breathe out hard as I gaze down at her. The cab slows at a light, and neither one of us gives a shit that the cab driver is three feet away. I can’t care about anything but the pure heat sizzling over my skin as she grinds against me. Her wet panties rub against my erection, and her lips are everywhere on me, like a sensual assault that comes so close to breaking me down. Her mouth moves to my neck, my chin, my jaw, as she travels to my ear. She slides her teeth across my earlobe and nips.

I moan and grip her hips harder. I fucking love it. I love everything she does. She flicks her tongue against the shell of my ear, and I might as well just wave the white flag and admit defeat, because she’s found my weak spot, and she seems to know it. She kisses me there, and every sweep of her tongue makes me harder, makes me want to haul her up to her home, throw her on her bed, slide into her and show her that if she can drive me crazy with a kiss, I can make her scream in pleasure with my cock.

She raises her hips, slams back down onto me, and whispers, “When I felt you on my couch it drove me wild. Completely wild.”

Her hand snakes between us, and she grabs my cock.

I’m electrified. Every inch of me buzzes with thousands of watts of power because she touches me through my pants. Her eyes shine with pure, unbridled lust as if she’s realizing how much there is of me, and, I hope, how much she wants me. Fuck, I want her to have it all.

Right now.

“I want to know how you feel inside me,” she murmurs.

A thousand responses fill my head. It’ll feel better than anything you’ve ever had. Unzip my pants, wrap your hands around my cock, and let me take you for the ride of your life. You’ll see stars, mountains will move, and the earth will shake.

The simplest answer, though, is the one I’m dying to utter.

God, I want to fuck you so fucking badly right now.

But thankfully, those aren’t the words that escape my lips. Somehow, the rational portion of my brain knows better. The gentleman inside me fights his way out, manages to squirm his way up, and resume control from the manwhore.

Charlotte is buzzed, and I will not take advantage of Buzzed Honest Charlotte.

“You’re drunk, Snuffaluffagus. Let’s get you in your jammies and put you to bed,” I say as I grip her hips to lift her off me.

She’s faster. She moves quickly, parking herself in her seat with more agility that I expected. She sneers, “I’m not drunk,” and it comes out surprisingly crisp and clear.

I’m not going to argue this point right now. Drunk or not, that was a far too risky moment. The cab slows at the next light, and she yawns loudly, covering her mouth. Her head sinks on my shoulder. Soon, I’m unlocking her door, carrying her to her bed, and sliding off her shoes. She murmurs something as her eyes flutter closed.

“Water,” I say. “You need water.”

“Mmm. That sounds delish,” she says sleepily.

I head to the kitchen, fill a cold glass, and bring it to her. “Sit up,” I tell her, and she manages to scoot back in bed. I hand her the glass. She downs most of it. “Drink it all. I’ll leave another glass on your nightstand. Drink that one when you wake up in the middle of the night to pee.”

Nodding, she sets down the glass. She throws her arms around me, and tugs me into bed. She tries to pull me next to her.

“I have to go.”

“Stay with me. Please,” she says, patting the soft, comfy bed. “Just sleep next to me. That’s all I want.”

Sleep next to her? With this boner? With her wild hands crawling all over my body? No way. I’m not that strong. I’m not that good.

“I need to go. I’ve got to feed my cat.” It sounds like the lamest excuse in the world, but it’s actually true.

There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes. Maybe even disappointment. Then it passes, and she smiles faintly. “Good night, Captain Fiancé. Give the pussy a kiss for me.”

Oh, how I would absolutely love to.

Her head hits the pillow, and in seconds she’s snoring. It’s so fucking cute, the little sounds she makes. I scratch my head—how is it possible that her snores are adorable? But they are. I stand and look at her in the dark, the moonlight streaking across her covers, cutting a crisscross pattern through the blinds. Her blonde hair is spread over her white pillow, her blouse slinks down her shoulder, revealing a cherry red bra, and the skirt of her dress rides up her thighs. I could undress her like they do in the movies, or I could leave her in her clothes.

Undressing her feels like a violation. Instead, I do what I told her I would. I fill her glass of water and leave it on the nightstand. I open her medicine cabinet, grab two aspirin, just in case, and place them next to the glass. I hunt for some paper, and I find a Post-It notepad in her kitchen and a pen in the utensil drawer.

I write: Two aspirin in the morning, and call me when you get up. I need to take you out for the final hangover prevention step.

I leave, and I should earn a commendation for self-restraint. I’m going to contact the Guys’ Committee and let them know what I accomplished tonight in the resistance category. I’ll fully expect a gold medal in the morning and, frankly, an awards ceremony, considering the level of difficulty.

A cab blows past me on Lexington, but I don’t shoot my arm into the air to flag it down. Instead, I turn south and walk home, even though I’m many, many blocks away. I need the time and the space and the distance from those five minutes in the cab when I wanted to fuck my best friend’s brains out.

This city should take my mind off Charlotte, so I soak it in—the bodegas peddling fruit and flowers, the Chinese restaurants offering greasy noodles, the twenty-four-hour pharmacies selling anything and everything. I cut across town, surrounded by throngs of people, so many still out late at night.

But when I unlock my door at one a.m., I’m still turned on. The walk didn’t work. I’m horny as hell. I feel like I’ve taken Charlotte Viagra, and this hard-on is a cruel and unusual punishment for lusting so badly after my best friend.

Fido meows, then stretches up to greet me, his paws on my leg.

“Hungry?”

His tail twitches. I head to the kitchen, open his bag, and scoop out some cat food. It’s this all-natural, organic, eat-like-your-ancestors food. Harper got it for him when I took him in, telling me that store-bought food wouldn’t cut it. My man is addicted to it; maybe it makes him feel like a tiger.

I set the bowl down, and he purrs as he eats. The dude is so satisfied from a bowl of dry kibble, and a knot of jealousy tightens in my belly. Great. Now I’m envious of my cat because his life is simpler than mine. Note to self: Go to the store tomorrow and order up some perspective, because you’re losing yours.

I head to the bathroom. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and try to put the evening behind me. Look, it’s not hard to turn down a drunk girl, because that’s just wrong. But it was hard, for some unknown fucking reason, to turn down her. Those things she was saying. Those wicked, dirty words falling from her red lips. They torched a path up my body. They stirred something inside me. Some wish. Some want.

That kiss on the street was one thing.

The session on her couch was entirely another.

But the cab was a whole new wrinkle. She just combusted, like a rocket of lust, firing off in every direction, jumping me, climbing me, grinding on me.

I wanted it all.

I wanted her.

I still do.

I undress and toss my clothes into the hamper in my closet. Naked, I get into bed, turn off the lights, and park both hands behind my head. Faint sounds of late Saturday night in New York filter through the window, even from six stories high. Shoes clicking on cobblestoned streets, friends laughing, cabs stopping and letting out customers, then picking up other fares.

Even after zoning in on all that, I’m still insanely aroused.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this erection? Hammer some nails? Bang some wood? This is like a punishment erection. It’s got its own blood supply.

I shut my eyes, squeeze them tight, and press my palms into the back of my skull, resisting.

Because I can’t go there.

Can’t jack off to her. Can’t do it. Won’t do it. Won’t ruin the friendship by going that far. We’ve already done more than we should, and if we go further, we’ll lose everything she was saying was good at the bar tonight. She’s my steady, reliable, fantastic friend. She gives me hell, and she makes me laugh, and I can’t risk losing her by fucking her.

Or even thinking of fucking her.

But I am dying here. My skin is on fire, and my brain is stuck on repeat—sex, sex, sex.

I’ve got to do something about this persistent hard-on that has been working overtime today, like it signed up for a twenty-four-hour shift. I pad out to the living room, grab my laptop, and return to my bed, flipping open the screen.

Women. Lots of women. Hot lesbian porn. That’s what I need. Something totally removed from the last two days of torrential lust. Like, two hot chicks in stockings banging each other. No Tumblr gifs for me, please. I need video, and I know where to find it.

In seconds, a gorgeous redhead in black stockings and garters walks into a dimly lit living room. Perfect. Parking the laptop on the covers, I stretch out my naked body on my bed, my head propped up on a couple of pillows so I can enjoy the front-row seat.

A smoking hot brunette joins her, wearing only white thigh-highs and heels. This will do the trick, thank you very much. I take my dick in my hand and stroke. Moving my palm down my shaft, I skim lightly at first, down to my balls, which are heavy and aching.

Just what the doctor ordered. I’m going to enjoy every single second of this jerk. I tighten my grip. My dick is throbbing in my palm, but I’m thrilled to be on the road to imminent relief as the women move to their couch and get it on.

This is perfect, because neither looks like Charlotte. They kiss, and my skin grows hotter all over as I watch these naked beauties. Their mouths devour each other, and the redhead cups the brunette’s full, round tits in her hands. The brunette moans and slides her fingers between the redhead’s pussy lips. My shaft grows thicker as I watch the brunette’s finger flick across all that wetness.

My breath hitches, and I groan.

Loudly.

Imagining how hot and wet her pussy is.

All nice and slick and coated in arousal.

How she’d feel on my fingers.

I shift my hips, pumping faster. My other hand moves up my stomach. My fingertips brush against my own flat nipple, and I’m getting into this so much that the rest of the world is gone. It’s just me, and my body, and the women on the screen, and I’m fucking my fist.

Soon the redhead is down on her knees, spreading open her partner’s legs. The brunette leans back on the couch, her mouth falling open in a moan as the redhead licks her. Nice, long, delicious strokes.

“Yeah,” I say on a grunt, my eyes locked to the screen. I am in helping hand heaven thanks to these babes. My dick is out for a joyride, and I’m so fucking happy to be on the fast-track to coming.

I picture myself sliding between the two chicks, servicing them both, eating one, fucking the other. Nothing is better than this.

Until it gets astronomically hotter when a third one enters the scene.

She has blonde hair and brown eyes, and she’s divine. I have blinders on, erasing the others, because she’s all I see. Sexy, strong, and completely captivating. I can’t look away. Soon, she’s not her anymore…she’s my girl…she’s Charlotte, and she’s naked in front of me, and I don’t see the other women. They’ve disappeared from my night, as I close my eyes and jerk harder and faster, and I can’t fucking fight it anymore.

I’m losing this battle because it’s Charlotte I see.

It’s not Charlotte from yesterday afternoon, or even Charlotte from this evening. This Charlotte is new, and she’s naked, climbing up on my bed, crawling to me on her hands and knees—her sexy, pouty lips, her soft, sweet belly, her strong legs, and her beautiful, hot, wet pussy.

Wet for me.

Aching for me.

She sinks down on my shaft, and that’s it.

My balls tighten, my spine ignites, and I squeeze my eyes shut as shudders wrack through me, and with an epic groan, I come so goddamn hard inside Charlotte. An orgasm that just sucks me dry.

I’m panting.

When I open my eyes, Fido is at the foot of my bed, licking his paw. He drags it over his furry face, then behind his ear. He stops his post-meal bath to stare at me, a disdainful look in his beady yellow eyes.

This is the end to my Saturday night. My cat has watched me whack off to a vision of my best friend.

“Don’t say a word,” I hiss.

He looks away, lifting his chin haughtily.

But he’ll keep my secret.

I’ll keep his, too, the fucking little voyeur.