The most commonly used sexual position in the world is the missionary style. I learned this in the eighth grade when I Googled it. I can’t even say why I typed those letters into the search engine, not out loud, anyway. Just the thought of my parents doing it makes me want to barf.

Although I normally avoid that position if I can, tonight I go for it. Face-to-face and skin-to-skin with Makayla is exactly what I want. Need. Crave. Of course, the ability to control penetration depth and speed of thrusting is an added bennie. Not why I picked it at all.

The downside to this position is it makes it more difficult to hold off ejaculation due to the intense friction and deep thrusting. No worries, though—I have that little issue solved. Devious mind that I have, I had inconspicuously unplugged her vibe and slipped it under a pillow on her bed.

Now, feeling like I might come way too soon, I push up to create space between us so I can sneak it in to help bring her to orgasm along with me.

The screech she makes as soon as I turn it on, followed by the thud of the vibe against the wall, puts an end to that solution faster than I had anticipated.

May the pink vibe rest in peace.

It’s cool, don’t worry; I have more tricks up my sleeve, or naked ass in this case. Not literally. The thought of that seriously gives me chills.

Almost urgently, I raise her left leg so her knee is level with my right shoulder and tell her to keep her other leg flat on the bed. Then I thrust toward the inner thigh of her raised leg. This adjustment forces tighter penetration and more clitoral pressure. It’s brilliant, really.

Everything about us right now is hot. I thrust, faster and faster. Soon, I can feel that sweet pussy of hers squeezing against my cock. She starts to come, shouting my name. I’m right there, calling out her name. With my face twisting, eyes slamming shut, and fingers clutching her body, I come so fucking hard. When I’m spent, I arch my back and roll onto the pillow beside her.

That cute little moan she makes has me opening my eyes a moment later, and I smile at her. When she smiles back, I reach to tangle my hand in her hair. I tug it, pulling her close to kiss my mouth. “That was amazing,” I whisper.

“It was,” she sighs, settling her head beside me.

Lazy waves of the lustful aftermath lull me, but I can’t let it pull me under—not yet, anyway; I have business to tend to. Disengaging from her, I go into the bathroom to discard the condom, ultra smooth this time. Since we were at her place, she had no choices, and wasn’t happy about it when I pulled two of the same ones from my wallet. Next time, I’ll be more prepared, I told her. She winked and told me variety was the spice of life. I’d give her variety all right.

Post-sex sleepiness lodges in my eyes and all I want to do is crawl back into that big, soft bed of hers with the satiny sheets, pull her to me, and fall asleep.

When I come out of the bathroom, Makayla is standing at the foot of the bed in a tight, super-tight, I might add, tank top and lacy panties, both black, both see-through, and both hot as fuck.

Mere moments ago I might have thought I was tired, but my cock has a different idea, already rising again just minutes after coming. This is fucking nuts. With her anywhere near me, I seem to walk around with a constant hard-on.

As soon as she sees me, she jerks out her arm. That’s when I see my clothes hooked in her hand.

I furrow my brows. “What are those for?”

Practically expressionless, she tilts her head and gives me that sexy low-lidded stare I like so much. “So you don’t walk home naked.”

My surprise has to be evident on my face. “You’re kicking me out?”

For some reason I just thought I’d be staying.

Poker-faced still, she seems to be contemplating my question. “I wouldn’t call it that,” she answers.

After a few seconds of silence, I ask, “What if I refuse to leave?”

Instead of answering me, she whirls around to face the bed, her hand flying to her mouth and a giggle escaping her throat. “Then I guess you can stay,” she manages with all out laughter.

Yeah, she got me.

Narrowing my eyes at her, even though she can’t see me, I have a choice to make. Call her bluff and leave or provide the ultimate payback. Of course, I choose the latter.

Lunging for her, I tackle her to the bed, flip her around, and pin her wrists over her head. “That was mean, just down-right mean.”

She bites down on her lip and looks up at me. “I couldn’t help myself, but the look on your face was priceless.”

I take both wrists in one hand and use my other to find her belly. “Payback is a bitch, baby.”

That smile. Fuck, that smile. “No, stop. I’m ticklish.”

“You shouldn’t have told me that,” I murmur and tickle her from under her arms to way down below her belly.

“Stop, please—that was payback for the vibrator.”

“Say, ‘Camden Waters is a sex god,’ and I’ll stop.”

That body of hers bounces, that laughter gets higher and higher, and I feel a strange something going on in my chest because of it. “Mercy!” she calls out.

Leaning down so our noses are almost touching, I breathe hot against her lips. “Say, ‘Camden Waters is a sex god.’”

If there were ever a master tickler, it would be me. Just ask my sister. I used to make her so mad with the things she had to say to get me to stop. None of them sexual in nature, of course, but things that pissed her off, like, “My brother is always right,” or “My brother is the best ever.” It was so much fun. This is equally so, and then some.

Makayla snorts, tears falling from her eyes, and then finally it comes. “Camden Waters is a sex god.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Camden Waters is a sex god!” she shouts.

Satisfied, I stop. “I think everyone knows now.”

She punches me, and I grab her arm again, this time tugging her to the head of the bed and pulling her snug to me, her back to my front.

Happy like this, I bend to pull the sheet around us and then kiss between her shoulder blades. She tucks her hand under her cheek.

My hand drifts up and down her hip, moving the sheet in a motion like waves rolling in the ocean.

Some time passes and then Makayla turns around to rest her head on my shoulder.

I kiss her hair. “I don’t know what this is between us, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I don’t know either, but I feel it too.”

That is all that needs to be said for now. “Good.”

Her fingertips dance lightly across my skin and soon she traces the B on my chest. She’s never asked me about it, but I know she must wonder.

The words just come out. “We called ourselves the ABC’s—Amelia, Brandon, and Camden. Brandon was the oldest. He was always the fun-loving one. I was the middle child and the responsible one. And Amelia, well, she was our little princess.”

Makayla’s hand pauses for the barest of blinks before continuing to stroke my chest. “Brandon, is he B?”

I nod my head. “Yes. He died just over a year ago.”

Her head lifts to look at me. “Tell me about him.”

“He was always the life of the party. Everybody loved him. He had that kind of gravitational pull, you know?”

She nods in understanding.

“It made everyone always want to be around him. But as the years went on, he just refused to grow up and be responsible. That was always my role—taking care of the three of us while our parents argued their way through life.”

Makayla listens without comment.

“That’s what fucking pisses me off the most. All he had to do was talk to me. Tell me what he was feeling. I would have helped him any way I could. Instead, now every time I look in the fucking mirror, I wish I hadn’t gotten this damn tattoo because it only reminds me how pissed I am at him.”

Her head lifts, but again she says nothing.

I close my eyes. “The night you saw me in Chinatown was the night of his memorial service. One that my father insisted on having to ease his own conscience or put on a show for his friends, who knows. I was out just trying to forget about it.”

She moves closer to me. “Why? You didn’t want to go?”

My eyes fly open. “Fuck no. I hate to go to any of my father’s dog-and-pony shows. I went for my mother and sister.”

“What about for Brandon?” she asks.

“I already told you—I’m fucking mad at him.”

“But Cam, he’s your brother.”

“Was,” I clarify.

“No, Cam, he is. Just because he isn’t alive doesn’t change that.”

“Fuck that. He overdosed and left me. Left me because he couldn’t deal with our prick of a father or cope with the demands of growing up. Unlike me, Brandon never stood up to our father. I didn’t realize working for our father was making him so unhappy. If I had, I would have gone to bat for him against the prick.” I pause for a moment before adding, “I just never knew how bad things were.”

“Was he a drug addict?”

“Yes, but I never knew it. I only thought he liked to party. He was good at hiding his addiction.”

Both of her elbows on my chest, she asks, “But Cam, that’s what addicts do—hide it.”

“But I was his brother; I should have seen it. Why couldn’t he have talked about his condition with me? We were best friends, for fuck’s sake.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to burden you?”

I sit up, wanting to be done with this conversation.

She wraps her arms around me. When I don’t recoil, she tightens her hold. “It isn’t your fault. I don’t have to know all the circumstances or exactly what happened, but I know that addictions have a way of taking over someone’s life. And sometimes it’s hard for us on the outside to understand that.”

Getting up on my knees, I turn around to face her. “I’ve heard it all before,” I tell her.

“Then you’re not listening. Bad things happen, Cam. And I get that right now you hate your brother for dying, but he didn’t do it to you. He died from a drug overdose. And maybe that’s what you should think about because I am certain he wouldn’t want you blaming yourself.”

“I know that,” I spit out.

“Do you? Isn’t your guilt holding you back from doing something with your life you might care about?”

I look over my shoulder with a scowl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There’s no pity in her eyes as she looks at me, just a softened expression and maybe a little understanding. Lightly, she kisses my shoulder. “Yes, I do. I know you want to do more than you are.”

“How do you know that?”

“I see your mind working whenever you talk about local businesses around here and how they’re doing. You always have an idea about how to make them better. You see what other’s don’t. You need to move forward, Cam. Stop letting your hatred for your father or your anger toward your brother hold you back. You may not ever be able to forgive your father, but you have to forgive your brother.”

Bold words, and they strike me like lightning.

With a sigh, I try to explain myself without getting angry with her. “You don’t get it. That’s all I can think about. I graduated Columbia Business School four weeks after Brandon died. I was supposed to go to work for my father, but I didn’t. The grief of my brother’s death was too much. Vanessa went to work for him instead and I took some time off. I have no idea how long she had been fucking him before I found them that Thanksgiving. I never asked. She tried to tell me his grief had gotten to her and she only wanted to comfort him. His grief? His grief! Can you believe that?”

Makayla gets on her knees and put her hands on my arms. “No, I can’t. I can’t believe you had to deal with that in the midst of grieving for your brother. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. In fact, catching them together might have been the best thing that ever happened to me because it brought me out here. Lifeguard or not, my life is so much better here than there. Like I told you, my mother thinks I’m living in a dreamworld and that I refuse to get a real job because I want to hurt my father, and she tells me as often as she can that I’m hurting myself more than him.”

Her hands slide down and she squeezes mine. “Do you think she might be right?”

I put my hands on her hips and pull her close to me. “Sometimes I do. Lately, more than I used to.”

She rests her head on my shoulder. “Maybe that means you finally believe it and are ready to do something about it.”

“I don’t know,” I breathe out with a deep sigh. “All I know is I’m ready to stop talking about this.”

For a long time we stay that way. Staring at each other. Unmoving.

Having had more than enough pillow talk, I push her to the bed and lean down to kiss her knee.

She giggles. “That tickles.”

The sound is breathy and hoarse. I like it. Liking the way her skin feels, I glide my lips down a little to kiss her calf, then lower still to kiss the bone of her ankle.

Her toes wiggle, and I take her foot between my hands and start to massage it.

She rises on her elbows. “That feels so good.”

Maneuvering my fingers, I apply a little more pressure. “The summer after college I went backpacking with my brother and my best friend, Keen Masters. Somehow we ended up on a plane to Singapore, because Keen had this idea in his head that the women in Singapore were like no others on earth.”

Her grin lights up her whole face. “And were they?”

I bob my head from side to side as if stretching the muscles in memory. “They were gorgeous, that was for sure, and they were small, so short and petite. But let me tell you, they had the most amazing hands. The massages they gave were definitely like no other.”

She covers her mouth and feigns shock. “Let me guess…you all enjoyed your happy endings.”

I raise both my brows and wiggle them. “That we did.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “I give a pretty good massage, too, Mr. Waters.”

I lick my tongue up her thigh. “I will most definitely be taking you up on that, Ms. Alexander.”

Her nipples go tight beneath her tank top when I nip at the lace of her panties, and I know she has to be wet for me. “Anytime, day or night.” She winks.

I meet her gaze and the air shifts. “Take your top off,” I tell her.

Without wasting a minute, she stands and strips it off, and then hooks her thumbs in the side of her panties.

“Stop,” I tell her, and then make a twirling motion with my finger. “Turn around.”

She does.

It is not a thong, but half of her ass cheeks show. So fucking hot. “Fuck, what do you call those?”

“Brazilians,” she purrs over her shoulder. “And don’t you dare ask me to put on six-inch platforms and pretend to swing around a pole.”

My cock rises against my belly and I stroke it lightly. “That could be fun.”

From over her shoulder, her eyes land on my hands and her lips part. I stroke a little harder, seeing how much it excites her.

“Sorry, no pole in here,” she says.

“That could be arranged.”

“I don’t think Maggie would appreciate it.”

“Shhh,” I order. “Come here.”

Turning around, she takes her panties off as she walks and flings them across the room before she joins me on the bed.

I breathe her in. I breathe her out. Voice muffled against her flesh, I whisper, “Fuck me.”

And she does.