Friday, I wear my best casual but sexy, I totally get that we're friends with benefits dress.

At least, I think this black skater dress says I'm fun, and also hot, and I'm not going to put strings on you, and you better not put strings on me.

It's a lot to ask from a dress. I admit that.

I wait until I'm parked in front of Walker's building to slide my panties to my feet.

I press my knees together. Following his dirty demand makes me hot.

I guess, when it's Walker, I don't mind being bossed around. At least not like this.

I slide my panties into my purse, step out of my car, click the electronic lock. We're in that northern part of Santa Monica. Close to the beach but far enough away from the action of Third Street Promenade that there's parking.

This is such a normal apartment building.

But it feels like I'm stepping into some other universe. One where I demand what I want. Where I know what I want. Where I get what I want.

I cross the street, move to Walker's apartment, knock lightly.

Footsteps move toward the door. "Hey."

"Hey."

He pulls the door open. Gives me a long, slow once over. His eyes light up. With excitement. Passion. Desire. "Come in."

I step inside.

He closes the door behind me. Clicks the lock.

The living room/den/kitchen is a nice size for an apartment this close to the beach. And there's a closed bedroom door in the back corner of the room.

He motions to the kitchen. There are bags and bowls and measuring spoons laid out on the counter.

I shoot him a curious look.

"You have any idea how to bake a cake from scratch?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Good. It's a new thing."

"You're going to teach me to bake a cake?"

"Fuck no." He laughs. "I've never done it." He presses his palm against my lower back and leads me toward the kitchen. "We're gonna learn together."

That… actually, that sounds really fun. And delicious.

He unpacks the paper bag. Sets flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa powder on the counter. "You sucked down those sugary coffees like you couldn't get enough."

"True."

"I'm not gonna say something stupid about you like sucking shit."

"Good. That would be stupid."

He slides his hand to my hip. Pushes me against the counter. His dark eyes meet mine. They're on fire. "I am gonna get you so wet you're begging me for it."

I… Uh… "Oh." I swallow hard. How did he transition to dirty so seamlessly? "Now?"

His smile gets devious. "Now. And later." His fingers skim the edge of my dress. "This first." His voice switches right back to normal. Like his hand isn't inches from my ass. He taps a paper sitting on the counter. A printed recipe. "Had to use the shop printer."

"Really?"

"Dean gave me hell."

"He seems like the type."

"Leighton—the girl with your haircut—"

"I noticed that."

"I like it better on you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He brushes my hair behind my ear. "She thinks it's sweet."

"It's different."

"I still have no game?"

I laugh. "You could stand to work on your smoothness. Some lines like baby, this isn't sweet compared to you."

"Sounds like romance."

"Only if you mean my personality." My cheeks flush. Did I just say that? Did I really suggest he talk about how I taste?

His lips curl into a smile. "Dirty girl."

I feel like one. Like he's already turning me into a sex freak. "You like it."

"Fuck yeah." He turns so he's facing the counter. Reaches for the cocoa powder. "You like chocolate?"

"Who doesn't?"

"I hear rumors." He motions to the coffee maker on the other side of the counter. "We're doing chocolate with mocha frosting."

"Ambitious."

"There's no point in doing shit if you're gonna half-ass it."

"Can I put that on a poster somewhere?"

"Sure. As long as you credit it to Walker, the guy who makes me come until I can't stand it."

Mmm. Yes. Now. Please.

Who needs cake when sex is on the table?

Even delicious, sugary cake with coffee flavored icing.

He leans closer. Slides one hand over my ass. Brings his lips to my ear. "You're adorable on the edge."

"Adorable?"

"Hot as fuck." He drags his hand over my hip as he pulls it back to his side. Then, like he isn't teasing me, he picks up the recipe. "We're supposed to start with flour."

We should start with fucking.

He looks to me and cocks a brow. "You okay?"

"We're really doing this?"

"I told you, Iris. I like making you wait."

Okay. I can live with that. Actually, it's really hot.

God, how is he so hot? The confidence in his dark eyes sets me on fire.

Need to focus on anything else. Now.

I pick up the bag of flour. "You have scissors?"

"Yeah." He turns, grabs them from a drawer, hands them to me handle first. "Do the honors."

I snip the bag open.

He grabs a measuring cup. "What the hell does it mean sift?"

It sounds familiar. Mom was never the type to make baked goods from scratch, but I went to a few slumber parties where eating raw cookie dough was the highlight of the night. "I think you scoop it with a fork."

He pulls a fork from the drawer and hands it over.

I spoon, well, fork flour into the measuring cup. It takes forever to fill it. Or maybe it feels like forever with Walker's body next to mine.

And all that warm air against my tender flesh.

He slides his hand over the sides of my hip. Over my ass. Then the other hip.

He brings his lips to my ear. "You followed orders."

"I thought it was a favor."

"Either way."

I nod. Force my gaze to the printed recipe. Sugar. I pick up the scissors and snip the bag open.

He plays with the hem of my dress. Pulls it up my thighs. Higher and higher and higher. Until it's right at the bottom of my ass.

"I… Uh…" My breath hitches in my throat. I don't want to bake a cake. I want to bend over and demand he fuck me.

He moves behind me. Pulls my ass against his crotch.

He's hard.

Fuck, I want that. I want him. I want it more than I've wanted anything in a long, long time.

"It's driving me fucking crazy too." He releases my dress and takes a half step backward.

I nod. Yes. Crazy is a good way to put it. I mean, really, we shouldn't use the word crazy casually. Mental illness is no laughing matter…

But he is driving me fucking crazy.

"You're good at this." I force my attention to the sugar as I scoop and pour it into the mixing bowl.

"Thanks."

I want to be good at it. At this master level of teasing.

I focus on our task. Pretend I'm here to bake and not to come in his bed.

"You want to do the honors?" I point to the baking soda and the teaspoon. "Since we're learning together?"

"Teamwork. I like it." He scoops the proper amount of baking soda into the mixing bowl. Then the cocoa powder.

I measure oil.

He measures vanilla.

I crack three eggs.

He adds the coffee.

"That's everything." I stir.

"We need to taste it."

Yes. I need to taste him. His lips, his neck, his chest, his cock. I need him in my mouth. I need to drive him fucking crazy too.

He reaches for the bowl. Picks up the spoon and brings it to my lips.

I stare into his eyes as I lick off the batter.

He pulls it away. Brings it to his lips. Does the same.

But he does it better. There's something fierce in his eyes. Something that promises he's going to lick me a hell of a lot more thoroughly.

He drops the spoon in the bowl.

Brings his thumb to my lip. Wipes a drop of batter from my lips and brings it to his mouth.

I… Uh…

"We should get this in the oven." So it's no longer a distraction. So there's no reason why I can't tear his clothes off. So I can give up on this whole focus on baking thing.

He nods. Opens a high cabinet and pulls a baking tray from it. "I didn't know I had this until today."

"You don't cook?"

"I do. Just not with this."

"Would you teach me?"

He chuckles. "Teach you what, sweetness?"

Sweetness. I like it. I shouldn't like it—who the hell does he think he is giving me a pet name—but I do. "Everything."

"Yeah."

I clear my throat. "I mean cooking. I never learned."

"Sure." He slides his hand over my hip. "Tonight?"

I shake my head. Not tonight. Absolutely not tonight.

His smile spreads over his cheeks as he sets the tray on the counter.

I pick up the bowl, tilt it to pour the batter into the tray.

He takes the tray and slides it into the oven.

Sets a timer for forty-five minutes.

His eyes fix on mine. "Not sure that's enough time." He brings his hands to my hips.

He lifts me into his arms like I'm weightless. I'm on the short side, but I'm definitely not weightless.

Walker carries me to the couch and lays me on my back.

I stare up at him as I sink into the leather.

He pushes my dress up my thighs. Places his body between my legs. Leans down to bring his lips to mine.

My hand goes to his hair.

I hold his head against mine.

I kiss him hard.

I want more of him. I want too much of him.

He drags his fingertips up my thigh. "I want you groaning my name when you come."

I nod. Yes. I want that too. I really, really want that.

He leans in.

This kiss is harder. Hungrier. Like he's as needy as I am.

His fingertips brush my inner thigh.

The other.

Higher.

Closer.

Almost.

There.

He brings his thumb to my clit.

Fuck, it's intense. I'm already wound tight. I'm already desperate to unravel.

I pull him closer.

Kiss him harder.

He groans against my mouth as he rubs me.

I wrap my legs around his hips.

His hand stays slow. Steady.

Fuck exercise.

This is how I want to be in my body.

His touch gets harder.

I nip at his lip. Tug at his hair.

"Fuck. Walker." I press my lips to his neck. Wrap both arms around his shoulders. I'm lying on my back, but, still, I feel like I'm about to fall over.

"Say it again," he murmurs into my neck.

"Walker."

He sucks on my tender skin.

Rubs me with his thumb.

Then he's teasing my sex with one finger.

Two.

"Fuck." I pull him closer. Shift my hips. Groan into his neck. "Deeper."

"I like you bossy, sweetness."

"Now."

"Not yet." He teases me. Again. Again.

Again.

I reach for his hair.

I dig my nails into his back, pressing his t-shirt into his skin. There's too much fabric in the way. I need his body against mine.

I need all these layers gone.

I need to be naked with someone. Physically, at least. 'Cause I'm sure as hell not about to do it emotionally.

I push his t-shirt to his shoulders.

He tosses it over his head.

I pull back enough to stare into his eyes. "Take off my dress."

He slides my dress up my thighs. "Lift your hips."

I do.

He pulls my dress over my ass, up my torso, over my head. It lands on the hardwood floor. "Take off the bra."

I reach around my back, unhook it, slide it off my shoulders.

He lets out a low, heavy groan. "Fuck. You have amazing tits." He presses his lips to mine. Soft. Then harder.

His tongue slides into my mouth. Swirls around mine.

He breaks our kiss to drag his lips down my neck. My collarbone. My chest.

He looks up at me as he takes my nipple into his mouth.

The flick of his tongue sends desire racing to my limbs. My sex clenches. My thighs shake.

I need more.

He moves to my other nipple and toys with it. He flicks his tongue against it. Sucks soft. Then hard. Then he's scraping his teeth against my tender bud.

Mmm. My hands knot in his hair.

I let my head fall back.

Let my eyelids flutter together.

He brings his fingers to my sex.

Teases again.

One finger.

Two.

Three.

Again.

Again.

"Please." I spread my legs. "I need you inside me."

"Fuck." His groan is heavy.

In one swift motion, he slides his fingers inside me.

It's intense. Like it's been months and not days. Like it's been an eternity.

It's different than last time.

I know him now. At least, I'm starting to.

I want more of him. Not of the sexy stranger who sets my body on fire. But the guy behind the dark eyes and the cocky smile.

I…

"Fuck." I shift my hips, pushing him deeper.

He moves his hand with a steady rhythm.

He rubs slow circles over my clit as he fucks me with his fingers.

As he sucks on my nipples.

Pressure pools inside me. Every thrust of his hand winds me tighter. Every brush of his thumb pushes me closer to the edge.

It feels so good.

But it's not enough.

I need him inside me.

I tug at his hair, bring his head to mine.

He leans onto his free arm.

Kisses me.

I groan against his mouth. I rock my hips to drive him deeper.

His next thrust pushes me over the edge.

All the tension inside me unravels. Pleasure spills through my torso, my thighs, my chest. It spills all the way to my fingers and toes.

I groan his name against his neck as I come.

It's so much better than my hand—and I fucked myself thinking of him every night this week.

I blink my eyes open. Look up at him.

He brushes my hair behind my ear. It's sweet. Too sweet. I can't handle that kind of intimacy. Not right now.

I reach for his jeans. Undo his button. His zipper. Cup him over his boxers.

I stare into his dark eyes. "Fuck me."

He lets out a low groan. "Spread your legs, sweetness."

I do.

He reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out something. A condom.

He presses it into my palm. Stands to push his jeans off his hips.

Then his boxers.

Fuck. He really is huge. Bigger than I remembered.

I motion come here.

He nudges my thighs apart so one is pressed against the back of the couch.

Then he plants between my legs.

I tear the wrapper and slide the condom over his cock.

He groans as my fingers brush his skin. "Legs around me."

I nod and wrap my legs around his waist.

He lowers his body onto mine. His lips brush my neck. His chest presses against my breasts. His cock nudges my sex.

One inch at a time, he slides inside me.

Mmm.

He groans into my neck.

I dig my nails into his skin. Pull him closer. Deeper.

It feels so good, his body pressed against mine, him inside me.

Better than anything has felt in a long, long time.

It's sharper. Clearer. Nothing is dulling the experience. Not booze or opiates or nerves.

I feel everything.

And fuck—this is a hell of a case for sobriety.

That's not going to fly at NA, but I don't care.

It's what I want.

Every second of anticipation. Every burst of pleasure. Every ounce of satisfaction.

"Fuck. You feel so good." He nips at my neck as he drives into me. It's hard. Steady.

I rock my hips to meet his movements.

It pushes him deeper.

It makes him groan.

"Fuck. Iris." He wraps his arms around me.

Moves harder.

Faster.

"Walker." I squeeze his waist with my hips. Press my fingers into his back. I need to hold on somehow. To keep my body locked with his.

He drives into me.

I rock against him.

Our groans bounce around the room.

My breath gets heavy.

His too.

Every thrust fills me with deep, pure pleasure. I have to close my eyes. To dig my nails into his skin. To soak in every ounce of it.

I pull him closer.

He drives harder.

Deeper.

Groans my name into my neck.

I do the same with his.

Walker. It sounds good on my lips. And the way it makes his breath hitch—

Fuck.

With his next thrust, I go over the edge. Pleasure spills through my torso. I groan his name as I come.

It makes him hungrier. Needier.

He moves harder. Faster.

His groans get low.

His thighs shake.

"Fuck. Iris." With his next thrust, he comes.

He pulses inside me as he thrusts through his orgasm.

Once he's spilled every drop, he pries his body from mine.

He goes to take care of the condom.

I sit up on the couch.

I may not know a lot about what I want.

But I know I want this.

A lot more of this.