“Baby, you’re not playing fair.”
Phoebe knows what she’s doing to me. The wicked minx. Sitting naked on my bed with nothing but a white sheet across her waist, her long strawberry-blonde hair a mess as it cascades down her back, and her lack of makeup showing each of the perfect freckles that blanket her nose. The only reason she has the damn sheet around her waist is to protect her lap from the sauce of her Yakisoba noodles. It isn’t like she’s trying to cover up, she’s only protecting herself. My girl isn’t modest, that’s for sure.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mads.”
I watch as my not girlfriend, because she still refuses to put a label on our relationship, opens her mouth wide and stuffs a huge swirl of noodles in it. The dark sauce drips from her bottom lip onto her chin, and I lick my lips in response. I’m quicker than she is and grab the paper container from her hand. Holding it out of her reach, I lunge toward her with ease and lick the dripping sauce from her chin before she can stop me.
“Hey, I was eating that!” Phoebe tries her damndest to sound annoyed but the smile on her face confirms she’s happy my tongue is her personal napkin.
“I think you’re full,” I reply as I place the container on the side table and begin my tongue’s descent from her chin to her neck then farther south to the swells of her breasts. My hand gently grips her breast and lifts her hardening nipple to my mouth when I feel something poking me—in the head. I look toward Phoebe to see a huge grin on her face and a set of chopsticks in her hand.
“You know I’m all for experimenting in bed, babe, but I don’t think chopsticks are really either of our thing.” She smiles, her eyes filled with lust and mischief as she teases me. I snatch the chopsticks from her hand and toss them across the room; I’ll deal with the mess later.
I rise to my knees, gripping Phoebe’s hips, and sliding her down so she’s lying on her back. A lock of her hair falls across her face and I instinctively move it away while settling myself between her legs. Our eyes meet and, as always, she takes my breath away. When we hooked up over spring break, I promised I would show her we were more. More than just a quick fuck, more than a hookup, more than casual.
Phoebe Stromberg has been my greatest gift and the biggest pain in the ass. She’s stubborn, fiercely independent, and scared. Scared of what may be, scared of who she is, and mostly scared of relying on someone else. I’ve spent the last three months trying to show her how much she means to me. Every single day I tell her how much I love her. I wait for the day she finally gives in and says it back.
It’s painful and fucking annoying as hell. I know she loves me. Hell, everyone who has met us knows she loves me. Her dad has already asked my intentions, her mom has asked if I’ll agree to a large wedding, and her brother has demanded we have a joint bachelor party. Her brother, Duncan, is also my best friend and already engaged to Phoebe’s best friend, Kelsey.
See, everyone knows we’re supposed to be together. Everyone accepts this relationship is it for both of us. Everyone except Phoebe. Phoebe won’t acknowledge we’re actually in a relationship. She says she doesn’t do labels. Labels put restrictions on growth, and if we label what we have, then we’re doomed to fail. I disagree. But, that’s what you do, right? When you care more about the person you’re with than yourself? Give her all the time and space she needs.
“Why are you staring at me like that, Mads? You look like you want to either eat me or kill me.”
“Baby, I’d never kill you. I’d like to eat you, that’s for sure,” I say while tugging the sheet from underneath me. Her perfect body is laid out before me to feast on, and I love nothing more than knowing she is mine.
“Is this my birthday present?” Phoebe’s breath hitches as I grant myself the first taste of her. My response is a slow and deep “Mm-hmm,” which I know sends shockwaves through her core.
Today is her twenty-third birthday, and her parents are throwing Duncan and her a huge party. It’s also a graduation party to celebrate the end of an era for all four of us—Phoebe, Duncan, Kelsey and I graduated from college a few weeks ago. Her dad hinted he had a big surprise for all of us, which I’ve assumed is some sort of trip because he has been asking about our summer plans. I can only hope it isn’t a family trip with Mr. and Mrs. Stromberg. That would be the biggest cock block ever.
Speaking of cock, mine is about to fucking burst with the way Phoebe is moaning my name. If she says the word “pussy” one more time, I’m sure to blow a load before I even get inside her.
“Mads, I need you to fuck me,” she groans as she tugs at my hair. I’m resilient and a man with a plan—at least one orgasm before fucking. I had no sooner thought it than Phoebe grants me her first orgasm.
I pull back and lift to my knees again, lining up my dick with her sweet pussy. Looking up, I catch her eyes, a euphoric expression greets me, and I smile back. Her hands reach for my biceps and pull me toward her. Hovering over her with my forearms resting on either side of her head, I begin moving my hips as she captures my mouth with her own.
We continue kissing and fucking until I feel my balls get heavier, my orgasm quickly approaching. I give Phoebe my telltale moan, which causes her to smile. “Yes, baby. Fuck me. God, I love the way you fuck me. Are you close, Mads?” Goddammit. She knows the minute she starts dirty talking I’m going to explode. It only takes a few more words from her and we’re both panting as our orgasms combust.
“Happy birthday, Phoebe.”
“Yes, it is. I lo—” She doesn’t finish her declaration, catching herself before she says the word “love”.
“I know, baby. I love you, too. Now, get your ass in the shower before we’re late. I don’t want to deal with the wrath of your mom.”
“Do we have to go? You know my dad is just going to ask me what I’m going to do with my life.” She does a horrible impression of her father, causing me to shiver in response. “I’d rather stay here with you. This is my favorite place.”
I stand from the bed and tug her feet toward the end, a child-like pout overtakes her face. I raise a brow to her in response. She rolls her eyes.
“Phoebs, I appreciate the effort, but this is not your favorite place. That, my love, would be Nordstrom.”
“Is not.”
I look at her questioningly. “Okay, fine it’s a tie. I mean, you know how much I love my shoes and purses. But, I do love being here, too.”
“I know, but really we have an hour to get out of here, or we’re really going to be late. Your mom texted all of us three times today, reminding us to be there on time. She scares me, you know that.”
“She does not, but fine. We probably shouldn’t shower together. I may find a few ways to make us late, and I wouldn’t want you to cry when Mom gives you shit for being late.”
“Good call. You go first, and I’m going to check my email really quick. Be fast.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says dismissively as she heads toward the bathroom.
I lucked out when my college buddy needed to sublet this place the last few months of his lease. Phoebe and I have enjoyed having a place together that isn’t the dorms or frat house. I pull on a pair of gym shorts and walk out to the kitchen where my laptop is charging.
I didn’t shut down my browser earlier so the moment I open the laptop my email inbox comes to life. The first email on the list is from Mrs. Stromberg to the four of us, reminding us the importance of being on time. Seriously, you’d think the guest list for this party included Brad Pitt and The Rock—Phoebe and Duncan’s favorite actors respectively.
After scrolling past a few emails, I note the sender of the headhunter I’m signed with. I skim the opening niceties and assume this is yet another update to let me know there is no interest in my résumé when I see the words “interested” and “interview.” As I continue to read, my eyes widen—one of my top five dream companies has indicated an interest. In me.
Holy shit. This is huge. I’ve been out of college a few weeks, and while I kicked ass in academics, I wasn’t expecting one of the top corporations from my prospective employer list to respond. I pin the email to the top to read later just as Phoebe walks into the living room with a towel wrapped around her body and another in her hand as she dries her hair.
I’m a lucky bastard. Phoebe is everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. But, seeing her here in only a towel, fresh from the shower, with no makeup on, her skin pinkened . . . well, it does it for me in more ways than I can describe.
“Your turn. I checked my phone. My mom sent us all an email. We really need to get moving. I can do my makeup in the car so I can focus on this mop of mine,” she says while bending over to wrap her hair in the towel.
I’m heading for the bathroom when I stop and grab her by the waist and place a quick kiss to her lips. “Wear it natural, you know it’s my favorite. And you don’t need makeup, you’re beautiful.”
“Stop being sweet and go shower.”
I walk away, leaving Phoebe alone in the living room with a huge grin on my face. I’m not sure life can get much better than this.