Page 43 of Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I said Yes)

I open my eyes to look up into Mont’s face, expecting to just see him. There’s him, and right above him, on the wall, there’s a massive sheep’s butt.

“Whoa!” I just about take off his bottom lip. He’s still on the page oflet’s make out,and I’m all,what the hell is that mounted above the bed?

His eyes follow mine. “Oh, it’s a big horned sheep’s butt.”

“What? Why?” I questioned, feeling somewhat baffled.

“I don’t know why, but it’s a funny story. It was also left here, so I built this place around it, basically. I did take it down for the renovations, but it went right back up in the original spot after. The anchors are already there in the wall to hold it up. The posts are so big that they basically hide it from view, so that’s a great bonus.”

“Who mounts a sheep’s butt? Who even keeps that? What about the head?”

“I can’t say.” He looks amused, not annoyed that we’re talking about sheep butts when we should be talking about our butts getting naked. “The funniest part of the whole thing is that when I took this place over, I had no idea what it was. The bear is a bear, that’s obvious. But this? I had to take photos of it and go to some online forums and have someone identify it for me.”

“Don’t they have apps for that?”

He chuckles. He’s holding himself up with one elbow and one hand, and that laugh sends a vibration through his body that I feel in mine. My legs are around his legs, so we’re hip to hip, and I like that motion very much. People should laugh more when they’re pressed together like this.

“They do, but I didn’t think of it at the time. From experience using it after, I think you need a better side and view than just a full-on rump.”

“Okay. But you kept it. That’s the best part.”

“You like it?” Mont asks.

“What’s not to like? It’s kitschy as hell.”

“Kitsch. That’s not the word I would use, but now that you did, it works.”

I can’t wait to think about this big horned sheep’s bottom the whole time I’m making out on this bed. Never mind. One look into those sweet honey, deep brown eyes of Mont’s, and I’m not thinking about the sheep at all.

“I’m scared if I undress you, I’m going to make the hornet sting worse.” His hands stay planted on the bed for emphasis, which is no good. They should be planted on me.

“Not possible. I iced it down so thoroughly that it will probably be frozen for the next hour. If it starts to thaw out, a little pain is good in that region, isn’t it?”

“Guh, I’m not sure,” he grunts.

“I say it is.” I can’t imagine anything this man could do to me would ever be something I didn’t like. Just one look in his eyes was enough to make me lose my focus on the sheep’s butt. If my nipple starts hurting…no, it won’t. I won’t even be able to think about that while he’s doing other things.

How does one ask a gentleman in a ladylike fashion to please eat her pussy until she explodes into oblivion?

I’m really not sure, so I just grab his face and kiss him brutally with a hint of teeth and more than a hint of my tongue. My body sags beneath his into the ultra-soft duvet. I’m all sensations, and none of them are screaming hornet stings, bears, or sheep’s asses at me, so I think we’re good.

When Mont sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and follows that with something I didn’t even know a tongue could do to another tongue, I know we’re beyond good.

I rub up against his length. It now feels like he has a small arm in his pants—I know, I’m sorry. That’s the only thing my addled brain can come up with. If it can be compared to a bat or a tree, why not the arm of a three-foot action figure made out of solid hard plastic?

I roll my hips until my mind can barely register anything anymore.

I wriggle under him and work at getting my dress down while he’s kissing me furiously. It’s already undone on the top, so that’s the easy part. It’s not hard to shuck my bra out of the way since that was half off, too. It’s getting the bottom part of my dress up that causes problems. It’s wedged between my legs, which are wedged between Mont’s hard, thick thighs. I can’t just grind against him until my clothes push themselves up because of the massive friction.

Can I?

He makes it look so easy when he feels me struggling and fumbling. He gets the fabric that was trapped up and out of theway, and then his hand follows mine as I finish the job, pushing it up around my waist.

Damn panties. They’re in the way, too.

I brush my own fingers over my clit and make a mewling noise into his mouth. I’m a healthy woman, and I’ve given myself regular orgasms—a few a week is what I deemregular—but I’ve never felt anything like that. My clit has never gone off with the spice level of raw jalapeno pepper.

I find Mont’s hand and drag it to my soaked panties. He very respectfully brushes his fingertips over my center, but I need more. Even arching into him isn’t enough.

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