Page 64 of Reply All
He proceeds to lick at my breasts, biting them as if they were the juiciest fruits, before kissing them and sucking on them. After doing that in one place, he moves on to another spot a few inches apart. Meanwhile, Will proves his supernatural abilities for multitasking by sliding in two fingers, heel pressed to my clit. Immediately, my back arches off the mattress at the fullness, at the absolute feeling of being surrounded by him and us and everything I still don’t understand about our relationship.
This is good. This is so good, and it isn’t even really sex. I could do this. I could have Will like this even if I don’t have him. And that’s okay, right?
My unreasonable reasoning comes to an end, however, when my tolerance for whatever magic he’s doing between my legs does, too, playing with my pussy with the same hand that currently wears our friendship bracelet.
BFF might as well stand for Best Finger Fuck instead of Best Friends Forever.
“I want to sketch a full series of you coming,” he whispers in my ear after I come the first time. “Of your face whenImake you come. Sketch after sketch of this gorgeous face and this perfect body and keep it all to myself. Only mine, for no one else to see. And if it’s the only part I get to keep of this, of you, ofus—then fine. I’ll take this moment.”
I try to tell him he can have it all—he can have me however he wants me—but the words turn to ash in my mouth when a current of electricity runs through my body.
Because I’m close.
So close.
So fucking close I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, from calling out his name and alerting everyone outside that this incredibly sexy man is about to make me come on his hand.
“Now come for me, baby. Come before you get us caught. And stop moaning so much.Shh. That’s it. Bite my hand. Bite it and come.”
His words, the nickname, the way his fingers scissor inside of me while the heel of his hand adds the right amount of pressure, have me coming like a freight train. I free one of my hands from his hair and hold it over his hand and my mouth in an attempt to stifle a scream. The orgasm comes in waves, in strong pulses that turn me into a melted heap on his childhood bed.
When it’s over, when my breathing has deepened and my heart rate has lowered and his head is on my chest listening to it beat, I say “I never expected to have one of the best orgasms of my life on Star Trek sheets.”
WILL
She was right, he thinks, any birthday cake is good birthday cake. Especially when you have the wet underwear of the woman you’re desperate for in your pants pocket.
22
WE ALL HAVE NEEDS
The rest of the afternoon goes by in a haze. An underwearless, sweaty haze.
No sooner had Will finished getting me off, than his mother called out for us to come sing happy birthday and blow out her candles. I lay there in shock momentarily as Will smugly readjusted himself in his pants, his eyes bright, cheeks flushed, breathing still a little ragged.
I don’t remember much of what happened after, but I remember leaning up on my elbows, eyes wide as I asked him, “What about you?” and him replying, “Believe me, that was more than I could have hoped for.”
I nodded in a trance-like state until he came back to bed, knelt between my still-spread legs, and kissed my clit over my underwear just once. He pressed his forehead to my hipbone for a few seconds, inhaling my scent deep into his lungs. After, he sat up and gently pulled my underwear down my legs, his fingers simultaneously leaving a hot trail and raising goosebumps as they caressed my skin.
I watched in awe as Will bunched my underwear in his fist and shoved them in his pocket. “For safekeeping,” he said with a mischievous smile before pulling my dress back down.
From the pad on the desk, he carefully ripped out the sketch he’d drawn and handed it to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to look at it. Not yet. That would have to wait until I was alone. So I folded it in four and held it tightly in my grasp. After, he led me out of his bedroom in a lust-drunk and foggy state—mostly shocked.
Now that we’re in the car, two blocks away from my apartment after his mother’s birthday party, I wonder what the fuck kind of safe keeping he was talking about anyways?
We haven’t said much to each other since leaving the party. Only short questions and answers for us. “Want a bite to eat?” “No, thanks.” “Air temperature good?” “Yeah.” “Stopping for gas if you want to use the bathroom.” “I’m okay.” All while I’ve been rocking this road trip commando.
Our fun banter has left the building. In its place, we’ve got sexual tension by the truck load and the urge to throw a million questions at him at the same time.
What the hell was that?
Did that feel as incredible to you as it did to me?
We should never do that again, but also: when can we do that again?
What does this mean for our friendship?
Instead, I tell him: “You can just drop me off here. No need for the door-to-door service.”
