Page 46 of Plight
“LEG. POCKET. KEY!”
“Let me down then, you goose.” I tried to unwrap my legs but he wouldn’t have it, instead choosing to fumble in his pocket for a few seconds before producing a key and slotting it into his door.
“Hurry up!” I giggled. “I’m sliding down you like I would a fireman’s pole.”
I scrambled up his body, releasing my stranglehold around his neck.
“Fuck! Don’t talk about sliding down poles right now.”
I laughed. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be distracted by the thought and drop you on your arse as a result, that’s why.”
I slipped again, and this time I yanked on his shoulders as I fell. He stumbled backward into the wall, my back coming into contact with the plaster, his arse pressing into my open legs. My clit buzzed to life at the sensation, and I gasped, wishing he was facing me and not the other way round, his hands cupping my breasts, his tongue and lips tracing a hot, wet trail along my neck, his cock positioned at my—
“Shit. Sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
I shook the thought of Elliot’s cock out of my head. “What?”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes. I mean, HURRY UP!”
Elliot giddy-upped down the hallway to his living room and dropped us onto his leather sofa just before I slipped completely. My body bounced onto the cushions, my head falling back against the headrest with a thud, my eyes closing as I laughed like we did when we were kids.
“You’ve lost your piggy-backing touch, Lots. That was the bumpiest ride ever.”
“I can’t help it if my jockey’s riding skills aren’t what they used to be.”
My eyelids flung open, and I turned my head to face him, a small stretch of our necks the only distance between us. “Your jockey’s riding skills are better than they’ve ever been,” I reiterated.
His eyes were sparkling like two Caribbean rock pools, his skin pink and slightly sweat-dampened. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice low.
Elliot’s gaze dipped to my mouth, his tongue gently sweeping over his perfect, soft, tasty lips.
Abort. Abort.
Those lips.
That tongue.
That licking.
Argh! It was something he’d done when we were teenagers, and all because I’d stupidly opened my big mouth one time and told him that Brad Pitt did it and that I thought it was sexy. From that day on, he’d done the same thing as a joke to deliberately drive me mad, but little did he realise that when he’d done it, it was just as sexy as Brad, if not more.
Opening my mouth to allow oxygen to my brain, I swallowed heavily instead, my heart galloping as he leaned in closer, my neck stretching to meet his advance. I wanted his tongue, his lips, his mouth. I wanted his hands on my body and in my hair. I wanted to kiss him just like I’d dreamed of kissing him all those years ago, except now, I wanted so much more than a kiss.
I wanted it all.
Except, I didn’t want it, either. I didn’t want to ruin what we were once again building — our friendship. The best friendship I’d ever had. That was far more important. But fuck all the shits, because those lips were going to be my undoing, and they were slowly edging toward mine. Nothing was going to stop me from tasting them again. Nothing.
Feeling is his warm breath on my face as lips feathered mine, I startled at the sound of Dudley’s desperate yap. Shit!
I shot up, because the only thing running through my mind at that point was the fucking laundry
… and if it still existed.
