Page 56 of Plays Well With Others

But I can’t stand her being clothed a second longer.

In no time, I untie the apron, but as I’m tugging off her shirt, the timer beeps.

“The cookies! They’ll burn,” she yelps and makes a move to wriggle off the counter.

I stop her with a firm hand on her thigh. “You look too sexy to move. Stay there. I want you right fucking here, Sunshine.”

I turn around, grab the oven mitt, and take out the cookies. I set the tray on the cooling rack, next to the others. Then I turn off the oven. “Next batch comes later. You come first,” I say, then toss the mitt on the counter and return to her, standing between her parted legs, undoing the apron once and for all, then sliding it under her ass. I tuck a finger under her chin, make her meet my eyes, reading her needs. Theselessonsshould extend to the physical. “I want to make you come harder than you did alone on my couch. I want to show you how it feels when a man is obsessed with your pleasure andonlyyour pleasure,” I say, and I’m not a mind reader. I’m just a good listener.

Last night, she told me her wishes when it came to dating. To discoverhow a man treats a woman.

When a man actually cares.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she wants the same in bed. A man who tellsonlythe truth. Easy. So fucking easy. But a man should ask too. Should make sure she’s one hundred percent on board. So I follow up with, “Do you want that, Rachel?”

“Please. Yes. Do that. Now,” she says, and this time she isn’t unsure where to put her hands. She’s one hundred percent committed to the cause of feeling me up. Her nimble fingers slide down my pecs on a mad dash for my abs, till she reaches my happy trail. When she arrives at the waistband of my jeans, I cover her hand with mine, then slide her palm over the ridge of my erection.

Her reaction is gold. A surprised gasp of excitement. Curiosity too. Maybe a touch of fear.

But there will be time to face that fear later. First, I want her to know what she does to me. I guide her hands back to my chest, and she’s smiling, perhaps a little sex drunk as she explores my body.

Good. Fucking good. She can use me however she wants. “I like that. Feeling your hands all over me,” I tell her.

I finger the hem of her shirt, then kiss her jaw. On a staggered breath, she stretches her neck, asking for more kisses all while she journeys over my chest, down my arms, across my abs. Like that, we explore each other with lips and fingers.

As I go, I lift up her shirt, exposing her belly inch by inch, touching her soft flesh.

But that’s slow enough for now. I tug her shirt off the rest of the way, and it’s like I’ve unwrapped a gift with my name on it.

Holy fucking lingerie.

“Look at you. Who knew you had such a sexy bra on?” I say, shaking my head in admiration. It’s pink lace, with an embroidered flower between her tits, and I want to bite that off. I run a finger over the cloth petal, playing with it. “You like pretty things,” I say, and I sound amazed. Hell, I feel amazed to know this private detail about Rachel Dumont.

“I do,” she says but her smile disappears. Nerves take its place, and she’s gone from bold to uncertain as she asks, “You like it?”

Is that not obvious? I tilt my head to study her face, but her expression answers it for me—it’s not clear to her. I’m not sure why she’s flip-flopped, but I’ll just need to show her how much I enjoy this detail ofher. “Fucking love it so much,” I say, then I bury my face between her tits.Hello, happy place, I am in you. That orange-blossom smell, her soft skin, her fingers in my hair.

But, hold on.

Her fingers are tentative still.

I’m not sure if she’s nervous because it’s me, and we’re friends, and this is a line.

Or because of what she told me last night about how a man treats a woman. I should ask what’s going on. Really I should. But she tastes so good and I’m far too distracted by her breasts, and the kisses I’m laying on her exposed flesh.

“Need more,” I murmur, then reach my hands around her back and unhook the bra. She shrugs her shoulders and the lace flutters to the counter.

Fuck yes.

Sure, I’ve seen her half-naked.

But no, I have not at all.

Because there’s Naked Mistaken Phone Answering.

And then there’s Naked Arousal.

The second comes with hardened nipples and a flushed chest and a woman so eager for my touch. “Rachel,” I mutter, my voice a dry husk on a hot summer day as I cup these glorious beauties.

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