Page 235 of Entangled

Eden throws a disgruntled frown over her shoulder. “You’re supposed to be my friend, remember?”

I step up to her and place my hands over hers. Mine shake at the effort not to grab and slap the silky, exposed skin.

Her breath catches, and the frown falls away. After a moment, she tilts her head back, and the ends of her hair tease her hips.

She watches me as I tug her dress back down.

“What if I don’t want to be friends anymore?” I taunt.

Eden’s lips part, ripe and ready, and her tongue dips out to tease the lower lip. “Because you don’t like me?”

I shake my head slowly. “I like you.”

Like. It doesn’t fit in my mouth right. It’s too mild. It doesn’t fit the way my eyes track her across a room. It doesn’t fit the way I fuck my fist every morning thinking about her. It doesn’t fit how talking to her is the highlight of my whole day.

Her lips form an “o.”

Very, very lightly, I brush the right side of her ass through her dress. “This one says ‘Prepared this for you, buddy.’” I brush the left side, smiling wryly. “This one says, ‘Tag, you’re it.’”

Her eyes widen. “That’sterrible.”

But her lips twitch, then roll in, and then suddenly she’s giggling.

“Poor Jayk,” she gasps.

She clutches me for support, and I start laughing too.

“Okay, pet, come on. You need to sleep.” I swing her into my arms bridal style, and she doesn’t protest as I start walking us toward the house.

She fits in my arms like she was made to be there. Finally, she stops laughing, but her cheeks are still rosy and her nose a bit red from drinking. She rests her head back against me with a happy sigh, watching me.

“What does DAP mean?” she asks.

I miss a step, stumbling slightly, then correct myself. I stare down at her for a second, then put my eyes back on where I’m going.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter.

She shakes her head, frowning thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

Why does she need to know? There’s no way in hell this is on the table yet.

My dick doesn’t seem to care about that kind of detail.

“Double anal penetration,” I tell her. “It means double anal penetration.”

“Oh.” Her voice is faint. Then her frown deepens. “That seems impractical.”

“Double vaginal is easier,” I agree, and she looks up at me with interest.

On a different day, with her completely sober and Beau back on my side, I would spend hours easing her into just that. It wouldn’t even be that difficult. She comes hard and easily—it wouldn’t take much to get her limp and relaxed and soaking wet. Just imagining her broken expression, how good her pussy would feel stuffed with our cocks, makes me grip her to my chest harder.

“Have you done it with Beau before?” she asks in a hushed, curious voice.

Like she’s trying not to let anyone hear.

Like she didn’t just expose her ass to half the party.

I round the bonfire.

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