Wet (24 page)

I tip my head as I scan the images. “I think they’re fascinating. Bridges get you places. If they weren’t there you’d have a hard time going to those places.”

She looks at me with a surprised expression, like I have a milk mustache I forgot to wipe off or something.

“What?”

“That’s really great. I didn’t know you were so deep.” She winks at me.

“Oh, I’m deep, so deep—an endless well really. I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on that until now.”

I’m glad to see her looking better.

“Well, now I know. And I like your place. It’s cool. Not exactly like I imagined.”

“And how did you imagine it?”

“Not so thought out. Everything works together design wise . . . it’s pretty sophisticated for a dude.”

“You still think I’m your sprinkler man, don’t you? I’m a designer, remember?”

“Well that explains the sage-colored walls and couch you can’t lie down on.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Are you really going to shame me for my couch?”

She bites her lip. She looks like she’s holding back a grin. “Nah. You know I love designer stuff.”

“I’ll say. Look at your place.”

“Watch out. I’m feeling hormonal.”

I drop my arms down to my sides. “Thanks for the warning.”

She pats the spot on the bed next to her. “Come sit over here.”

When I sit on the opposite side of the bed she slides a little closer to me.

“So which is your favorite bridge picture?”

I don’t even pause to think about it. “The one of the Golden Gate Bridge. I love how it’s rising out of the fog. It’s like you don’t know where you’re going to end up or how you got there.”

“But because it’s a steady bridge you trust that it’s going to be okay on the other side,” she says quietly.

I nod.

She slides farther down on the bed and I follow suit.

“So how was your date last night?”

“Is that why you came over?”

“Well you didn’t return my call, so I figured something big must have happened.”

“What if it did? Would you be happy?”

Her eyebrows knit together like she’s thinking really hard, but finally she says softly, “Yes, I would be happy.”

“Well yeah, something really big happened.” I’m about to tell her what a let- down the evening was when she jumps in with a true Elle inquiry.

“Oh my God. Was the sex phenomenal?”

“I promised you we wouldn’t talk about that.”

“But I need to hear.”

“Why?”

“If I can’t have mind-blowing sex at least I can live vicariously through you.”

“And what if it wasn’t mind-blowing?”

“Make something up, damn it! And make me believe it.”

“But I promised not to do this!”

She grabs my T-shirt in the center of my chest, makes a fist of it and pulls hard until we are face-to-face.

“To hell with the promise! I need it, Paul. I was up all night imagining it.”

Her cheeks are hot pink and I remember the hormone warning. At this point I’d tell her anything to keep her calm considering the shape she was in when she showed up here.

“Okay, I’ll tell you if it’s really what you want.”

She nods and lets out a sigh. Her fingers loosen on my T-shirt.

Where do I start with this fiction story? At least the first detail can be honest.

“So Melanie and I met at Osteria Mozza.”

She shakes her head firmly. “I don’t want to hear about the restaurant unless you had sex in the bathroom.”

This woman.

“So no build-up? Got it.”

“Yeah, get to the good stuff.”

“We’d both been drinking and the flirting was really intense, so when we got out to the valet stand she pushed me up against the building and ground all that sexiness up against me.”

“In front of everyone?” she says with her mouth agape.

“Oh yeah. I bet I could have fucked her right there and she would have gone for it. She dug her hand into my back pocket and grabbed my ass like she meant business.”

“Was the anaconda awake?”

“Hell yes,” I lie.

“Oh God, I bet she liked that.”

“Judging from the way she grabbed onto it and moaned I would say so.”

“Hot damn. So there was grinding and what else? Kissing?”

“Naturally.”

“Is she a good kisser?”

“Incredible kisser.” I’m full on lying now.
What the fuck?

She sighs. “Oh man, I love great kissing.”

“Yeah, it was so hot.”

“Was there lots of tongue action? Was it so good you got dizzy?”

If she only knew how
not
dizzy I got. “My head was spinning it was so hot.”

“Oh God,” Elle says as she unbuttons the top button of her shirt.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying not to get alarmed.

“Don’t worry. I’m just trying to get some air on the girls. I’m burning up.”

“Do you want some ice cubes to suck on? I’ve heard pregnant ladies like that.”

Grinning, she shakes her head. “So did you go to her house or yours, or wait! You didn’t do it in the car, did you?”

“Oh course not!” I respond, pretending to be offended. “I’m classier than that on a first date.”

“What about by the fourth or fifth date?”

“Anything’s possible by then.”

She chuckles. “Okay, but back to last night . . .”

“So we went to her place.” My mind scrambles to make up where she lives but Elle takes care of that reminding me that extraneous details are frowned upon.

“Did you go straight to the bedroom?”

I nod. “Most of her clothes were off by the time we got there, and damn she is fine. What a sexy body.”

Am I imagining things, or did Elle just snarl and bare her teeth?

“Of course, Ms. Perfect is fine. Don’t worry about the chubby pregnant hormonal girl over here. Let’s hear about her perfectly flat stomach and long, lean legs.”

“Geez, Elle, next time we do this can you give me the rulebook first? How am I supposed to know what you want to hear versus what will piss you off? Besides, what the hell do you mean chubby? You’re not chubby.”

She runs her hands over her hips and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. So did she worship the anaconda?”

“Are you asking if she dropped to her knees to blow me?”

She bites her knuckle and nods. I’m really wondering if this is a good idea.

She looks so excited but this could implode any second.

I let out a low whistle. “Yes, she did and she sucks cock even better than she kisses.”

“Did you run your fingers through her hair, and watch?”

“Naturally. What? You thought I’d close my eyes while that was going on?”

“My ex used to close his eyes.”

“And . . .” I prompt while waving my hand.

“He’s an idiot!” She grins.

“Believe me, Elle, if your mouth was on me I’d never take my eyes off you.”

I’m picturing it in my head and the heat moves down my chest straight to my groin.

She curls closer to me . . . too close. “Damn, you know how to make a girl feel great.”

“Well, I mean it.” And if she only knew how much I did mean it . . . how she was the only woman I fantasize about doing that with now. Elle’s pretty lips on me . . .
oh man.

“Did she swallow?”

Geez.

Knowing I have to prolong my story, I shake my head. “No, I needed to fuck her, so I lifted her onto the bed.”

Elle is pressing her thighs together rhythmically. “Did you crawl over her like a wild beast?” She undoes another button on her shirt and pulls the collar further open.

“Is that what you would want me to do, Elle?” I ask, my gaze falling from her hooded eyes, to her flushed neck, to the sheen of perspiration at her cleavage now exposed.

She reaches over and digs her fingers into my forearms. “Oh, yes. That’s what I would want.”

“Well I did that. And she started to beg for it, so I pulled her legs apart and rubbed myself against her to make sure she was ready for all of me. Cause you know . . .”

“Oh God, she must have been so wet. I am,” she groans.

My eyes bug out. “You’re wet?”

“Hell yes. I’ve never been this turned on.”

Now that I think of it, neither have I. But I don’t want to tell her that. This is confusing enough as it is. I’m trying to find the brain in my foggy head—since all the blood is below my belt—when I suddenly feel her hand skim all the way up my fly. There’s no question anymore for her as to whether I’m aroused or not. I’ve never been this hard. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised my cock hasn’t done a Hulk move and busted out of my jeans.

“Wow, Paul,” she moans.

I’m barely holding on at this point.

She closes her eyes and takes several deep breaths like she’s trying to calm herself down. I’m not sure I’ll ever be calm again.

“Should I stop?” I ask in a ragged voice.

“Please don’t stop,” she gasps.

“Where was I?”

“So did you fuck her hard? How did she like it?” Her hand wraps around her flushed neck.

I imagine Elle spread out on the bed under me, and the look of want in her eyes. I know for a fact that I’ve never wanted anyone more.
What if?

My impatient friend squeezes my arm. “Well?”

“Did I fuck her hard? No, not at first. Slow. I fucked her slow. I wanted to let it build so she’d feel everything. I wanted to watch her and see what she liked.”

“Of course you did,” she says with an envious sigh.

“And I kissed her, and gave her breasts the attention they deserved. She liked that a lot. It made her wild.”

She runs her hands up her torso and over her breasts, which only pulls her shirt open further. “Oh . . . I bet she did. Did she let you know how good it was?”

“She begged for more and thrashed and moaned a lot . . . so yeah.”

“Were her legs wrapped tightly around you?”

“Naturally. Her movements were in perfect rhythm with mine. It was unbelievable.”

“Please tell me you kissed her breasts, too?” She undoes another button.

We’re in the danger zone now. I’m already imagining I’m doing all of these things to Elle and not Melanie. I’m not sure how much restraint I have left in my reserve. I want her desperately.

I lean in closer to Elle’s face and look her in the eye. “I didn’t just kiss her breasts. I sucked them.”

As I look at her I find myself licking my lips, they’re so dry from my deep breathing.

The intensity must be too much because she shuts her eyes and turns away from me. I see a tear make its way down her flushed cheek. I slowly run my fingertip along its wet path to take it away as my mind tries to process where I screwed this up. Just because she said she wanted to hear about the sex, doesn’t mean it was the right thing for her.

“Elle?”

She’s taking short, choppy breaths and a sudden fury explodes in my chest. Why did I go along with this? Any man in his right mind would know this was the worst idea ever.

Rising up on my elbow, I gently take her chin in my hand and tilt her face back toward me. “Elle. Elle,” I say softly, “what’s wrong?”

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, which sends new tears cascading down her face.

“Please tell me what’s wrong? I’m sorry. I thought you knew I was making up that stuff. I swear, Elle, it didn’t go like that at all.”

“Really?” she asks with wide eyes.

“Really. I promise.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just sad because I want all that and who knows when I’ll ever have it again.”

The tears fall faster now.

“You mean sex?” I ask.

“Not just sex. It’s being intimate, and being touched. I’m just wired that way, Paul. I need to be touched. It grounds me. It’s only been a matter of weeks and I feel like part of me is dying inside.”

“I can touch you,” I say, in a lame attempt to soothe her. I run my hand up her arm and squeeze her shoulder.

She sighs and it’s the saddest sigh I’ve ever heard. “I adore you for that, but I want my body touched.”

“How about if you got massages. I know a place that’s supposed to be great.”

She looks at me like she can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. She runs her fingertips up and down my forearm. It sends an electrical charge right through me.

“Will they massage my boobs?”

“What?” I ask, trying to keep my eyebrows from darting into my hairline. The hormones have clearly rendered her with temporary insanity. What woman gets a boob massage?

“That’s what I want more than anything. I want my boobs touched.”

I clear my throat. “Um, I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t do that. And places I know that will I wouldn’t ever take you to.”

“You could do it, you know. You could touch them.” She bites her lip and looks up at me.

That doesn’t help—at all.

“That would be really difficult and complicated for me,” I stutter. She’s pregnant and hormonal for God’s sake. My physical desire for her is so far past my craving to get off with a hot woman. I’m desperate to make love to her, but every choice I make now, no matter how tortured, has to be what’s best for her and the baby.

She takes my hand in hers and slides it over her chest. “It’s really not that complicated. Pretend I’m a mannequin.”

“Right, a really chatty mannequin,” I say as she moves my hand over her chest in broad circles while I desperately try not to glance down.

As her movements continue her expression softens, almost melting. She looks positively blissful and it keeps me from doing the right thing and pulling my hand away. I realize that there’s heat emanating from my hand, like one of those creepy faith healers I’ve heard about. The question is, am I healing her or is she healing me?

A moment later I feel flesh against flesh and I look down to see that she’s opened her shirt completely and my hand is resting just above her cleavage while she unhooks the front of her bra.

Oh good God.

“Elle,” I groan.

“Please, Paul. Just a minute or two. Please?”

When our eyes meet she looks hopeful yet full of fear that I’ll turn her down. I know she needs this but how dangerous is it for me to be the one to give it to her? The thing that makes up my mind is wondering if not me, who? That’s unfathomable to even think about.