A Winter's Date (16 page)

“To girl’s night,” she shouts, and we down our shots after clinking the small glasses together.

I grimace because I hate the smell of tequila, but I shoot it regardless. The burn seems to fill my lungs and I exhale deeply. “Whew, dammit, that burns.” I reach over and grab her knee, locking eyes with her. “Oh, and Dill . . .” I pause to look over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door, and then back at her. “He’s enormous.”

She’s sucking on her lime when she freezes and takes it from her mouth. “Oh professor . . .” she calls out sensually and arches her back against the couch. Her head falls back as an erotic sound comes from her lips.

I can’t stop laughing as I fill our shot glasses again. Unable to resist teasing her more, I keep talking. “And oh my God, Dill, he so knows how to use it.”

“Oh yes!” she screams, and Noah cracks open the bedroom door.

“Is everything okay out here?”

My eyes go wide, and my back stiffens. “Oops,” I giggle and turn my head to look at him.

“Sorry, professor, we’ll keep it down.” I try and cover Dill’s laughter with the blue beaded throw pillow, and she fights me with more laughs.

His cool, smoky laugh fills the room before he shuts the door, and I’m unsure if it’s the alcohol or my libido, but his voice just soaked my panties.

I sag against the armrest of the couch and sigh dramatically.

“Holy fucking shit, Heather. I’m going to jump your boyfriend,” she proclaims, before forcing me to take another shot.

“I think I’ll jump him instead, and I’ll make sure he keeps those glasses on tonight.” I down the shot and scrunch my face as it burns all the way down the back of my throat.

She pouts and buries her face in a pillow. “Ahhh, I’m so jealous.”

I laugh and am about to play with her hair when her head shoots up, and her hair is wild around her face.

“I’m serious, you have to tell me. I want every detail. Let’s swap stories.” She reaches for her margarita, and I take mine. “So . . . tell me, does he talk in bed?”

I lick my teeth and decide to give her a little insight into my sex life. “He does when he takes me. It’s more hair pulling, biting, and oh . . .” I hesitate before I give away the sexiest thing he does. “ . . . when we are done and I can’t muster one more solitary orgasm, he takes my finger and . . .” I stop speaking while my mind goes to his thick girth moving our orgasms in and out of us.

“And?” she prods with her drink almost to her lips. Her eyes are wide in her eagerness to know more about my sex life.

“He runs my finger through our . . . uhm . . . our orgasms and makes me taste us together.” I sigh and bite the inside of my cheek. Feeling the warmth flood my cheeks, I risk a glance at her.

She’s staring at me with her mouth completely agape. “I’m sorry, do you mind repeating that so I can enjoy it again?”

I take another much-needed shot, and I can feel my head swim. “I know, right?” A goofy grin forms on my face, and I lean back against the armrest.

“I officially hate you. Coen didn’t do anything like that. He’s a big fan of anal, though.”

I sit up and gasp, grabbing her arm, causing her to spill her drink on her leg. “Oh my God, Dill. Does it hurt?” I can feel the alcohol running through my veins, and I can tell my filter has gone out of the window.

She licks her hand and giggles. “Does anal hurt? Uhm, holy shit, yes. But it gets better—so much better—and Coen sure as hell knew how to do it too.”

I cover my eyes just thinking about it and start laughing. “Why am I not surprised?” I reach for a lime and bite into it. The muscles in my cheeks protest, clenching when the sourness invades my taste buds. Quickly, I take a shot. Absentmindedly thinking . . .

Did I do that backwards?

I don’t really mind the burn anymore; maybe I’ve killed all feeling in my esophagus? I look up at her and point. “And I don’t believe you about it feeling good. There’s no way we are even going there. Besides, I don’t think he’s into that.

She gets up and turns on the music on her smart TV. “It feels incredible, and you are completely missing out. And I guarantee you that he’s into it.”

My face is burning . . . from what? The alcohol or this conversation? I try to stand but my boot feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Take this off of me.” I pout and look at my foot.

She jerks her head to the side to drunkenly inspect my boot. “Why isn’t it pink?” she asks, then twirls around the living room before she crashes into the couch and falls backward onto it, snickering like a schoolgirl. I reach my arm out to her to make sure she’s okay when my bedroom door swings open again.

We’re both laughing now and I completely forget about my boot and any pain I should be feeling. I don’t know why, but I find it hilarious that she fell and I hold my stomach with all the laughter. “Oh my God, don’t! I’m going to pee.”

She turns onto her stomach and crawls over to me then reaches for the tequila bottle. “Take a shot from the bottle,” she insists, but before I can respond a warm, inviting shiver runs through my body and I look up into his eyes. My occasional professor and always Greek god is standing in the doorway in his boxer briefs. His hair is disheveled, and I realize that he must have been asleep.

I have the bottle in my hand, and I just stare. My lips are numb and I can barely feel them when I put my lips together to shush her. I press my finger to her lips in a drunken mistake. “Shh . . . we woke the professor.” I giggle and throw my head back when she peers up at him through her long eyelashes.

“Whoa momma,” she murmurs all too loudly.

He runs his hand down his face and walks into the living room. When Dill sits up she’s practically panting. Noah sits down on the single seat as if he’s fully dressed, and Dill and I are now two horny, incredibly drunk women.

I’m actually so drunk that I don’t even care that he’s almost naked in front of her. “Did we wake you?” I take a drink from the bottle before Dillen practically rips it out of my hand and drinks from it, her eyes devouring him the entire time.

He rubs his eyes again, and I’m incredibly drawn to him. I get up and hobble over. His warm arms are around me in a second, and he pulls me onto his lap. Noah is always warm, but now his skin feels like he’s on fire. Even with the tequila messing with my head, I know that this is the place that I will always want to be.

I hear Dillen giggle behind me, and I look over. I try not to laugh but things are just so funny to me right now.

“Hi, Noah . . .” she basically moans his name and eyes his gorgeously sculpted chest.

He smiles his panty-dropping smile and replies, “Hi, Dillen. It seems like you two have gotten into the hard stuff, huh?”

I laugh and bite his chest playfully.

She huffs and pouts at the two of us. “I think you two should have anal.”

I gasp so loud and lean over to try and cover her mouth. “Dillen . . .” I shriek as she howls in a fit of laughter.

Noah’s hand moves down to my ass and he squeezes with too much confidence. “Would I fit?” he whispers in my ear.

I feel my face get red-hot again, and I forget we’re not alone. “No. No way. I already told Dill you were ginormous.”

I look over and see Dillen nod adamantly and fan her face. “It’s true. She did.”

He presses his lips to my neck and I can feel him smile sleepily against my skin. “Exactly how much have you had to drink, Miss Lane?”

I look down at my hand and count on my fingers before looking at the bottle. “Uhhh, one time?”

Dillen busts out laughing and gets up to get more alcohol.

“One time, huh?”

His chest reverberates with his deep, smoky laughter before he kisses the back of my head. I nod and lean into him, smelling his cologne that I love so much. My inhibitions squashed by tequila, I whisper in his ear while Dill is in the kitchen, “Do you want that?”

I can feel his eyes roaming my body and then his cock jerking against my butt. “I’d like to try it at some point.”

My body thrums with excitement and I bite at his earlobe. “Do you think I would like it?”

“Possibly. Coen said Dillen loved it when he fucked her ass.”

I gasp and pull back to look at him. I grab his face with both of my hands and stare at him. “HE TOLD YOU THAT?”

He moves my body so I straddle him and holds onto my butt, “Yeah, he did, and he asked if you enjoyed it too, but I didn’t give him an answer.”

I look down at him in my drunken state and a small giggle escapes me. “Does he know that your . . .” I cup my mouth and whisper the word cock, “ . . . is huge?”

He tilts my chin up and kisses my numb, drunken lips, instead of answering my question. “Let’s get you some water, ballerina.”

I pout against his lips.
Why won’t he answer me?
“I don’t want any.”

His lips move to my ear, and he chuckles. “You’re so fucking stubborn, Heather.”

I smile and bury my face in his neck and bite. Probably harder than I meant to, but I can’t feel my teeth now either. He sucks in a sharp breath of air and pinches my rear end. “Where the fuck did Dillen go?”

I look up and over at the couch and then into the kitchen. “Dill . . .” I scream out and wiggle off of Noah’s lap.

He straightens up his boxer briefs before he stands, and I get a “Shh . . .” from Dillen.

I start to laugh when I hear her and I stumble over to the sound of her voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

I step into the kitchen and look down at my boot, but instead my eyes focus on Dillen lying on the tiled floor in just her bra and panties.

I gasp at the sight and cover my mouth before the giggles hit me. “Dillen Alice Ascher, where are your clothes?” I kneel down and karate-chop her flat stomach before leaning against the cabinet.

She makes an “oof” noise and sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m so hot, even my boobs are sweating.”

My smile feels unlike my own, but it’s plastered on my face. “At least you have boobs.” I nudge her leg with my boot when I remember it’s still on me. “Get up, and take this off of me. And I’m still thirsty.”

Noah walks into the kitchen, and he laughs at the sight of us on the floor, “Hell, put your damn clothes back on.”

“You’re one to talk,” she shoots back at him quickly.

I look up and realize that she’s right. “Hey! Yeah, put your clothes on, professor.” I smack the cold, hard tile with my hand and laugh at my own lame joke. “And will someone get this boot off of me? Frick.”

“That boot is staying on, ballerina. All right, girls, I’m heading back to bed. Yell really loud if you need anything, and for the love of God, don’t play with the knives.” He winks and moves the knife that Dill was using earlier into the sink before walking back into our bedroom.

I almost melt when he winks at me, and I swear he flexed his butt muscles when he walked away. I look over at Dill, and she’s watching me with dreamy eyes. “What?” I smile and lean my head back against the wood.

“If you two ever break up, I get first crack.”

My mouth drops open and I reach over and grab the oven mitt that hangs nearby. Throwing it at her, I yell, “Hey butthead, if we break up, you better be on my side. Now take this boot off of me.”

She pulls herself across the floor to me. “Fine, but you can’t tell anyone that I helped.”

I cross my heart and hold my fingers up. “I swear.”

I barely watch her do it because I don’t even want to see what it looks like off. I hear and feel Velcro being pulled and then instant relief. I sigh because it feels so good as the rush of cool air washes over my foot. “Is it gross?” I ask through my drunken, numb lips.

“You have a sock on, little shit. I can’t tell, and no, I am not removing that.”

“DO IT!” I yell.

“No, no way in hell am I removing that stinky sock.”

“It doesn’t stink, you jerk.”

She pulls on the thin material covering my big toe and pulls just a little more before stopping. “Oh my . . . nope. That’s gross. I can’t do it.”

I growl in frustration and reach up into the junk drawer. “Fine. I’ll do it.” My hand finds the pair of scissors, and I bring them out of the drawer and show her.

Her eyes go wide, and she stares at me. “No!”

“Yes, this is happening.”

I reach down and slide the blade underneath the edge of my sock, and I snip it. Dillen gasps loudly and covers her mouth dramatically, “Oh shit, don’t do it. You are going be in so much trouble, Heather. I’m not going down with you for this.”

I laugh and continue to cut along the top of my foot. My eyes go wide when I see the discoloration in my skin. My stomach turns, and I get a twinge in my belly.
Oh sick. Now I know why he never wants me to look at it.
I finally get it cut all the way to my toes, and I peel away my sock.

“Ewww!” Dillen shrieks out, and I laugh hysterically. My fuzzy brain doesn’t even register how I’m going to get this back on. I’m just happy to have the dang thing off.

I’m trying to get up off the floor unsuccessfully when I hear Noah’s voice above me.

“What in the ever loving fuck are you doing?”

I can’t hold in my laughter when Dillen points at me like a little tattletale. “I told her not to do it.”

I look up at him and see the frown he’s wearing. “That’s it, play time is over,” he says as he bends down and grabs the scissors from my hand. “You’re drunk and playing with scissors? Shit, Heather, so much for me hiding the damn knives,” he scolds and picks me up, walking us toward the bedroom. “It’s time for bed, Miss Lane.”

My head starts to swim with the movement, and for the first time all night, I start to feel sick. My stomach has an odd, hot bubbling sensation.

“’Night, Dill,” I mumble as he walks.

“Dillen, don’t move,” he says in a highly dominant, sexy command before we reach the bedroom.

I feel like I’m drifting to sleep when I feel cool sheets beneath me. My eyes blink open in the dim light and I watch him walk out of the room with my throw blanket.

Where’s he going with my blanket?

Moments later I feel the room spin and I look up. He’s back and undressing me. “Are you mad?”

He’s quiet before he speaks. “Yes, Heather, I am. Go to sleep.”