Blurred Lines (11 page)

“You first,” I command.

Parker’s hands land on her hips. “No way.
You
first.”

I grin, because I’m already in motion before she’s finished speaking, one hand reaching behind my head to grab a fistful of shirt, yanking it up and off.

I toss it aside.

Parker’s eyes narrow at my now shirtless abs. “You
knew
I was going to say that.”

“Guilty.”

“Now your turn,” I coax.

She doesn’t move, and we stand facing off in her bedroom.

“The door’s open,” she says prissily.

“Nobody else is here,” I say, with what I think is admirable patience. “Just us.”

“But—”

I anticipate this, too, once again moving quickly, but this time reaching for
her
shirt, which, thankfully, is a stretchy, striped affair that allows for fast, uncomplicated removal.

“Ben!” she shrieks.

I toss her shirt into a pile with mine.
Success.

Only this time, I’m not
quite
as cocky.

Because for all of Parker’s fussing about her food baby, or whatever, from where I’m standing, she’s pretty much flawless.

I thought I was prepared for this, but seeing her standing there all narrow waist and full breasts, I find that my mouth is dry and my brain is barely working.

Also, cock hard.

My stunned response to her body, newly shed of clothing, must give her confidence. Her nervousness melts away in front of my eyes, and it’s her turn to smirk smugly.

“Your turn,” she says sweetly, her hands returning to her waist, but this time in a saucy, provocative manner, as her right hip cocks to one side.

My moves aren’t quite as smooth this time.

My fingers manage the buttons of my jeans with ease, but in my haste to get them off, I forget that I’m still wearing shoes and socks, which ends in me having to hobble awkwardly to the bed to disrobe.

Parker cracks up at my clumsiness, and I grin as I hurl my jeans at her.

I’m horny, yes—definitely—but it also hits me that sex with Parker might be fun in a way that I haven’t experienced before.

I put my hands behind me, leaning back on the bed wearing only my boxer shorts, as I look her over and her laughter slowly fades.

She lifts her thumb to her mouth and bites her nail.

She’s nervous.

We can’t have that.

I stand up, moving toward her slowly this time until we’re standing face-to-face, chest to chest. Her bra is low-cut and black and lacy, but I force myself to look only at her face.

“Kiss me,” I say.

“Hmm?” She’s staring at my boxers. Or, more likely, the bulge beneath them.

“Kiss me.” It’s a command.

Her eyes jerk back to mine, holding just briefly, as though seeking reassurance. And then she seems to find it, because her eyes lower to my mouth and go smoky.

I take a step closer still, my head lowering just slightly so it’s within easy reach.

“Kiss me.” This time it’s a whisper.

Parker lifts up onto her toes, tilts her chin up, and softly—softly—rests her mouth against mine.

And then she kisses me.

I let her take control. It’s the least I can do after the way I devoured her against our kitchen wall yesterday. It’s her turn to drive.

Her palms cup my face and her lips coax mine apart. Her tongue finds mine, tentatively at first, and I groan at the goodness of it.

Parker’s arms wind around my neck, deepening the kiss and bringing our upper bodies into skin-to-skin contact.

That’s when I lose it. My arms go around her waist, my hands touching every bit of bare skin they can as we kiss hungrily.

I use my nose to nudge her chin upward so I can kiss down her neck, and her head falls backward with a groan, all that long, glorious hair spilling downward toward her butt.

I tangle my fingers in her dark waves to hold her head captive.

I’ve yet to encounter a woman who doesn’t like her neck kissed, but Parker
really
likes it. She’s wiggling against me all sex kitten–like, and I’m beyond hard and I haven’t even gotten her bra off yet.

Speaking of…

My fingers reluctantly release her hair, and my mouth claims hers again as I move my hands upward on her back those crucial few inches to the clasp of her bra.

I unhook it easily, but I pause before pulling the lacy garment off, my head leaning back slightly to meet her eyes and make sure we’re on the same page.

Her eyes are glossy and dazed.

Yup.
Definitely
on the same page.

With a wicked grin, I slide the black straps over her shoulders, pausing at the tipping point for several seconds to torture us both, and then…

Parker Blanton is well and truly topless.

My grin widens as I smile down at her. “Parks. I think this might be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Her voice is raspy. “More touching. Less talking.”

I move my hands upward, pausing before I touch her. “I thought you wanted to bang your best friend
because
of the talking. Isn’t that what you said? Parks?”

She growls in frustration, arching her back and leaning in so that her breasts find my hands, and I find that she’s absolutely right.

I was doing too much talking, and not enough of
this.

Her breasts are full and firm and perfect. Sensitive, too, if the little mewling noises she’s making are any indication.

I let my palms explore, learning her shape until I reward us both for our patience with a swipe of my thumbs against her nipples, and she responds by grabbing my ass and pulling me toward her with a soft curse.

I kiss her again, once, hard, then I push her toward the bed until the back of her legs hit it and she has no choice but to sit.

My eyes never leave the awesomeness of her breasts as my fingers undo the button of her black pants, pulling them over long slim legs. Those, too, join our growing pile of discarded clothes, and then it’s just Parker in her little black panties and me in my boxers.

I can’t stop looking at her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, because she’s doing a little looking of her own, and then she clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Are we nuts to be doing this?” she asks.

“Absolutely,” I say, putting one knee on the bed, a hand on her shoulder pushing her back.

If Parker liked my mouth on her neck, she likes my mouth on her breasts even more. Likes it when I tease her with gentle kisses on the soft undersides, likes when I trail my tongue between them,
loves
when I take a nipple in my mouth and suck.

So lost am I in her perfection that I don’t register right away that her hands are working frantically at the waistband of my boxers.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” I say, pulling back.

“Three months, Ben,” she says. “I’m going on
three months.
”

“Say no more.”

I get rid of my boxers in seconds, but I take my time with her panties, easing them down just slowly enough to build her anticipation, my eyes dragging over her long legs.

And then I toss aside the last remaining garment between me and my best friend.

No. Fucking. Regrets.

She apparently feels the same, because she pushes up onto one elbow, her other hand hooking around my neck to pull my mouth down into a hot-as-hell kiss.

I kiss her back, our tongues playing some game of love and war as my hand slides slowly downward, over her flat stomach (
food baby,
my ass) until I find her wet and smooth and slick under my fingertips.

She bites my lip as I finger her, and it destroys the last bit of my self-control. I pull back and dive at her nightstand like a dying man. “Tell me you have condoms in here.”

Parker doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to, because the drawer of her nightstand is nothing
but
condoms.

“Holy hell, Parks, I think you’re going to be single-handedly responsible for a global latex shortage.”

She bites her lip and looks at me. “I went to Costco after work while you were at the gym.”

I can only shake my head as I pluck out one of the eight million foil packages. “A girl who buys condoms in bulk. We
really
should have done this sooner.”

I turn back to her, and, despite the urgency of the moments before, I search her face.

This is it.

The turning point.

And although I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to slide between her legs, I’m not going to ruin our friendship over it. I have to know….

She reaches out. Touches my cock, and it all but leaps into her hand. She strokes me in firm, smooth motions, then licks her lips.

“Okay, then,” I mutter around a groan as I tear open the condom wrapper with my teeth.

She scoots back on the bed as I move over her, her legs spreading as I settle between them. Parker is panting now. Hell, so am I, and it seems crazy that I haven’t been fantasizing about this since the moment I met her, because I’ve never wanted anyone, or anything, this badly.

My hands are on either side of her, her hands are on my waist, and I pause as long as I can, drawing out the moment.

I slide forward, and
oh fuck
she’s perfect. Tight and wet and ready. I gasp a little as I slide further into her, her nails digging into me, pulling me forward as she moans something that might be
please.

When I’m all the way inside her, I pause.

I savor.

Now, I wouldn’t say I rush this moment with other girls, but, let’s face it, once you’ve found your way home, it’s all sort of the downward rush toward glory, right? I tend to sort of get in, get out.

But it’s different with Parker. More important somehow, so I linger just for a moment, feeling her, watching her face, learning her breathing.

And then she says it again.
Please.

I lean down, my lips finding hers as I pull out—all the way out—and then sink back in, all the way, our moans mingling together.

I keep the pace slow and steady, at least as slow as I’m able, wanting to make it good for her, because, like she said…three months.

But apparently her sex hiatus has her all revved up and ready to go, because her breathing quickens in no time, her hips urging me on at a faster pace.

I know she’s close and my hand slides down, and that’s all it takes; one brush of my finger against her, and she’s arching, crying out, and clenching around me all at the same time.

The sight and sound of her coming apart destroy me.

I manage only two more strokes before I, too, go over the edge, pulling the soft skin of her neck between my teeth, softly, as I shudder inside her.

I collapse.

She lets me, her arms falling from my back to lay limply out at her side, as I pant into her neck.

I don’t know how much time passes. Seconds? Minutes?

Days?

She turns her head so her mouth is near my ear. “So.”

“So,” I say in response, before pulling myself up just slightly to look into her face, praying I won’t see regret.

“That was…” She breaks off.

“Yeah.” I say. Because I get it. No words.

“So…again?” Her voice is hopeful, and I smile.

Yup,
definitely
should have done this a long time ago.

Twenty minutes later, the sex haze has receded at least a little bit. Long enough for Ben and me to get back to doing what we do so well:

Arguing about the shower.

“I won the kissing bet fair and square,” I say, trying to pinch the arm that lays draped across my stomach. “The kiss
sucked,
so therefore I get first shower. Now, and every day for the next month. That was the deal. Now let me up.”

“No way. Yesterday’s kiss did
not
suck. I had you pinned between me and the kitchen wall and you
liked
it.”

“That was the
second
kiss,” I say, hoping he appreciates the patience in my tone. “Our deal was about the first kiss.”

“No, the second kiss was just round two of the first kiss. I could have sworn we agreed on this last night. You let me pick the TV channel, as was our agreement.”

“Well, now I’ve had time to reconsider it,” I say primly. “I’ve decided that I won.”

“Oh,
you
decided,” he says, lifting up on one arm slightly to stare down at me. “So that’s it?”

I pretend to think about this. Then, “Yup. Pretty much.”

His eyes narrow. “I made you come. Two times. You don’t get two orgasms
and
the first shower.”

I manage to lift his arm high enough to wiggle beneath it. “It’s because of those orgasms that I
need
the shower. I’m all…sticky.”

He lifts an eyebrow, then sits up naked, unabashed. “Oh, you want the logistics of the aftermath. I’ll show you the aftermath.”

He points toward the floor, and we both look down to the two used condoms.

Gross. So, so, so
gross.

“Not it,” we say at the same time.

Then I’m darting toward the bathroom, squealing when I hear his
No fucking way!
followed by the sound of his feet hitting the floor.

I nearly have the door closed before his palm hits it, shoving it back open again, backing me into the bathroom.

“Be a gentleman, Olsen,” I say, even though I’m giggling.

“Be a lady, Blanton.”

We’re grinning at each other like fools, and I can’t figure out why I ever thought that this wouldn’t work. Sure, it had been weird for, like, a half second when he took my shirt off, but then it had been…good. No, it had been perfect.

And, best of all, it had been fun, and wasn’t that the entire point of sex?

He moves toward me and I take a step back, glancing behind me and realizing that there’s virtually no room between me and the tub.

When there’s nowhere else for me to go, he stops and leans toward me, then a little bit more, and then…

His hand snakes behind the curtain and he turns the water on.

“Tell me you’re turning that on for me,” I say as he stands upright again.

“Nope.” He jerks the shower curtain to one side. “I’m turning it on for us.”

“What? Oh…
oh,
” I say as his hands find my waist, lifting me up and into the tub. He follows me in, closing the curtain so it’s just us in our nakedness and steam.

“Clever,” I say, my voice catching a little as his hands move up over my sides.

“Yeah?” he leans down, his teeth softly tugging at my earlobe. “I thought this had a nice win-win appeal to it.”

His mouth moves down my neck and my eyes flutter closed. I’ve always been a sucker for neck kisses, and Ben seems to have figured this out in record time.

He scoots closer and my eyes fly open once more.

“How are you ready again?” I ask.

I feel him smile against the skin of my neck. “I’m twenty-four. At my sexual peak, baby.”

Lance is twenty-four, too, but he was more of a one-time-then-nap sort of lover. Or, toward the end, a one-time-then-back-to-the-books lover. But even after two rounds of very enthusiastic sex, there’s no questioning that Ben’s lower anatomy is ready for round three.

And, to my surprise, I’m ready, too. Two minutes ago, I was pretty damn sure all I wanted was a long, hot shower and maybe the proverbial cigarette to celebrate the end of my celibacy, but with his mouth doing that thing under my ear…

My hands roam over his rather perfect upper body, my fingertips taking particular interest in the lines of his abs. Then I remember my vision from earlier. The one where I lick every inch of his delicious stomach.

I push at Ben’s shoulders and he pulls back. I’m oddly gratified to see that his eyes are hazy with desire just from kissing my neck. Wonder what he’ll do if I do
this
…

I lean forward, pressing my lips softly to his shoulder, then taking a not-so-soft bite out of the hard flesh.

He hisses, and I smile as my lips travel downward until I get to that glorious six-pack. Or is it an eight-pack?

I let my lips and tongue find out as I trace the firm plains of his muscled abs. His fingers tangle roughly in my wet hair, and the still-hot water pounds against my back as I explore.

My lips drift ever lower, and I hear his breathing grow more ragged.

Wicked, dirty thoughts enter my mind as I grin against his stomach and lower to my knees.

I glance up and lick my lips and Ben groans.

I set my mouth against his cock and he swears. I smile in victory. I’ve never been quite this brazen, but somehow with Ben, I don’t feel embarrassed or tentative. I feel bold and exploratory, and a little bit dirty.

And then I get
a lot
dirty.

Five minutes later a gasping Ben pulls me to my feet and I smile smugly.

His eyes narrow. “Feeling proud of ourself, are we?”

“I’m just sayin’, I’ve never heard you say my name quite like that before. Also, the water’s turning cold—”

He spins me around, reversing our positions. “You’re going to forget all about the temperature of the water in a minute.”

“No, I really won’t—”

But then he drops to his knees, and it’s his turn to look up at me wickedly. “Ben—”

He leans forward, his tongue finding me, and damn it, he’s right. I forget
all
about the cold water.

Several minutes later, he stands, and once I stop gasping I hit his shoulder. “Now who’s looking smug?”

We hurriedly soap up and rinse in the now-freezing water before fighting over, you guessed it, the towel.

“It’s my towel, Ben. This is why we have different colors.”

“Yeah, but that’s the one I used this morning,” he says, pointing at it.

“I knew it! I
knew
you were lying.”

He takes advantage of my outrage to grab it from me. “Don’t think just because we’re fuck buddies means I’m going to start acting differently.”

“What, you mean like human?” I mutter as I reach under the sink to where I keep a spare towel.

He pauses in the process of drying himself. “How did I not know there were clean towels under there?”

“Simple,” I say. “I keep the cleaning supplies under here as well, which means this particular cupboard physically repels you.”

“Huh.” He nudges me aside, opening up the medicine cabinet to get at his deodorant.

I do the same, and it hits me then how truly good our situation is. There’s no embarrassed aftermath, no awkward sneaking out of bed, no regrets.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks, tying the towel in a knot at his waist and opening the bathroom door.

“Sure. I get to pick.”

“Nope. Your taste in movies sucks.”

My hand snakes out and undoes the knot he’s just tied so that the towel falls to his feet just as he starts to walk, causing him to stumble a little.

“Oops,” I say sweetly, scooting past him toward my bedroom.

“Just because we’re hooking up doesn’t mean you can demand nonstop naked time—”

I let my own towel drop, giving him an unobstructed view of my butt as I walk away.

“Okay, maybe nonstop naked time is fine!” he calls after me as I shut the door to my bedroom.

I’m still smiling as I put on my PJs, wind my wet hair into a bun, and then head downstairs to where Ben’s already on the couch, remote in hand.

I glance at the open DVD box on the coffee table. “
The Proposal
?” I ask excitedly. “Really?”

He gives a weary sigh. “Call it gratitude for the blow job.”

I grin as I plop down beside him, feeling ridiculously content. No, more than content. Happy.

We definitely should have started doing this a
long
time ago.