Page 102 of Puck Yes
“Want to come too?” she asks, sounding all dreamy.
I hiss out a breath. “So badly.”
In seconds I’m tagging in, and he’s tagging out. He gets behind her, cups those beauties, and gives me a perfect tunnel to fuck. She’s slick and hot. And I am enrapt by her. By her appetite. By her openness. By her mind, body, and gorgeous heart.
I don’t last long, and I don’t care.
Soon, my vision blurs and my thighs shake, and I’m coming all over her tits, painting her too.
Then kissing her, slowly and a little desperately before I slide down her body. Stefan leans over and drops a passionate kiss to her lips.
When he breaks the kiss, he drags a finger along her chest, through our orgasms. I do the same. Then, he pushes his finger into her mouth. She opens easily, taking it. I join him, pushing in my finger too. She sucks both, licking us off with a throaty moan.
When she lets go, she says, a little dreamily, “You taste good.”
That word—the plural you—echoes in my mind all day.
You.
That’s how we feel to me too.
40
OTHER FORMS OF SHARING
Ivy
“Pfft.”
That’s my grandmother’s assessment of the linen pants I show her at Champagne Taste a few days later.
“But you’d look great in them,” I urge her, gently tugging on the tawny-colored slacks at the thrift shop.
She arches a brow. “Of course I would. But that’s not the point.”
I heave a playful sigh. “You can’t dismiss everything I show you.”
She pats my shoulder. “I can and I will if you keep showing me things that were in and then out of fashion before you were even born,” she says, then strolls to another rack at the shop, flicking through blouses that she shakes her silver-haired head at.
“But linen’s trendy again. It’s this whole—”
“Trendy grandma look. I am aware, but I disavow it.”
I snort-laugh. “You can’t disavow a trend.”
“I just did.”
I’ve been having fun with her this morning, but something is pressing at the back of my mind. A little tension. I feel like I’m keeping a secret from her. Only I don’t know how to share it as we move through the store.
For now I tuck it away as she waves a hand at another rack. “Why would I go back to something I already moved on from?”
“Well, not to go all cross-examiner, but aren’t you dating some guy from high school you met at your class reunion?” I point out. “Hello, second-chance romance.”
She spins around again, her eyes ablaze. But her plum-lipsticked mouth is quiet.
“Cat got your tongue, Grandma?” I tease.
She narrows her eyes, crinkling them at the corners, but she stifles a laugh. “Fine, recyclingmaywork for men and clothing. But not clothingtrends,” she says as she heads to a nearby row of jeans. “But tell me more about the man in your life before we meet your brother.”