by Anne Marsh
“Feedback is welcome.” I suck lightly at her clit through the damp cotton. “But I think you’ll like my plan.”
Hazel curses, but she also angles her hips, pressing her clit against my tongue. I hold still so she can ride me, finding the angle she likes best, a small, tight circle. I try not to think about how she’s going to feel wrapped around my dick, the hot, wet heat, the slick clench of her inner muscles letting me know exactly how much she’s enjoying what I give her.
“Jack—” She moans my name like a porn star. Fuck, this woman is amazing.
She totally deserves a reward.
I move my thumbs, spreading her through the thin cotton. Slow is best, even though I want to lick her from head to toe right now. This is Christmas morning and I want to tear into all my presents right now, uncover all the secrets. I have all night, I remind myself.
I slide against her gently with my thumbs like I ache to do with my dick. Once. Twice. She arches, moaning more incomprehensible shit I decide I can ignore. If there’s a problem, Hazel will tell me. Instead, I let my thumbs glide up and down the seam of her pussy while I trace her clit with my tongue. She smells amazing, so I’m betting she’ll taste even better. I need to do that next. I need—
And then she freezes. Bingo. Hazel’s hips arch up as we find the spot she likes best. She’s breathing hard, her fingers tearing at my hair.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her. I won’t leave her wanting.
“Cocky bastard,” she groans. I think that’s a compliment.
My hands drag her closer, gripping her sweet, toned ass, and I lift her higher so she can relax. And then I cover her clit with my mouth, sucking and stroking, scraping ever so lightly with the edge of my teeth. She shrieks and then, fuck me, she starts coming.
She talks the whole time, a litany of curses and my name and instructions of “don’t move, don’t you dare, like that, oh, God.” I’ve been promoted to deity status and I don’t even give her shit about it. I’ll just have to do my best to live up to my newfound godhood.
A long time later she stops talking and collapses back on the bed as if someone just removed all her bones and replaced them with a puddle of happy. Yeah, that would be me. I hide my smirk from her because I’m not stupid. Her ass will be sore tomorrow from all the clenching—I make a mental note to offer her a butt massage.
I slide a finger beneath the edge of her panties, breathing harshly, trying to draw this out. She’s so damn hot. And wet. My finger slips over her folds, finding nothing but sweet, sweet welcome.
“May I take these off?”
“Wait.” Her fingers curl around mine, and it feels sexy and full of possibilities, but I pay attention to that one word. Wait. I ease back. Please don’t have changed your mind. I’m not sure I wouldn’t beg, and Hazel would never let me live it down.
I shift up the bed and pull her on top of me so that she’s staring down at my face. “What’s up?”
Her fingers squeeze my shoulder. “It’ll be simpler if we just say what’s off-limits at the beginning. I’m no good at guessing.”
“Ladies first.”
“I like it best if I sit on your lap facing you, but reverse cowgirl throws my back out. I can’t kiss you and come at the same time because I have to focus. You can put one finger in my ass, but not three. Your fingers are huge. Fast is always better. Your turn.”
I lean up and kiss her hard because laughing now would be a bad idea. “Face-off sex, no kissing at important moments, be aware of the size-volume ratio. Got it.”
Hazel frowns suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”
God, she kills me.
“Never. I don’t have a death wish.” I pull her grumpy, beautiful face down to mine and kiss her because I can. She starts unbuttoning my shirt, shoving it open and pushing my white T-shirt up so she can run her hands over my abs and sides. My tie’s gone, vanished, probably decorating her front doorstep.
“Off,” she mutters against my mouth, tugging on the shirt.
I sit up, bringing her with me. Together we yank my T-shirt over my head and send it sailing across the room. Hazel’s definitely impatient—her hands work the bottom of her own shirt, pulling it up. For a moment, the cotton catches on her hair and I’m staring at her bra-covered boobs.
Hazel’s wearing lace. My brain short-circuits. It’s not like I haven’t seen a bra before, but this one hardly qualifies. It’s more like a wet dream come true, like some dirty genie decided to grant the three wishes of my teenage self and started with the best-ever fantasy bra. Wicked little straps cross her suntanned shoulders and the cups barely skim her nipples. It’s white, but that’s the only demure thing about her. If I’d known she was hiding this underneath that ridiculous T-shirt, things would have gotten a whole lot raunchier at the bar.
“What is this?” I growl.
Hazel vanquishes the T-shirt, cups her boobs and smirks at me. “What I wore to the office today. I didn’t have time to take it off before you cried for help. It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it?”
Apparently my dick can get harder.
“You’re beautiful.”
Hazel’s smirk gets deeper. “I’m well-packaged. Unwrap me?”
Fuck. Yes.
She’s laughing at me but I’m staring at her boobs, in heaven. Maybe those pickup lines weren’t so cheesy after all. I rip off the bra, anyhow, then lower my head to explore this new piece of Hazel. My lips cover her skin in kisses and my slo-mo plan is rapidly flying out the window.
She feels so, so good.
I’ll have to make her feel good. Better than good. Coming once isn’t enough. It’s not like I haven’t had sex before, even if it hasn’t happened in recent memory, but this feels different.
Because this is the first time for me and Hazel.
The panties come off now, I decide. I pull her up with me, dragging the cotton down her legs as I wrap my arms around her waist.
“You’re still dressed.” She sounds pissed off. “Fix it.”
“Your wish.” I shift her to the bed and toe off my shoes. “My command.”
My socks follow and then we unbuckle, unzip, shove my dress pants down together. She’s kissing down my chest before we finish getting me naked, licking and nipping like the stock market’s closing in seconds. Her hand palms me, making me hers.
I suck in a breath. Naked Hazel is amazing. I run my hands down her arms, her back, her hips. Her skin is sweat-slicked and I lick her clean. More kisses, on her breasts, her shoulders, the sweet curve of her belly. I look at her, seeing her for the first time. Impatient, hot, funny Hazel.
Why haven’t we done this sooner? She’s magical—all lush curves, toned muscles, soft skin that begs for my touch. No, demands, because this is Hazel and she can’t not be bossy. Her nipples are tight, dark points, her breasts the perfect size for me to cup. For such a petite woman she has surprisingly long, lean legs, the odd freckle dotting her skin. I’m going to learn them all. I’m going to make a map of Hazel and memorize her.
“You’re beautiful.” My voice is hoarse.
Hazel makes an impatient gesture. “Now.”
It’s a good plan. I reach down, fish for my wallet and come up with a condom.
“Somebody’s prepared,” she says.
It’s true. I’d never put her at risk and I’m damn sure not going to make her ask awkward questions.
“I’ll help.” Hazel drops to her knees in front of me, her eyes on mine. Her palms wrap around my dick and there’s no question that I’m ready for what comes next. She leans in and swipes her tongue over me. Let’s be honest. There’s no way to screw up a blow job. All it takes is one mouth and one dick and the results are going to be spectacular, but Hazel is unbelievable. She cups my balls gently and then sucks me in. It’s slow and deep, wet and hot, and then her head’s bobbing and I have no idea how
the physics of this is working, and I don’t care. She’s working me until I’m pumping her mouth, fucking her hard and deep until I’m on the edge of the mother of all orgasms.
“Stop.” I need to get inside her now.
She holds her palm out. “Condom.”
I hand her the packet and she tears it open, rolling the condom down my dick.
“Now hurry up,” she says.
“Compromise.” My voice is a whiskey-rough growl. I lift her up, sink down on the edge of the bed and pull her slowly down onto my lap.
I’m in Hazel.
I’m pushing deep inside her body and she’s stretching wide to take me.
I say her name out loud because there has to be a way to make this feel more real. “Hazel.”
“Jack.” Her eyes laugh at me, but then her mouth is on me and she’s pressing little kisses against the hot skin of my throat.
Christ, she feels amazing. I shouldn’t compare, shouldn’t remember other nights, but nothing has ever felt this good. I pull her close to me, my arms guiding her hips as she rides me hard and fast, her arms thrown around me. She’s not letting go, either. She buries her face in my throat, whispering, biting down, her whole body tightening on mine as she pants and groans.
Just riding my dick probably won’t be enough. I reach between us and find her clit, drawing tiny, dirty circles around her. Hazel moves faster.
Her nails dig into my shoulders as she freezes, her body clenching hard. “Jack...yes.”
I pound into her, my hips matching the rhythm of hers. I feel the heartbeat that springs to life between her legs, the tight pulsing of her body as she grips me, the hot, electric pleasure that has us both making rough, feral sounds. There’s nothing pretty or planned about this and I’m so fucking triumphant, like her Viking man after he’s pounded ashore and seized the castle.
I brace my feet against the floor and shove deeper. She slams down to meet me. “Harder,” she growls. “Make me feel, Jack. Make me—”
She’s amazing.
She shuts up, her body stiffening as she yanks me closer, and then she’s coming and I’m not far behind her. We’re not quite in sync, but this is even better. I feel every pulse of her orgasm before I follow her over the edge and empty myself into her.
“Tell me you came.” If she didn’t, I’ll just start again and get it right.
“Yes.” She nods enthusiastically.
I fall back onto the big, wonderful bed, taking her with me. My heart’s trying to claw its way out of my chest and I can feel the answering beat from Hazel’s. Her hair’s all messed up, her face flushed. We’re a hot, sticky mess and all I can think is
Yes
Let’s do this again
Right now
Hazel exhales noisily into my chest. “Wow. That was...”
She flounders, looking for adjectives.
I know how she feels. “Everything. It was everything.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
SUNDAY IS MY new favorite day. Hazel and I have a standing sleepover date on Saturday evening and then we hang out on Sunday. Sometimes we pile into bed and work next to each other on our laptops with cartons of takeout and champagne, or we lug everything down to the beach if we’re at my place. Usually I can be productive no matter where I find myself. The train, stuck in traffic, a blanket on the sand near the ocean—it doesn’t matter. I put my head down and focus because I have a lot to accomplish and time doesn’t wait.
Being with Hazel, however, is its own challenge. Half of my brain looks at her and sees my business partner. That’s the smart half, the half that thinks and plans. It suggests we should get to work. The other half of me, however, argues that working is the last thing I should do when I could be getting Hazel naked. Getting inside her. Unfortunately, that half is a really persuasive arguer and our beachy work sessions always seem to end with us naked.
This is why, when Hazel suggests we work outside at her house, I refuse. I don’t care if there’s an ancient Japanese-forest bathing ritual—I’ve seen what lurks in Hazel’s trees and there’s no way I’m lounging around on the ground. Even she has to agree that everything ends with sex. But I’m not complaining. After all, that’s the whole purpose of this friendship with benefits. We hang, we do the business thing and then it’s orgasms for all.
Four weekends after our first not-date, it’s my turn to host. Saturday night we have a business dinner with some other Silicon Valley influencers. Not touching Hazel is torture. Afterward, I drive us to my place, but Hazel’s brimming with ideas sparked by the dinner meeting and she can’t not hunker down with her laptop and start working through them.
It’s cute, plus she usually has great ideas. I’m not going to get in her way. I don’t say anything as she climbs into my bed, arms wrapped around her laptop. I just grab my own laptop, fetch us both a cognac and prop the French doors open so we can hear the ocean. Turns out we do awesome bedroom brainstorming. Hazel’s definitely on to something we’ll chase next week at work. It almost makes waiting to touch her worth it.
I get up when Hazel waves her empty glass in my direction as she mutters at her screen. Since I can take a hint, I find the cognac, splash a few inches into her glass and decide it’s too much effort to go downstairs for ice.
When I turn around, Hazel’s made herself comfortable. She’s sprawled on her stomach, the T-shirt she stole from my closet slipping down one bare shoulder. Kissing her seems way more fun than the twelve spreadsheets she has open on her desktop. I set the cognac on the floor a safe distance from the bed because we tend to send the pillows and blankets flying when we have sex.
Hazel’s still distracted when I duck underneath the covers at the bottom of the bed and slide up. I run my hands over her legs and she shrieks. Hazel’s super ticklish, which is both funny and fun. I press more firmly, the way she likes, then press her down into the mattress with my body and convince her to take a break.
* * *
Sunday sunshine pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows in my bedroom. The California king bed is loaded with crisp white cotton sheets, a white duvet and a small army of pillows, because—like orgasms—one is never enough for Hazel and she “hooked me up” with pillows after our first sleepover. Hazel is currently starfished in the center, taking full advantage of my absence. When I slid in beside her last night, she wrapped herself around me like a baby monkey.
She’s sleeping hard, her hair ruffled around her face. After she showers, she’ll flat-iron it and apply crap from a half-dozen mysterious tubes until her hair is once again a sleek, shining cap. Watching her put herself back together is almost as good as taking her apart.
Step one in my wake-up-Hazel plan involves a kiss. Step two is all about the mug of coffee I hand over when she cracks one eye and shoves blearily upright. I’d like for step three to involve morning sex, but I’m not sure if Hazel has other plans for us today or not.
“Do we have anything on for today?”
She clutches the coffee like a lifeline. “Noon brunch at the compound?”
“Got it.” I peek at my phone and run the numbers in my head. It’s almost eleven. We could probably still sneak in quickie sex before we’re so late that we have to explain why.
Hazel’s family owns an insanely large double lot in Santa Cruz mere blocks from the beach. It’s crammed full of artsy bungalows, small houses and she sheds. I asked Hazel once if they were aware of the numerous zoning violations and she just shrugged and said that she’d taken care of it.
Unfortunately, Hazel figures out the time for herself and launches herself into my bathroom. She’s high-maintenance in the morning, so I figure it’s better to let her get started. She’s been this way as long as we’ve been friends. Hazel’s standing in the shower when I wander in—she gestures impatiently for me to join her.
“This will be quicker. Plus, we can save water and I’ll
fill you in on the brunch plan. We’ll merit some kind of special California award.” She slaps the soap into my hand.
I’m as much a fan of efficiency as the next guy, but Hazel’s mistaken if she thinks my being naked and wet in a shower with her will save time or water. We’ve already christened my shower, so she knows exactly what can happen in here.
“You’d better give me the details fast.”
The look Hazel gives me says she’s on to me. “We’re having brunch at the compound. The usual suspects will be there, although I’ve been warned that George the Git is coming and that he wants to pitch you a business idea. What you do with that information is up to you, but any money you give him is a charitable donation to the Cause of George. You’ll never see it again, but I guarantee he’ll be back for more.”
“Do we need gifts? Flowers? A restraining order?”
The monthly brunch is more of a birth-aversary-ation, a Frankenstein event that I should be used to. The Colemans celebrate every birthday, anniversary, graduation and date of note for the current month with one big breakfast meal. Hazel catches me up on who’s been doing what and then shares the latest entirely unfounded speculations that have been making the family rounds. This consumes the rest of the shower despite my best efforts to distract her.
My family doesn’t really factor into our weekend plans. They’re across the country, in New England. I pitch them at least once a year about the benefits of California living, but so far they’ve refused to make the move. As a result, I own a farmhouse on the Maine coast. I travel back for all major holidays and work remotely in the fall. We didn’t have much in the money department growing up, but we had each other and we made that be enough. I worked two jobs through high school and then I followed the money to college. Not gonna lie—I played for high stakes, banking on an Ivy League acceptance, but the best offer had come from UCSC and so that’s where I went.
Good men look after the people in their lives. Bad men don’t. I don’t have to tell you which one I want to be, and a quarter-million-dollar education just didn’t fit into that picture. From the time I was eight and my daddy dropped dead of a heart attack, it was me, Momma and my four sisters. The Reed rules are simple:
