Josh laughed again. “You’re kidding, right?”
Seduce him, my body cleverly suggested. My brain thought about it for a moment, seeing the merits of the crazy idea.
I shifted to straddle Josh’s hips and lowered my head to his. I brushed my lips against his mouth. “Please,” I murmured.
But then promptly forgot what I had asked him as I rubbed the achy part of me against the hardening length in his jeans. Instead of the voice of reason that normally hung out in my head, the horny one cheered me on. Yes. Yes. Yes. Just this one time.
I kissed Josh again. He eagerly returned my kisses and upped the ante. His hands roughly caressed my body.
Not in a bad way.
In an abso-freaking-lutely delicious way.
I moaned against his lips, and once again rubbed the aching part of me against the quickly hardening part of him. The aching part that hadn’t seen any action in an extremely long time, if you didn’t count my fingers.
I wanted Josh—and I wanted him now.
Nothing else mattered beyond that.
My hands crept under his T-shirt and stroked across the ridges and valleys of his abs. Longing to see and not just touch them, I pushed up the soft fabric and was rewarded with the yummiest stomach muscles to ever exist.
Eager to see the rest of him, I slid the material up, revealing his chest as if it were a Christmas present. Merry very early Christmas to me. The chest, with a light smattering of blond hair, was as sexy and muscular as those muscles just south of it.
And his nipples? They just begged me to taste them.
So I did.
I licked the skin around the first one and was treated to the taste of man. Pure, hot, sensual man. Unable to resist, I popped a puckered nipple into my mouth and sucked it.
“Christ, Holly,” Josh gasped and his fingers knotted in my hair. He tugged on the strands and a torrent of please-take-me-now heat surged to my core.
Nanna’s death.
The fake engagement.
The funeral.
None of it was as important in this moment as sex with Josh.
Was it just me—or was it getting hotter in here?
Easily enough solved. While Josh removed his T-shirt, I started unbuttoning my cashmere cardigan. But the damn buttons didn’t cooperate.
Oh, well. Who needed them anyway?
I yanked open my top, sending the tiny buttons flying everywhere. Had whoever designed it thought about sex at the time? Clearly not. And they definitely hadn’t given any consideration to the wearer having sex after a few glasses of wine.
Josh laughed. “Isn’t it the guy who usually does that?”
“I’m an equal-opportunity shirt ripper,” I said with a grin. And given that Josh was completely shirtless and I still had a bra on, I figured it was time I embraced the equal-opportunity-topless philosophy too.
Or something like that.
It was amazing how alcohol made a person more eloquent…and deep.
I giggled and reached behind me. A moment later my girls were free and happy.
But apparently not as happy as Josh (although the verdict was still out on that). The grin on his face at seeing my naked breasts was brighter than the summer sun—and just as hot.
With both hands, he palmed the pale globes and lightly pinched the nipples. Lightning shot to my core and I moaned. Loudly. I couldn’t have prevented the sound if I had tried.
He leaned forward and popped a nipple into his mouth. His ultra-talented mouth.
And my nipple sang a round of hallelujahs.
My clit got jealous, craving a little of that action for itself. Couldn’t say that I blamed it.
Speaking of wanting in on the action, my fingers traced their way to the button of Josh’s jeans and presto—the button willingly slipped through the hole. Now if only the buttons on my top had been as obliging…
Josh released my nipple from his mouth. “Does this mean what I hope it means?”
“If you’re hoping and meaning that we’re going to have hot sex, then the answer is yes.” At least I hoped it would be hot. Great looks didn’t always equate to great in bed—a truth I had discovered a few times.
“I have condoms in my bedroom.” Hopefully they hadn’t expired yet. They might have been two years old by now. Good thing I hadn’t bought the family-sized pack. The way I had been going, I hadn’t made much of a dent in them.
“Sounds good.” Josh helped me off his lap and I led him to my room.
By led, I meant we were attempting to tear off each other’s clothes while stumbling to the room. Josh’s jeans got caught around his ankles and he almost tripped. Clearly a drunk Josh wasn’t as agile as a sober one on ice.
Laughing, we fell onto the bed, naked.
And then we weren’t laughing.
Moaning and groaning were now the noises of choice as we kissed and nibbled and explored each other’s bodies.
Josh’s fingers found my happy place and it got a little happier. He thrust two fingers inside me and his thumb caressed my clit. “Oh, God, that feels sooo good,” I said with a slight slur. I reached out and clumsily grabbed his hard length. And for the first time since he had removed his jeans, I paid attention to his cock.
His well-endowed cock.
Did you hear that sound? That was angels weeping at the beauty (and size) of it. Weeping because they wouldn’t get to experience it. I would.
Their loss—my gain.
I caressed the head, red and leaking pre-cum, and smeared the liquid around with my thumb. “I need you inside me,” I cleverly pointed out.
“Do you think you’re wet enough for me?” he asked with a smirk. He knew I was.
“I’m soaking for you. I don’t think I can get any wetter.” I squirmed on the bed, getting even more turned on by the conversation. I spread my legs wide and slid my fingers between my lips, spreading the dampness around my super-sensitive clit. “See?”
Josh’s eyes darkened and a small smirk slipped onto my face. He was as turned on by this as I was. “I definitely agree with you there. Where are the condoms?”
“There’s some in the nightstand drawer.” I gestured in its general direction.
Josh leaned over and a moment later straightened with a string of condom wrappers in his hand. He ripped one open and fumbled the condom into place.
Guess we were both drunker than I’d first realized. But Josh wasn’t drunk enough not to be able to get it up. His cock stood proud and eager and ready for action.
That made two of us.
He lifted my legs onto his shoulders, pressed his tip against my entrance, and slowly pushed inside me. My girlie part sat up and took notice, happy to once again have a visitor of the male variety.
Josh plunged deep inside me. You know how after you’ve been on a diet and finally get to have chocolate cake again, the cake tastes better than you remembered? No—I don’t mean the crappy birthday cake they make for kids, with whatever Disney princess is big at the time. I mean the quality stuff.
Welcome to sex with Josh.
And the moan I just made? It had nothing to do with chocolate cake.
He pulled out of me—not far enough for his cock to leave my heat, but far enough to ignite every nerve ending in the most sensitive part of me—my throbbing core. The other most sensitive part? His talented, ever-so-thoughtful thumb kept it from feeling neglected. I writhed about, gripping the sheet.
As my body rushed headlong toward the edge of the abyss I had been waiting forever to revisit, it yelled, “Forget the fake engagement. You need to marry this guy so you can always have great sex.”
I reminded myself that it only felt that way due to the wine. My brain whispered, “Liar. This is the best sex you’ve had in a while.” And as I tumbled into the abyss while crying out in ecstasy, my brain conveniently ignored how this was the first time in forever since I’d had sex, period.
And it was the last time Josh and I would ever have sex together. Why? Because friends
with benefits always got messy and complicated. I didn’t want to deal with that.
So those angels who wept at how they would never get to have sex with Josh? I now knew their pain.
6
Josh
What’s the worst sound to hear when you wake up hungover? Make that the second worst sound after a sledgehammer outside the window—which pretty much sounded like the one in my head.
That’s right—the chirping of a bird, happily pointing out you were an idiot last night for drinking so much. The one outside the window was also telling me if I hadn’t gotten drunk, I wouldn’t be feeling like crap.
No shit.
The memory of last night’s loss came rushing in with a vengeance, and I groaned.
A moment later another memory joined it—and my eyes snapped open.
Huge mistake.
Sunlight glared through the open curtains. I shut my eyes again, not that it made a difference. The sledgehammer in my head wasn’t vanishing anytime soon.
Reopening my eyes, I caught sight of the sleeping woman next to me. Her auburn hair glowed in the light like a halo, but angelic was the last word I would use to describe Holly. Not unless angels were talented at given multiple orgasms to mere men. I might not have remembered everything, but something about what I did remember made me think that last night might have been the best sex I’d had in a while.
So, what was the problem—other than the headache? Because what guy didn’t want to hook up with a woman who could make his cock sing hallelujah more than once in a night?
The problem was that most women I’d had sex with over the past few years were one-night stands. It was easier that way with my career. It was tough when you were on the road all the time. Girlfriends got clingy or suspicious that you were cheating. One-night stands didn’t care.
But here was the thing with one-night stands—sleepovers tended not to happen, for good reason. Having sex and then escaping while the girl slept avoided all the awkwardness the next morning. The fact that Holly wasn’t a one-night stand who I would never see again further compounded the awkwardness. She was the colleague of my best friend and his girlfriend’s best friend. Avoiding Holly wouldn’t be possible.
But did I want to avoid her? Not really.
Did I want to make what we’d shared last night a regular thing?
Don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed a good fuck like the next man. But I didn’t do the fuck-buddy arrangement. Too complicated. So as much as I enjoyed last night (well, what I remembered of it), it couldn’t happen again.
Unfortunately, my cock chose to ignore the memo. It was more than willing to sink inside her once more, to help me remember details about last night. It didn’t care that I was hungover. As far as it was concerned, I was still alive, which was good enough.
But while that might have been true in my dick’s case, I didn’t think Holly would share the sentiment.
I carefully shifted the bedding off me, making sure not to disturb her, and scooted to the edge of the bed.
I sat up—and Holly groaned.
Just not in the same way she had last night when she was getting all shades of turned on. This was more like a Why-the-hell-did-I-drink-all-that-alcohol? moan.
Either way, it was about to make my great escape more awkward.
“G’day,” a sleepy, pained voice said with an Aussie accent that sounded a little rougher than normal. A little rougher but a whole lot sexier—if that was at all possible.
I turned to look over my shoulder at her. “Hey, how are you feeling?” My voice came out not much different than hers, minus the accent. Neither of us had survived last night unscathed, but after our day yesterday, no one could blame us for our actions.
And fortunately, no one had to know about them.
“Remind me next time I wish to mourn a loved one’s death not to drink so much wine. And to skip on the daiquiris.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “And the tequila shots.”
In spite of myself, I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
Instinct told me to bail. For once I chose to ignore it. “I’ll be right back.”
Not bothering with my clothes, I left the bedroom, took a quick whiz in the bathroom, then after searching both there and in the kitchen, finally found some painkillers. After taking one myself, along with a good amount of water to rehydrate, I filled a glass for Holly and returned to her bedroom, picking up my trail of clothes along the way.
“Here,” I said, handing the bottle of painkillers and water to her. “I thought you might need these.”
She reached for them. “Thanks. Do you want some coffee? Or I can make us some food?” She didn’t say it in a way that sounded like she was hoping I’d stay—for the long term, in a relationship. It was in a friendly, no-commitment tone. My favorite post-sex tone.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and toast. While Holly had been cooking, I had showered, avoiding the awkward time until now. An uncomfortable tension sat between us—thoroughly enjoying how we had both been idiots last night when it came to getting off and the booze.
“So about last night,” Holly said after a few minutes of us pretending to be engrossed with the food. “Trent and Kelsey don’t need to know about it.” She quickly shoved a fork full of eggs into her mouth.
I nodded. “Agree.”
“I mean, it’s better they don’t know about it. There’s no point of them thinking anything could happen between us.” I bet runaway trains moved slower than the words spilling from her mouth.
“Agree.”
“That would only make things more awkward for everyone,” she said.
“True.” Why did I have a strange feeling I was forgetting something—something monumental?
Her phone buzzed on the table. Looking like the cat who had eaten the entire cage of canaries, she answered it. “Hey, Kelsey.…No, I’m fine. I had a few drinks then went home.” The entire time that she was talking, Holly glanced everywhere but at me. “I can later. I need to book my plane tickets for the funeral.”
At the last part, that strange feeling nudged me a little harder. I swatted it away like it was an annoying mosquito buzzing near my face.
Holly finally looked at me while listening to whatever Kelsey was saying. She flashed me an apologetic smile. In the book on one-night stands, this would be where the author recommended bailing if you hadn’t already. Great advice—but since Holly and I were friends, it seemed ridiculous to do that at this point.
A few minutes later Holly ended the call, then continued talking to me as if she hadn’t answered the phone. “Anyway, about last night. We were drunk and not thinking clearly. So, how about we pretend it never happened?”
Laughter bubbled inside me at how flustered this conversation was leaving her. The regular Holly looked nothing like this. This version was adorable, with her hair adopting the I’ve-just-had-a-great-fuck messy look that turned men on. She was wearing black yoga pants and a white tank top with a comical koala on the front. Far from her usual fashionable self. Her face was makeup-free, and despite her hangover, she had a glow about her. A post-sex glow.
And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me want to bang my fists against my chest, caveman style.
What? Don’t judge me. There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t appreciate it when the woman he’s given multiple orgasms to looks beyond merely satisfied. If he says otherwise, he’s lying.
Holly’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen, and it was like a vampire had suddenly sucked all the blood from her face. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whispered before her hand covered her mouth as if to prevent any more “Oh, Gods” from escaping.
Now, I’d be the first to admit that usually when women were saying “Oh, God” that many times in a row, it was not because of a text. The strange feeling I was forgetting something? It was no longer a nudge. It was a full out push-you-over-
the-cliff shove. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, God,” was apparently the only answer Holly planned to give me, her gaze still locked on the phone.
I removed it from her hand and read the text—even though it wasn’t mine to read. Why is it I have to hear from Simon that our baby sis is engaged? Thought I was your favorite brother!
While I was still holding the phone, another text came in. Can’t wait to meet your fiancé. That one was from Simon.
Oh. Fucking. Christ. The conversation from last night bulldozed its way into my head.
She had asked me to pretend to be her fiancé. I hadn’t given her an answer because we’d had sex instead—my one-track mind that easily distracted.
Holly dragged her gaze from the phone and settled her gorgeous green eyes on me. Warning alarms blared “Code Red! Code Red!” in my head.
“I swear, I’ll never ask you for another favor…” she said, “and I’ll do whatever you want just to make it up to you.”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing you can give me that will make up for pretending to be your fiancé.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. A year’s worth of blowjobs would be a good start.
“Sooo, that’s a yes?”
I swear the woman could put puppies to shame with her puppy dog eyes. No one else pulled them off as convincingly as Holly.
“That would be a no.” Did I mention I was immune to puppy dog eyes?
She slumped forward, elbows on the table, face in her hands. “Oh, God, I’m screwed. Now I’ll have to spend the entire time there with my mum driving me insane. And I’ll probably agree to marry Wilfred just to get her off my back.”
“Maybe you can find someone else to be your fiancé.”
She shook her head, her face still in her hands. “Not on this short notice. And especially not someone who can fly to Australia.”
“Doesn’t engaged usually mean you’re expecting to get married at some point? Won’t they wonder when the big day is?”
Holly dropped her hands from her face. “I was going to pretend to be engaged for a few months and then call it off. It’s not like my parents expect me to get married next week.”
“But won’t your mom go back to pushing Wilfred on you again?”
Decidedly With Baby (By the Bay Book 2) Page 4
