“Christ,” I hissed.
The way her breasts were pushed up to the top of her bra, how they looked so full and— Christ.
“I may not be able to go further than this,” she said. “But I can certainly take care of you. I mean, your situation.”
She palmed my cock over my pants before fumbling with my belt, my lips dying to hit hers before they were wrapped around my dick. Her fingers were already undoing the button of my pants and working my zipper down when I seized a handful of her hair, tugging her mouth to mine.
Aggressive, passionate kisses passed between us, all lip bites and hair pulling. It was intense as fuck, and just when I thought I’d have to figure out a way to get to her pussy, she sunk to her knees.
And it was a mind-fucking blow jobbing.
I’d been the recipient of some pretty spectacular fellatio encounters over my years. As a whole, I thought women only did them because they felt obligated to. And as a dude, we knew this. We could sense it by the enthusiasm.
Al was not one of those girls.
She took to my cock like she fucking loved it.
I’d been so ready for her, so turned on before she even started her magic that I couldn’t hold off.
“Al, baby…fuck. Now,” I growled, not giving a fuck whatsoever if someone on the other side of the door could hear me.
She slowed her mouth and hands that she used in combination and allowed me to come in her mouth. She already knew how I liked it.
She already knew me.
By the time I came down, she was already standing, zipping her costume back up.
“Come over to my place later?” she asked.
“Do I get to be the one to take that costume off you?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, winking at me. “And for the record, the hair. Permanent.”
“Permanent is good, baby.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alexis—
It never failed. No matter what, my chocolate chip cookies always sold out the fastest. Recently, I even started sending some to Ginger, and even without the added booze, I’ve been adding more and more to the daily deliveries. While it seemed like a regular chocolate chip cookie, mine were different. Not only were they huge, the size of my palm, but I also had a secret ingredient: adding in a mixture of pastry flour and bread flour and refrigerating the dough for twenty-four hours before baking. I loved that even with baking nothing was simple.
Nothing was ever as it seemed.
Phoebe and I were working side by side in my kitchen, me scooping out the chocolate chip dough onto a large parchment paper–covered cookie sheet and her frosting the Jack Daniel’s honey whiskey cupcakes. I was so proud at how she’d perfected her cupcake frosting swirl, especially since I was particular about how each one was to always be flawless. Yes, the cupcakes ended up in people’s mouths, but that was no reason for cupcakes, or any of our treats, to not look like a little piece of art. I loved when people said, “It’s almost too pretty to eat!” and then they did.
Marshall commented recently that if he had chosen between one of my treats and a blow job, he wouldn’t choose at all. He’d want them both at the same time, so he’d know what it was like to die and go to heaven.
Or hell.
I was sure he said hell because why wouldn’t he?
That boy deserved a surprise of a naughty nature. I wasn’t sure what, though.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, you want to do something to surprise a guy, something beyond the norm, what would you do?” I asked.
“I have a few ideas, but is this for Marshall, hypothetically, of course?”
I stopped, my hand hovering over the cookie sheet with a full scoop of cookie dough. “What did you just say?”
“Oh, please,” she said with a snort-laugh. “Like I hadn’t figured that out ages ago. I was only waiting for you to admit it to me before I started pressing you for the details.”
I was still midscoop, my hands dangling midair. She knew. She wasn’t guessing. She knew-knew.
Of course she did. You don’t work for someone day in and day out and not start to understand their personalities, their vibes.
Oh, God. How much did she know?
Nothing. She knew nothing except for there was a bit of a thing going on.
Or she knew a little more than that because I had to open my big mouth and ask her for suggestive ways to get a boy excited. She had to know we were having sex.
Or not. Maybe she didn’t figure that out. Maybe she thought it was only a flirtation.
“Oh, for shit’s sake, lady. This isn’t press conference worthy,” she said. “So what? You and Marshall are fucking.”
“Phoebe!”
“What? Well, aren’t you?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. “And don’t lie because I can always tell when you do.”
“I…well. Look, it’s complicated and it’s—”
“God, you’re terrible at this,” she said, shaking her head and tossing a dish towel over her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll put you out of your misery for now because I obviously took you by surprise. However, I’m going to have to insist on details. D-E-T-A-I-L-S. I’m serious. He’s one hot, H-O-T piece of ass.”
“Phoebe, please. I’m about to die of embarrassment.”
“Gather your lady balls, Alexis. There will be a question-and-answer session on his lovemaking abilities, lady-head technique, package size, and assorted other pertinent information in reference to his—”
“Fine!” I said, slapping my hand over her mouth. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything, but you can’t tell anyone, okay? I need you to promise me. Nod your head if you promise, Phoebe.”
She nodded her head as I still had her mouth covered.
“No one,” I reiterated. “This is a very sensitive situation.”
She nodded again.
I released my hold.
“All right. Back to the initial topic. Why don’t you send him like a sexy text or something?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I kind of feel like I do that already, and it always seems so ridiculous.”
“Maybe to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed, setting down the pastry bag. “You’re what? Twenty years older than me? You don’t know a thing about men.”
“I resent that, Phoebe,” I said sharply. “Twenty years is grossly overestimating.”
“How old are you, anyway? You always said you hated celebrating your birthday whenever I asked when it was, so I just stopped asking.”
She was right. Since Lexie became Alexis, I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday at all anymore. In fact, even prior to that, I had issues with it. There was a time when acknowledging my birthday served as a reminder of all the pain I caused others, that because of my actions, others couldn’t celebrate birthdays of ones they loved. It seemed selfish, almost cruel to be showered with well wishes and happiness when others would never have that chance again. That, in turn, became selfish to the people around me, who cared about me, and wanted to show me how much I meant to them. It was a vicious circle, and like most things, I came out of it looking like the evil one.
“I’m thirty-four,” I said, giving her a little of what she wanted to know, but holding back the rest. “So, you can cool it with old lady crap.”
“Lighten up. I never said old lady. In any case, it doesn’t change the fact that you are clueless about what men want.”
“Fine, Phoebe. Why don’t you tell me what I don’t know, okay?”
This ought to be good.
The twentysomething thinking she has them figured out after all I’ve been through made me press my lips together tightly to keep from giggling.
“Men are visual creatures, Alexis,” she said. “Words get misconstrued. I mean, just think about us, for example. Hasn’t a guy ever said or texted you something, and it could be something as simple as, ‘You look pretty,’ and we flip it around into something totally di
fferent?”
I was about to argue with her, but then I reconsidered. For as long as I could remember, I thought I was the “anti-girl.” I could detect bullshit from guys and dissect everything they said down to the molecule. Maybe that wasn’t a “me” thing, but rather a girl thing. Maybe I was more of girl than I thought.
“Go on,” I said.
“So, get his visual going, and let him know in some way it’s only for him.”
I thought I understood where she was going, but I didn’t understand where it went. Asking her would only further solidify that I had no idea what I was doing, and admitting anything of the kind was more painful than drilling nails into my eyes.
“I can see you aren’t following me,” she said with a snort. “Take some dirty selfies, and send them to him. Put something in there that is unique to him.”
“Okay, I’ve never sent dirty pictures, for one. And two, what is something unique to him to add in?”
“I can help you with the pictures,” she said.
“You can?”
“Don’t be so surprised, Alexis. You’ve been in a time warp or something for years. This is what’s happening these days. This is what we do.”
“Oh, for shit’s sake,” I grumbled.
“Oh, shut up,” she said. “Lighten up and take your shirt off.”
“I will not!”
“Do you want me to help you or not?” she shouted back.
“I…you…I can’t even believe we are having this discussion.”
“For fuck’s sake, Alexis. We’re girlfriends. It’s what girlfriends do.”
“I’m your boss! And you want me to get naked in front of you.”
“I never said naked. I said take your shirt off. And what’s the big deal. We both have boobs.”
It was all so ridiculous, but I knew I needed, I wanted, her help. I wasn’t so much embarrassed as I was anxious about giving up control, having her help me settle into a vulnerable position.
“Fine,” I said.
I wrapped my arms around the bottom of my T-shirt and began to lift it off.
“Not right here!” she said. “You think we’re sending him”—she paused to make air quotes—“Alexis-in-her-natural-habitat photos? No. Plus, he’s already done that in his mind, like a thousand different ways, in this kitchen. You want to surprise him. Do something he never expected you to do. He’s probably already imagined you baking topless every day.”
“I can’t even believe I’m doing this,” I mumbled.
“Oh, you’re going to do it,” she said, setting the pastry bag down. “And you’re doing it right now.”
“Let’s finish this stuff first, okay?”
“And lose the enthusiasm? No way.”
“Look,” I said. “I’m still the boss. We will take the shots, and talk sexting or whatever you call it, when we are done frosting and baking.”
She snorted as she picked her pastry bag back up, shaking her head at the cupcakes. “Only here,” she said.
“Huh?”
She looked at me and smiled. “Only between girlfriends and only here in this kitchen would we have this discussion. It’s pretty awesome.”
I returned the smile. “Yeah, it is.”
“But before we start back at it,” she said. “One thing. I caught a glimpse at that bra, and you’re going to need to up that game. My mother has sexier bras than that.”
She was right. I was always all about comfort because for so many years, no one was going to be seeing my underwear and bras. Things happened and were still happening so fast with Marshall that when the thought occurred to me, usually right before sex, that I should have something sexier to wear for him, the moment passed.
He didn’t seem to mind, though. Although I was savvy enough to know what visual creatures men were and that giving them a little something extra to look at was a turn-on. I caught a glimpse of that from him with my Black Widow costume.
“Phoebe?” I asked.
“Huh?” she said, not looking up from her cupcake swirl work.
“It is Marshall,” I said.
Her head turned and she winked at me. “I know. I have known,” she said.
“Does Wells?”
“We haven’t discussed it,” she said. “But he’d have to have the awareness and the brain power of a pea not to have noticed.”
Shit.
I was resistant to telling her earlier, but I needed to share this with someone. I didn’t have anyone else, and she was my person. At the core of it, as much as I tried to deny it, I was still a girl, a girl that wanted her girlfriend to hear about the man in her life.
“So in that case, no,” she said. “He probably doesn’t have a clue. I wouldn’t worry.”
“That’s not nice to say. I thought you were in to him.”
“I am, but he’s still a man. They don’t usually pick up on that stuff. And for the record, I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway. So what? Alexis from Tipsy Treats and Marshall from Ginger have gotten to know each other in the biblical sense.”
I shook my head. “Where do you get this stuff, Phoebe? Biblical sense?”
“How do you not know this stuff?”
“I’ve been out of the game a long, long time, Phoebe. In any case, you know why we can’t be open about it,” I said.
“I don’t know,” she said, beginning to drizzle honey on top of the cupcakes. “It just seems like it was so many years ago, and everyone has moved on.”
“You can never truly move on from that.”
“You’re right. Maybe I’m being naive, but I can’t help wondering.”
“About what?”
She set down the plastic squeeze bottle she was using and wiped her hands on the front of her cherry-printed apron. “How could anyone not be happy if their best friend found love? Maybe you’re not giving Aaron enough credit.”
It was so simple. Her idealistic notions were one of my favorite things about her.
But she was, in fact, naive.
Some things you never recover from. What I did to Aaron and Delilah was one of those things. Another would be sleeping with Marshall. I couldn’t fathom Aaron seeing even a sliver of room for redemption in either.
“It’s not love,” I said to Phoebe. “And please don’t tell anyone. Please?”
“Of course I’m not going to tell anyone. I also am not going to tell you or anyone else that if you want to believe it isn’t love and that it’s just sex, it’s too bad they don’t have eyes like I do. It’s a love thing. Deal with it,” she said. “Can we finish the cookies up, so I can get you sexy photo ready?”
And that is what we did.
No other mention of the L word.
It was work and then a photo shoot in my bedroom, which was an experience I never want to have to…experience…again. Mortification didn’t even begin to cover it.
“Alexis!” Phoebe would bark at me. “Lift them boobies up! No. Not like that. Wrap your arm around your waist and push those suckers to your chin.”
Phoebe took the liberty of arranging me in the most contorted positions on the bed. Once I was placed properly and to her liking, she’d hand me my phone to take the picture.
“Why can’t you just take it?” I asked, my arm extended in front of me as I was shaped like a pretzel. “Won’t it look better?”
She let out an aggravated sigh. “No. I can’t just take it, and no, it won’t look better. The whole point is for him to think you were sitting here alone, thinking about him, and wanted to send him the sexy pic.”
“Whatever,” I said. “This all is too much work.”
I didn’t know what was in store for me until she told me to go into the bathroom.
It turned out, topless and, well, bottomless, in front of a mirror, with my body arched in a supermodel/centerfold type pose was going to be the “the one,” according to Phoebe. I wasn’t sure, but I was taking her word for it.
The discussion over what three photos to send lasted longer than
a jury deliberating a murder trial.
I sent her on her way to make the afternoon drop-off at Ginger as I stared at my phone.
Then there was wine.
And more staring.
Then more wine.
The wine should’ve begun during the photo session.
Would he like seeing me like this?
Of course, Alexis. What guy wouldn’t?
But would he?
There was only one way to find out.
I pulled up his name to text him and attached the first picture.
With my finger shaking, I hit send.
Added the next picture.
Send.
Last picture.
My finger hovered over the send button, knowing this was the one that was the one.
You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life, Alexis.
Except…
But nothing ever like this.
Send.
Then I waited.
Chapter Fifteen
Marshall—
Holy. Shit.
I stood in the middle of my living room, the lights not even turned on since I’d just walked in, when I got the text from her. My eyes and my brain had only begun to register what I was seeing when another came through.
Then another.
Fuck.
The first photo was of Al lying on her bed in little shorts or underwear, I didn’t know, and a tank top—a very tight white tank top with no bra. Her erect nipples were clearly visible from under the fabric, and all I could think, all I could hope, was that she was so turned on by taking the picture her nipples responded. I didn’t know if there was scientific research to back this theory, or if it was just a dude’s way of justifying how tits alerted us we were doing something right.
The second photo was with her top folded down further, the curve of her breasts pushed up, as she laid on her side, smiling this sweetish, sexy smile I’d never seen out of her. I’d seen both: sexy and sweet. Together like that? Never.
“Christ,” I said, plopping myself down on my couch as I continued to stare.
So Wicked Page 17
