“Are you . . . sure?” he asks, hesitant.

  “More than sure.”

  Slowly, he removes my underwear, and that’s when I spread even wider and I lift my ass ever so slightly, giving him a better angle.

  “Fuck, Indie, this is so hot.” His thumb passes over my crease and then rubs against my aching and throbbing clit. When he connects with it, my head buries into the mattress and I let out a long moan. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone touch me here—since I’ve been this turned on—and I can feel myself unraveling quickly.

  His thumb continues to apply pressure to my clit as his fingers splay out over my backside, and I ride his thumb, using my hips to apply pressure where I need it.

  “In me. I want your fingers in me”

  He drags some of my arousal back and then slips his fingers inside me.

  “Oh fuck, that’s perfect. Oh Christ, Lincoln. I love your hands. I fucking love them.” I move my hips, making him pulse in and out of me, his thumb staying on my clit. I breathe heavily into the comforter as my veins tingle. The passion I have for this man starts to mount—climbing and climbing—sensations pulling me in every which way.

  Pleasure burns through me. My stomach bottoms out. My clit shudders. And as I pulse one more time against him, my orgasm tips over the edge. Liquid fire rips through me, causing me to scream into the comforter as I come.

  “Ride it out, babe,” he says, continuing to move his thumb over my clit, sending aftershocks of pleasure through me, until I can’t take it anymore and still.

  Breathing heavily, I keep my head plastered to the bed as I fall from my orgasmic high. “Oh . . . my . . . God, Lincoln.” He chuckles and smooths his hand over my ass and up to my lower back and then back down.

  “Feel good, Mayhem?”

  “Amazing. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.” Gradually, I sit up, the massage oil slippery against my legs. A shower is in order.

  I stand from the bed and move right in front of him. I watch as his hungry eyes travel the length of my body. Why not give him an even better show? I reach to my sports bra and peel it off, tossing it to the ground. Lincoln’s eyes widen and then turn into molten lava when I climb onto his lap. His hands immediately go to my waist where he holds me in place, just in the right spot where I can feel how incredibly hard he is.

  My hands fall to his chest, and then I move them to the hem of his shirt and peel it up and over his head.

  Perfection. He’s absolute perfection.

  I roam my hands over his sculpted shoulders and down to his pecs. “I seriously love your body so much, Lincoln. It’s such a turn-on, and I know I’m never going to get enough of it.”

  “Same, Mayhem,” he says, his hands floating to my breasts. “Jesus, you’re so hot.” His thumbs drag over my nipples, and I suck in a sharp breath right before he brings one of my breasts to his mouth and sucks on it.

  “Yes,” I sigh, tilting my head back, urging him to take charge. My hands slip into his hair and I tug as his mouth, teeth, and tongue work together over my breasts.

  I’ve wanted this for so long, to move past friendship with Lincoln and become more intimate. I’ve wanted it so bad that when he’s at his own place and I’m dying with need, I masturbate to his image in the shower—wet and sculpted . . . so perfect.

  His lips travel up my chest to my collarbone and then neck. I feel him suck and bite for a few seconds, and I don’t even care if he leaves a mark. I hope he does, so when I walk around tomorrow, people will know: I don’t just hold Lincoln’s hand around campus, but he’s actually mine.

  I rub my bottom against his erection and after the first pass, his mouth pauses on my skin and he stills my hips.

  “I can’t handle you dry-humping me, babe.” He peels away to look me in the eyes, and I see desperation, desire, and need for so much more.

  Smiling, I get off him and take his hand in mine, pulling him up from the bed. Thankfully Scarlett and I each have ensuite bathrooms in our townhome, so I walk Lincoln to my connecting bathroom and switch on the shower.

  While the water heats up, I turn my attention back to Lincoln and glance at his sweatpants covered in oil with a rather large bulge pressing against the fabric.

  “I have sweatpants of yours I’ve borrowed that you can wear.”

  “Babe, that is the last thing on my mind right now.”

  Chuckling, I take a step forward and play with the waistband of his sweats and briefs.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “You . . . all of you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  LINCOLN

  Sweatpants?

  Clothing?

  What?

  Is she insane? All the blood has rushed to my dick. I can only think of two things:

  The way her pussy clenched around my fingers, contracting and convulsing.

  And her naked body.

  How I got so lucky, I’ll never know, but I’m not going to waste this opportunity talking about dirtied sweatpants.

  Her hands explore, and the feel of her palms over my skin is an erotic sensation adding to the heat building at the base of my spine. They link behind my neck and she stands on her toes to reach me, so I pick her up and set her on the counter, where I spread her legs and squat in front of her.

  “Lincoln,” she gasps right before I press my tongue against her clit. Her right leg snaps up to the counter for stability.

  “You taste fucking amazing.”

  I swipe at her, loving the sultry sounds falling past her lips, the way her hand seems to always tangle in my hair, and the tension in her legs while her pelvis moves toward my mouth. I love that. I love that she takes what she wants. She doesn’t wait for me to do the work, but she works with me to bring her to completion.

  “The water,” she says on a heavy breath. “Don’t want to waste it.”

  I hate that she’s right. I give her a few more swipes, building her almost to orgasm, but then I pull away. Reluctantly. She gasps out loud and her eyes fly open—just in time to catch me stripping down to nothing.

  Her mouth falls open when I grip my erect cock and stroke it. Her eyes attach to my hands, watching me tug and pull. Pre-cum falls past the tip and I use that for lubrication, dragging my hand over it and then back down.

  Her eyes gleam with lust. She steps down from the counter and goes to the shower where she opens the glass door. It’s a larger shower than I expected, but I’m grateful for the space as I step in and she pulls me under the spray of the water.

  Without a word, she picks up the soap and runs it over my chest.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, loving the feel of her hands roaming my body, across my abs, and then back up to my pecs where she pinches my nipple, pulling a deep groan from me.

  “God, Lincoln,” she says quietly, putting the soap down and using the residual suds on her hands to spread down to my cock. My stomach hollows out in anticipation, and the first touch of her hand to my dick has me nearly shooting out of my own skin. “So big,” she says. “I love how big you are.”

  Feels weird to say thank you, so I don’t say anything. I try to steady my legs as she plays with my cock. At first, she’s gentle, almost like she’s giving it a massage. Using her fingers to twist around the tip and then gently fall down the underside of the shaft, to my balls where she lightly rolls them in her hand. It’s torture, her featherlike touch—not what I need—and I’m about to say something when she moves so the water rinses the soap off me. Her hand goes to my chest, pushing me against the cold tile, and then she drops to her knees and grabs my cock, pulling it into her mouth.

  “Fucking hell,” I say, my voice vibrating off the tiled walls. “Oh shit, Indie, that feels so good.”

  She presses her hands against my thighs, opens her mouth even wider and before I know it, she’s taking me deep, swallowing every time I’m at the hilt.

  Stars burst in the backs of my eyes as she continues to suck me in and out of her mouth, her head bobbing, her wet hair clinging to her, her eyes steady on mine.

  It’s sexy as fuck, taking the experience to a whole other level. A level I’ve never been to before.

  I feel useless as I lean against the tiles, my palms against the hard surface, unable to do anything but let this beautiful and amazing woman deep-throat me in her shower.

  She dips down and then pulls all the way off. I want to cry from the loss of her warm mouth, but then she takes in the tip, sucking hard as her hand pumps me.

  “Oh shit, babe,” I say, feeling my legs giving out as a tingling sensation climbs up them, traveling to my knees, pulling in every which way, merging to my groin where all the blood in my body pools.

  She sucks hard and then flicks her tongue; sucks and flicks.

  Sucks . . .

  And . . .

  Flicks . . .

  “Babe, Indie, I’m going to come,” I croak, my voice strained as I hold back, as my orgasm is seconds away.

  And that’s when she grips me again and takes me all the way to the back of her throat.

  Pleasure—white-hot euphoria—explodes through me, ripping me apart. My cock convulses and twitches in her mouth. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, attempting to catch my breath. That was the first time I felt like I was going to black out during a blow job or even during sex.

  She places kiss after kiss up my body and when she’s fully standing, she kisses my jaw and quietly says, “Wash my hair for me?”

  I pull her into a hug, loving her soft body against mine. Her breasts against my chest, her hard nipples indicating she’s turned on. From sucking me off. Fuck. Me.

  “Wash . . . hair,” I gasp, because what she just did was extraordinary. “Of course. Just give me a second.”

  She chuckles against my chest and snuggles in closer as I try to float back down from what I can only describe as heaven.

  * * *

  “We should get food,” Indie says, cuddled into me on her bed.

  “We should,” I say, my hand on her backside, lifting my shirt, which she seems to love wearing, and toying with her soft skin.

  After I caught my breath, I finished the job I started on the counter, lifting one of her legs onto my shoulder and eating her out until she was screaming.

  Fucking phenomenal.

  Once I’d washed her hair, we finished up, coming out to a text message on Indie’s phone.

  Scarlett: So . . . you guys just had sex?

  Indie and I chuckled, and she text back.

  Indie: Just oral.

  Scarlett: If that was just oral, please make sure I’m out of the house when you two actually do it, because damn, girl.

  Scarlett’s response made me laugh and yearn for what’s to come.

  We then got dressed—I wore pair of my sweats Indie had borrowed in the past—and Indie threw on my Brentwood baseball shirt and a pair of boy shorts. We crashed on her bed and that’s where we’ve been ever since.

  “Want me to order something to be delivered?” I ask her.

  She sighs. “I really don’t want to move. I’m so comfortable.”

  “I can get it.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to move either. You’re what makes this comfortable.”

  Chuckling, I reach for her phone and pull up the text message from Scarlett.

  Indie: If we order food and get you something too, will you bring it into our room?

  She texts back right away.

  Scarlett: Post-coital paralysis. I get it. Order me a small cheese pizza and we’re cool.

  I show Indie the screen and she smiles against my chest. I then pick up my phone and order pizza through a delivery app, soon returning my hands to Indie’s skin, reveling in how it feels under my palms.

  “You are such a smart man.”

  “I have my moments.” I stick my hand under the waistband of her underwear and keep it there, loving that I can hold her without worrying if I’m crossing a line.

  “This is going to sound incredibly cheesy,” she says, her voice sleepy. Content. “But I’ve never come when a guy has had his fingers inside me, but I knew, just from how you were massaging my legs that you could do it.” She kisses my chest. “It felt so good, Linc, like earth-shattering good. I swear I can still feel your fingers inside me.”

  “Are you trying to turn me on? If so, you’re doing a good job,” I say, feeling my dick start to stir.

  “Just being honest. It was different for me and startling, but amazing too.”

  I kiss the top of her head. “I like it when you’re honest.” I stroke her hair and say, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never had an orgasm that’s taken over my entire body. It’s always been a release but having you deep-throat me like that . . . Damn, Indie, I fucking saw stars.”

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  I shake my head even though her head is rested against my chest. “No, I wouldn’t lie to you. What you did in the shower was fucking unbelievable.”

  Her fingers caress my chest. “So I guess that would make us compatible.”

  I laugh and squeeze her to me. “I would say more than compatible.”

  She’s silent for a second, and I can practically hear her mind spinning with questions. “So . . . not to get super clingy on you, but what does this mean?” She sits up and turns so she’s facing me, and then lies across my chest. I move my hand up her thigh, wanting to keep the connection.

  “Are you asking if we’re exclusive?”

  “Uh, we better be,” she says on a nervous laugh.

  Reassuring her, I squeeze her thigh and say, “We are, babe.”

  “That’s not what I was asking, though.” Her finger draws lazy circles on my chest. “I know this is crazy and it’s like okay, we just gave each other oral, so slow down, Indie. But we’re going in different directions, you know?”

  “Ah, you’re freaking out about the future.”

  “Aren’t you?” she asks, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  “Babe, I’m still trying to remember my name after what you just did to me.”

  “I’m being serious, Lincoln.”

  “So am I.” I chuckle and then let out a long breath and push my hand through my hair. “Okay, so we like each other, that’s obvious from the way you can’t seem to stop staring at me.”

  “I should have known you were going to make this difficult,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

  “Always, especially when it comes to teasing you.” I give her leg a shake. “You’re going pro after you graduate and if all goes well, I’m drafted after the end of my season this year, which yes, makes things difficult.”

  “Very difficult,” she says, looking at my chest and then peeking up.

  “But I don’t think I can stop touching and wanting you at this point.”

  “Same.” She purses her lips to the side and says, “I have an idea, but I don’t want you to get mad about it.”

  “I won’t get mad. We’re having a mature conversation. We’re being open and honest right now. It would be stupid for me to get mad.”

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath and then says, “I like you a lot, Linc, more than I think I should, given my goals for the year, but I can’t seem to stay away.”

  “Me neither, babe.”

  “But I know the likelihood of us staying together after you leave is very slim, especially once I hopefully go pro.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, gripping the short strands of my hair. That realization sucks. Hurts.

  “So, I guess I’m suggesting we stay friends—”

  “Uh.” I lean up on my elbows. “Friends after what just happened?”

  She presses her hand against my chest, soothing me. “Friends with benefits.” Before I can say anything, she quickly adds, “You’re my best friend, besides Scarlett, and I can’t imagine not hanging out with you for the rest of the year, or touching you and kissing you. I don’t want to get my heart involved, though. Keep things casual and fun. No expectations.”

  “And what do you propose happens when I get drafted?” I ask, feeling wary about her idea.

  “We’ll figure that out when we get there. But I think we should just, you know, hang and—”

  “Fuck?” I ask with a lift of my brow and a chuckle.

  “I mean . . . yeah.”

  She looks at me nervously, as if she’s unsure what I’m going to say. “So that means no dates?”

  She shakes her head. “No dates, just continue to hang and do what we do best with the added benefit of touching private parts.”

  “I do like that added benefit.” The idea works for me, as it gives me the opportunity to still be around her but also touch her in ways I’ve wanted to for so long. I’d like to take her on dates, because that’s what she deserves, but I can understand her hesitation. Who knows what spring will bring? Why add on the stress of a relationship?

  Friends with benefits could really work.

  “So, what do you say?” she asks, her nerves making her that much more irresistible. “Fuck buddies?”

  “Exclusive fuck buddies,” I add, and her smile grows as she cups my face and brings her lips to mine. I fall back on her bed, helping her lie on top of me as we kiss.

  Yeah, I could really get used to this.

  * * *

  “You boys ready?” I ask, bounding down the stairs of my house, feeling lighter on my feet than normal.

  Why?

  Indie Mayhem.

  After our declaration of choosing to be fuck buddies, we ate pizza, and then she gave me one hell of a hand job—that I can still feel four days later—pulling at all the muscles in my groin. She then proceeded to stick my hand down her underwear and I most definitely obliged.

  I’ll tell you right now, watching Indie come has got to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Her mouth falls open, her nipples pucker, and her legs part as her pelvis shifts up and down, searching out every last moment of pleasure.

  And she’s so fucking open about her body. She’s not shy, she doesn’t care that I watch her walk around naked, and she has no problem pulling my pants down to take what she wants. Giving what she wants.