Friction. I need more friction.
For once in my life, I’m too fucking wet.
He groans, withdrawing his hand for a beat and then easing it back in. Teasing me.
I whimper, soft, eager little noises.
“Tell me,” he whispers hoarsely and even the sound of his voice is a turn-on. “Tell me what you want.”
I normally don’t tell guys what I want in bed. But I think that’s Blake’s point.
He drags his fingers down, teasing at my entrance.
“Tell me,” he repeats.
“To come,” I moan breathlessly. “More pressure, your fingers inside.”
He slides his fingers inside me and I gasp, my body clenching around him, holding on, wanting more, so much more where that came from.
“You like that?” he asks and I know he’s watching every inch of my response but I don’t care. I like it. I love it. I fucking need it.
“More,” I whisper just as he slides his fingers out and comes back in, thicker, with his thumb now rubbing my clit. All the tension inside me spreads and tightens and glows and I know I can’t hold back any longer.
I want to tell him to keep going.
But I can’t speak.
It doesn’t matter that this is happening in plain view of the people on the ferry, it doesn’t matter that I feel myself being so bare and vulnerable with Blake once again. It’s been this way from the start, from our first encounter in the library. Hell, before that. When I was writing my heart out, baring my soul for him.
None of it matters because I’m in the here and now and all I feel is a part of him inside me, feeling through me in a way no one has.
I come in an explosion, a firecracker, a bomb.
I cry out, soft at first and then louder as the waves grip me, shake me, loosen everything inside me that wants to hold on. My fingers squeeze the seat and armrest until they cramp up and my body jerks with each spasm until they slowly fade away, leaving me in a puddle of bliss.
“You came just in time,” Blake says, clearing his throat. “The ferry is docking.”
And just like that he takes his hand away and quickly zips up my shorts.
I open my eyes, trying to get my bearings, to see the couple from the truck walking toward us. I button the top of my shorts and straighten up in my seat, shifting toward Blake like I’ve been talking to him this whole trip.
He bites his lip and grins, his eyes roaming over my face. “Never done that before,” he admits.
I raise my brow, still trying to catch my breath. “I suppose I should be honored that I’m the provider of so many firsts for the famous Blake Crawford.”
He shrugs. “I’m honored you played along.”
We both stare at each other for a moment until the ferry docks with a lurch and the cars start offloading. The lane next to us goes first and just as the seniors in the sedan pull away, I swear the old lady looks right at me and winks.
Job well done.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Blake
Even though I’d been living in BC for the past two years, it always surprises me how little of the bloody province I’ve actually seen. I guess I can’t really be held at fault when I’ve gone home to England every summer and over Christmas but even so you’d think I would have taken advantage of some of the stunning scenery and destinations from time to time. Don’t get me wrong, I love Victoria, even if it tries too hard to be “Little Britain” at times (and nowhere near as hilarious as the TV show), the warm, Mediterranean climate makes up for it. But still, I hate feeling like there’s a whole world out there that I’m turning a blind eye to.
That’s one of the reasons I didn’t hesitate when Amanda texted me about the weekend. The chance to get away was one I wasn’t about to pass up. Plus she would be there. Plus she really does need to relax. Plus, well, I have to admit that the pressure is getting to me too.
I don’t want to tell her that though. If I acted anything less than confident, I know she’d put even more weight on her shoulders and we all know serious Amanda isn’t a lot of fun to be around. It’s one reason why I can’t help but piss her off when she gets that perma-scowl on her face. Relaxed Amanda is a fun Amanda and fun Amanda is this heady mixture of sexy and adorable, something I can’t get enough of, no matter how hard I try to rein it in.
And I have been. Even though my immediate answer was that the trip sounded great, all the warning bells were going off in the back of my head, the ones that are loud and blaring and tell me that I’m veering into unwelcome territory. It’s not new to want to keep shagging a girl—if the sex is good, how can you not? But when she’s all you think about, every moment of every day, well then buddy, you have a problem.
I’m determined not to have a problem. But after seeing her come in public, in Mr. Mean, surrounded by people and the ocean and salt-tinged air, I’m starting to think wanting Amanda might not be a bad problem to have.
Then there’s the fact that when we pull off the ferry and onto the island, Amanda directs me where to drive and her whole demeanor changes right before my eyes. She’s sitting up in the seat, leaning forward and gazing out all the windows, looking like a child on Christmas morning.
She’s beautiful, I think to myself and the thought catches me off guard. It’s not that I’ve thought of her as anything but, but for once she’s not sexy with eyes full of lust or bitch-hot, like when she’s calling me a pig (and god, do I fucking love it when she calls me a pig). She’s beautiful in this wholesome, pure, wild way, like she’s becoming the sum of all the beauty she sees.