“And the other one—Jesus, Laura. Did you need stilts and a stool to fuck him?” Josie cringed and held up one hand, fingernails radiating from her palm like a metal sun sculpture. “TMI. Don’t answer that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I have no filter. Duh. You’re my filter. And I have no filter when I’m talking to my filter about her positions when fucking a guy the size of a streetlamp.”
Laura pretended to mull that one over, then threw a couch pillow at Josie, who seemed to know it was coming and ducked well ahead of time. “Dinner? Really?”
Josie blinked hard, rubbing one eye. “Yeah. I think you need to just get to know these guys. Spend time with them. Not the kind of time where you sit there, all anxiety-filled, wondering when you’ll end up in bed. I mean the pal-around, cuddle on the couch, watch a movie and cook dinner for each other kind of time.”
“That’s called a date.”
“Yes. You need to date them.”
“Date them. Double date by myself?” Both laughed. “Josie, I don’t even have a language for this!” she wailed.
“That’s the problem, hon. No one does. And I think,” she added, pensive suddenly, “I think that’s why they care so much about you. Because you are the first person they’ve met in a long time who is even willing to learn whatever rare language they speak. So far, most people don’t even view it as words. Just offensive gibberish.”
“I find it lovely,” Laura whispered. Yawn.
Josie laughed quietly, grabbing another clementine and her purse. “I know you do, sweets. But right now the only language you need to speak involves a lot of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Go to bed.”
“I need a shower.” Laura sniffed one armpit. “God, that bad?”
“Sleep first. Shower after.”
By the time she heard the door click as Josie left, Laura’s living room was spinning, the air washing before her like waves of water, her eyes heavy and lids drooping. As she heard footsteps waning down the hall, before she knew it she was fast asleep, vulnerable now only to whatever her subconscious conjured for her in her dreams.
Chapter Two
She knew he was there long before her eyes, her nose, or her skin registered him, ears perked and hearing an unspoken need that shouted through the silence. Her neck shifted to the left, open for his lips, and he did not disappoint. As if forged by God for his very shape, the touch of his mouth on the nape of her neck seemed divine, shaped for this moment, the two parts of flesh melding into one through the sigh that escaped her, unbidden and knowing.
When Mike’s hands slid over her shoulders, down to her elbows, then effortlessly transitioned to her hips, the two slipping into a V that traveled to her womanhood and stroked out to her thighs, his cock hard against the cleft of her ass as the shower spray poured down on them, the sigh that came from her was like a prayer. Spinning around, she took his face in her hands and kissed him, hard, the sudden, fierce uprising in her needing as much of him now, right now, hard and fast and tough and quick and in and out immediately. His tongue matched hers, all fire and taking, as his knees parted her legs, then let her go with a tight nip to her lower lip, turning her around and bending her down.
“You are so luscious,” he murmured in her ear, words shattered by the spray and the steam, cut into bits and pieces her overwhelmed, pulsing mind and body could barely understand, the allure of his hands on her breasts, one pausing to shift himself and plunge into her, then resuming its spot on her overflowing cup, taking her to an aroused madness. As friction grew, his thrusts timed perfectly, her swollen, red passage seemed tapped into her lungs, her heart, her lips and her everything.
Mike’s hands roamed her torso, teasing her clit as his gliding tightened, thrusts harder and more focused, the feel of his body behind her hardening as his own climax surely built. Her fingers clawed at the tiled walls, needing flesh to dig into, to hold on to for the wild ride of an explosive, wet, dripping orgasm that—
Beep, beep, beep. “Ack!’ she squeaked, hand flailing for her phone. An alarm? What? Eyes unfocused and clit in the throes of an orgasm (huh? In her sleep?) she fumbled the phone, its ineffectual clunk on the floor making her cringe in horror. Another broken glass screen wasn’t going to please the geniuses at the Apple store.
Retrieving it and sighing loudly with relief at its intact condition, she stared dumbly. An alarm for a meeting at work. Jesus. So why was her pussy on overdrive, pulsing as if she—
Oh.
A flash of her dream drizzled into her subconscious —and then a tsunami of tactile and mental dream memories hit her.