“My tits don’t talk.” She turned her back, and I trained my eyes hard enough that they almost bore their way through to the other side. Voice muffled a little by the still-playing music, she went on. “They bounce and swing and wrap just about perfectly around a worthy cock, but they don’t speak.”
“I don’t believe you,” I argued. “They spoke to me, and I’ll take that reality to the grave.”
“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” she asked as she sauntered brazenly across the room to Kline’s closet and pulled it open. The light went on, illuminating the space, and she bent over, her bare ass up and out, and started rummaging around.
“What are you doing?” I asked, giving the base of my cock a healthy squeeze in an attempt to choke the overzealous life out of it.
“Looking for Georgie and Big Dick’s box of kink,” was the mumbled reply.
I turned away and crossed the room, eager to find some kind of solace.
“Oh. It’s under the bed,” I said as I closed my eyes tight and flopped back onto it. Hard and hurting, my dick had taken over, and there was absolutely no hope of a resolution until I stopped looking at all of her flawless skin.
“Oh, shit,” she squealed. The sound of her running toward me gave me a mental image of her body in motion that would likely be the largest test of willpower my eyes ever had or would receive. I stayed frozen, hand locked on my easily manipulated dick and eyes sealed completely.
“How the hell did you find this before I did?” she complained from below me, the bed shaking slightly from her effort to pull out the box of phallic treasure.
“I found that shit months ago, about two days after they moved in together.”
She pulled the box out, dumping it on the bed right beside my head and tossing her body below it, right next to my hip. At the feel of some piece of her skin brushing against my hand, my eyes gave up the fight and popped open faster than a jack-in-the-box.
“Good God,” I cried when my vision returned. She was on her hands and knees, digging through the pile of dicks and vibrators beside my head, and her naked tits were no more than ten inches from my lips. “Am I dead?” I whispered, staring at the pink of her nipples and licking my lips.
Is this heaven or hell?
My hand wouldn’t be denied, reaching out to test my location. When the soft, full, fucking perfect flesh of her breast met my greedy palm, she yelped, smacking me first on the hand and then on the face.
“Ouch!” I groaned before confirming, “Hell.”
Definitely hell.
“What?” she snapped. “You can look, but you’ll have to do a lot more to earn the right to touch.”
My lips pursed in thought. “I could—”
“Not today, asshat!” she yelled. “Come on, help me clean this shit up.”
In shock, I couldn’t do anything other than what she asked, touching my best friend’s things—things I swear I’d never otherwise touch—and completely abandoning thoughts of being on time for work or accomplishing anything I was supposed to that day.
And yes, I’m sure I wouldn’t normally touch them. Look, sure. Touch, no.
Cassie left me to finish up and crossed the room back to Georgie’s dresser, my gaze following her as she did. She was one of the hottest women I’d ever seen and the first ever to stand in front of me naked with the same confidence as she would if clothed. I didn’t know where she found that kind of self-esteem, and I wasn’t going to ask. The first rule of dealing with a woman without her clothes on is to never ask her anything that could lead to a change of heart.
I slid the box under the bed as she slipped a tight T-shirt over her head, sans bra, and stepped into a pair of what had to be the most ridiculous leggings I’d ever seen.
“Are there fucking hot dogs on those pants?”
“Yeah,” she deadpanned, turning to face me and pulling her crazy hair into a sloppy ponytail. As her nipples pushed through the thin cotton, I realized no one would give a goddamn what was on her bottom half.
She turned for the hall, stepping out of the room without a word, and I followed. I’d have followed her into a volcano at this point.
And yes, I am fully aware that this kind of blind arousal will be my downfall.
“Hey, Walnuts!” she called when we made it to the living room, searching the space with her strikingly blue eyes. They were so vivid they were nearly violent, reaching out and smacking you every time they turned your way.
The contrast between them, her creamy white skin, and the rich chocolate of her hair was arresting. Like God had a sense of humor when he made her, pasting together all the things that shouldn’t go well together into a singular messy canvas, but when he was done—her magnificently wild radiance shone up to heaven. The joke was on him.