Chapter 14 #2
I hand her one, and she takes it. Then I raise my glass, and the drink goes down the hatch with a burn. She follows suit, swallowing it quickly, then sets her glass down. I do the same.
I rub my palms together. “Toy confessional time. What have you got?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Really? You really want to know?”
I narrow my eyes. “What part of your roommate being a dirty bastard do you not understand? Obviously, I want to know. I’m a guy. This is like Christmas morning. But if this helps . . .”
I pour two more shots then slide her glass over to her. Once more, we down them.
She draws a deep breath. “Since you asked . . . I have a few toys. A little silver bullet. A bigger dolphin. And I have a waterproof finger vibrator.”
And the temperature in me shoots through the roof. I tug at the neck of my shirt. “For the shower?” I croak out.
“Seeing as we don’t have a bathtub, yes, it would have to be for the shower.”
“You masturbate in the shower?” I ask, and the visual is so fucking clear in my mind—Josie under a hot stream of water that slopes off her breasts, a finger vibrator working between her thighs.
She nods as she slides the bars onto a cooling rack. Just then I remember she promised me seven-layer bars when she freaked out the other night. And she delivered. Fuck, I think she might be perfect, what with her desserts and her shower hobby.
“Why do you ask?” she asks in a hyper-innocent voice. Then she clasps her fingers over her mouth. “Are you busy spanking the monkey in your bed while I’m sleeping?”
I point my thumb at myself. “Shower here, too, baby.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I guess the shower’s like a good priest. It keeps both our secrets.” She gestures to the bars. “As soon as they cool off you can have one. Now, tell me, do you clean the shower when you’re done?” She winks, grabs the tequila and the shot glasses, and heads to the couch.
I follow, like the dog that I am. Tongue hanging and panting, just waiting for a crumb to fall.
“I’m the neat one, remember?” I pat the back of the couch. “But I bet you don’t only do-it-yourself in the shower. You probably did it on this couch before I moved in. This is a diddle couch, right? Just admit it.”
“Well . . .” She twirls a strand of hair in her fingers, and takes her time doling out her answer. “I can’t exactly watch porn in the shower.”
I groan at her admission. The images whip fast and furious in my brain. “This is where you watch porn and get off?”
She laughs and grabs the bottle, pouring another round. She thrusts a glass at me, and this time we clink. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Yes, I’ve been known to watch porn from time to time.”
Bringing the glass to her lips, she knocks it back. I match her shot for shot, and the liquor must be loosening both our tongues. We’ve always been pretty open, but this conversation is slip-sliding quite nicely in a whole new direction.
“Just from time to time?” I ask.
She shrugs naughtily, a little I’ve-got-a-secret look in her eyes.
“It’s okay. Tell the doctor. Masturbation is normal.
Don’t be ashamed.” I wrap her in a huge hug, as if I’m comforting her.
Not because I’m trying to touch her. When we separate, I clear my throat.
“So, seriously. What kind of intimate videos do you like?” I ask, adopting an interviewer’s tone, as if I’m the dude on the site who asked that question.
Only, it was inappropriate from him. From me, the question is thoroughly acceptable, since it’s all in the name of scientific research.
“You want to know?” she asks, her eyes wide as she holds my gaze.
God yes. So much. I’m dying to know what turns you on. “Of course I want to know what floats Josie’s boat on the diddle couch.” She tosses a pillow at me. I catch it. “Fine. Pleasure den. Can we call it your Pleasure Den of Personal Delights?”
“Only if I can call the shower your Whack Zone.”
I let my jaw fall open in a shocked expression. “Fine, call it the Whack Zone. Just answer the question.”
“Okay,” she says, taking a breath and squaring her shoulders. “I like male-male porn.”
I’m taken aback for a moment. “You do?”
“I do,” she says with a nod, owning it. “Does that bother you? You seem surprised.”
“I was surprised. But it doesn’t bother me. To each her own.”
“Your turn,” she says, lifting her chin. “What do you like?”
The answer is easy. “I like videos of women getting themselves off.”
Her eyes widen, and I see a hint of desire in them. “Yeah?”
I nod.
“Why?” she asks, her voice soft but eager. Curiosity drips from her tone.
I shift, as if that’ll relieve the pressure in my jeans. But it doesn’t. My dick is trying to hit a new record for hardness right now, as if it’s competing in the Erection Olympics. But I can’t fault my dick. It’s impossible to be anything but turned on during this conversation.
The tequila is helping my Honest Abe attitude this evening.
Or maybe just living in close proximity to her is.
For some reason, I don’t feel like holding back tonight.
“Because . . . there’s something about the image of a woman all alone, so turned on she needs to take care of the business herself.
No one else has to do a thing for her. She’s just wildly aroused from her mind, her imagination.
She closes her eyes. Her hand drifts down. She creates a fantasy in her head.”
Josie draws a sharp breath. “That is hot,” she whispers, and her voice sounds different. Aroused.
I stretch my arm across the back of the couch and paint with more words, loving this whole new direction of tonight’s conversation. “I love seeing how wet she gets. Before she even takes off her panties. That really fucking turns me on.”
I meet her eyes, and the green irises shine with unmistakable desire. I’m not hiding mine, either. Whether it’s us momentarily lusting for each other, or just getting aroused by the conversation, I don’t know. I don’t care, either. I can’t separate anything right now. I’m hard, and I bet she’s wet.
“It’s fun being wet,” she says in a husky, smoky tone that seeps into my bones like a shot of pure, liquid lust. “I can see why you’d like watching that.”
“And then it turns me the fuck on to watch a gorgeous woman spread her legs, touch herself, and then make herself come.”
She blinks, then blows out a long stream of air and waves her hand in front of her face. “Wow. Those seven-layer bars baked on high in the oven. It is hot in here.”
I tap her arm. Her breath hitches. “Your turn. Why do you like guy on guy?”
Her answer comes swiftly. “Because I like guys.”
“Yeah?” I ask, remembering her comment about types. “But why that kind specifically?”
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and draws a deep breath.
Maybe she’s seeking courage, or maybe the liquid has already given it to her, because her answer is bold and hot.
“I like what makes men men, and seeing two of them together turns me on even more. Look, I’m totally hetero.
But that’s why I like it,” she says, and she reaches out a hand to my hair.
“I like everything that makes a man a man. The hair.”
She drags her hand through mine, and my eyes float closed. I savor her touch and the way desire shoots through my body from that simple act of her touching my hair.
“I like a masculine jawline,” she says. She drags her thumb across mine, and lust curls like hot flames inside me.
I open my eyes and swallow harshly. I don’t say a word. I don’t have to. She’s crafting a soliloquy to the male form, and I’m her muse right now. “I love stubble,” she continues as she touches my face, demonstrating all her likes. Then her hand drifts to my arm. “And strong arms and muscles.”
Her hand darts to my belly. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She drops her voice to a sexy whisper. “I love a little happy trail, too.”
And the fire goes wild. It torches my blood. It fucking consumes me. I’m not sure I’ll ever cool off.
“That’s why I like watching two guys,” she finishes, as if she’s summing up an answer to an exam question. “Men just turn me on. But I don’t want to be in a threesome.”
“What do you want?”
She juts up her shoulder. “One guy who wants me the way I want him.”
Fuck this roommate situation. Fuck New York City housing. Fuck the horrors of finding four walls. I want to be that guy so badly.
“You should be worshipped. You deserve it,” I say, my voice thick with lust I can’t hide. “You’re perfect.”
Her lips part, and soft words fall from them. “So are you.”
Here we are on the diddle couch, talking about what turns us on. I don’t know how I ever thought I could cordon off sex from friendship and lust from emotion, but with Josie staring at me with heat in her green eyes, I have to exercise every ounce of my self-control.
Fortunately, she stands up and saves me from me. She smacks her forehead. “Totally forgot. I need to wash my hair.” She nods. “I think I got some seven-layer bar in it.”
“Yeah. You should wash the seven layers from your hair.”
She turns the corner and heads to the bathroom.
This time I know she’s not retreating. She’s not crying. She’s not sad. She’s turned on.