Page 37 of Best Wrong Thing

“Ready for round two? My arse is desperate for the attention of your fingers and cock.”

“It is, is it?”

“Yes! You’ve kept me waiting for three weeks. Three weeks! I’ve never gone that long without sex.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You haven’t hooked up with anyone else?”

He sighs dramatically. “No. I couldn’t get a certain crazy-haired, uptight guy out of my head. Have you?”

My heart flutters. My breath catches in my throat. “No.”

“Aww, aren’t we a pair of cute, lust-struck guys?” He straddles me and kisses my jaw and neck. “Fuck me, Jacob.” He nips my earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, then whispers into my ear. “Do you ever bottom? ’Cause, if you do, I’m gonna want to take a turn fucking your pretty arse.”

I shiver. “Sometimes. Not often.”

“Let me know when and if you’re up for it. No pressure.”

I grasp his hips. “Not now. Now I want to be inside you.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Fuck me.”

Chapter 10

Archer

“Oh, that was fucking fun.”

I lie on my back, gasping, one arm flopped above my head, my other hand resting on Jacob’s heaving stomach, tickling his happy trail. I’m exhausted in the best possible way. I’ve been getting a lot more cardio exercise since we agreed to be fuck buddies. A lot more.

It’s been two weeks. He always comes to mine, sometimes asking via text, sometimes just showing up, with need in his eyes. I never turn him away. I enjoy sex. I love sex. I love sex with him. Plus, I convince myself that every time will be the last time. Either he’ll get bored, I’ll get bored, or he’ll freak out again.

We’ve been to dinner with Mum and Barry a couple of times. We’re polite to each other in front of them but never too friendly. Well, not obviously so anyway. I can’t resist tickling his thigh under the table or playing footsie with him. I can’t help it. Flirting with him is as natural as breathing. I don’t do anything that will result in us getting caught. I promised secrecy, and I won’t break my word.

Mum brought the framed photo over. She insisted on hanging it in my tiny living room. Fine by me. Jacob and I don’thave sex in there. He’s one hundred per cent a bedroom guy. I’m okay with that. All that matters is that I’m with him.

I’m learning how to push all his buttons, most often with my mouth and tongue. What to do to draw the deepest, dirtiest moan out of him. What to do to make his toes curl. What to do to make him come so hard he goes cross-eyed.

He rolls onto his side, dislodging my hand, props himself on his elbow, and strokes my sweaty hair and forehead. It’s moments like this when I can pretend his gaze reflects more than lust. The more we fuck, the more I get to see confident, self-assured Jacob. He knows what he wants in the bedroom and isn’t afraid to ask for it. He pecks my lips and kisses me again. He caresses the tip of my tongue with his but then slowly pulls away.

“Can you stay?” I ask.

“If you want me to. I brought work clothes for the morning.”

“I do.”

“You’re not working this evening?”

“Nope. I’m free as a bird.” I stroke his jaw and guide his mouth to mine for another longer kiss. Am I addicted to kissing him? Maybe. Do I care? Not one bit.

We lose ourselves kissing, alternating between gentle kisses where our tongues barely touch to deep ones where we try our hardest to tickle each other’s tonsils.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

He taps my nose. “You.”

“Aside from me. Quick. Give me three random objects.”

He widens his eyes.