Page 10 of Ripe & Ready (Friction Fiction #1)

FIVE MONTHS LATER

“ D on’t be afraid. Open it.”

Even with my best reassuring smile, I can tell Derek’s still a little apprehensive about the rectangular box in his lap. He’s holding it like it might detonate which, to be fair, it sort of could. Socially. Emotionally. Especially if his mom had seen what’s inside.

We spent the morning with his family. His parents, his brothers, a swarm of sticky-handed nieces and nephews high on sugar and Christmas spirit, buried in a mountain of wrapping paper. But we saved our own gifts for tonight. Mostly for the quiet.

But also because what’s in that box? It’s definitely not something his very sweet, very conservative family needed to witness.

If I only get to see this man on holidays and scattered weekends, I’m gonna make it count. His family doesn’t need to know the hows and whys of that.

Embarking on a relationship right before the man you love is set to start a prestigious master’s program in another state is insane work, but since I apparently answer the call of adventure now, it was something I easily agreed to.

Well. “Easily” might be a stretch.

There was a lot of smiling and nodding while my internal monologue screamed long distance never works, you’ll implode by month three, your love life is built on jungle fever and lies.

But Derek kissed me in the middle of the airport parking lot and said, “We can do this,” and suddenly all my worst-case scenarios went on mute.

So while he’s in California I live back home.

Same town, same apartment, same barista who still spells my name “Andie” with a heart over the i.

Except this time, I’m doing it with a slightly bolder spine and a boyfriend who FaceTimes me from a library where I’m pretty sure at least one book is cursed.

We do our best to carve out weekends here and there, but between his schedule and my mild (okay, moderate) agoraphobia, syncing up is harder than it should be. Add in flights, deadlines, and my deep personal vendetta against airports, and we don’t always make it work.

Luckily, Christmas is one of the few times he has no excuse not to be here with me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager about… anything,” he says, caution etched into his annoyingly handsome face. “Except maybe Taylor Swift conspiracy theories.”

“You’re stalling,” I chuckle. “Open the box, Derek.”

“The aggressiveness with which you’re demanding I enjoy this Christmas present has me nervous.” The laugh that follows has a little edge to it.

I’m sitting on my knees a few feet away, where we’ve taken up residence under the tree. I shuffle closer.

“Who would’ve thought Derek Bannen would be the nervous one in this relationship?” I murmur, reaching for his hand. I thread my fingers through his, guiding them to the absurdly oversized bow I tied on the box.

We each grab an end and tug, eyes locked, tension thick as ribbon between our fingers.

His gaze shifts darker, more focused. His pupils widen with that look I know now by heart. The moment turns molten.

We peel the wrapping away slowly, deliberately, our eyes locked the entire time. The heat between us builds with every tear, something electric crackling in the air, and then, with one final rip, the paper falls away?—

Derek is the first to break.

His gaze drops to his lap. There’s a beat of silence, and then he howls. Full-on throws-his-head-back, doubled-over, shoulder-shaking laughter.

He stares at the box, his eyes all wide. Disbelief and curiosity etched all over that handsome face. He turns it over in his hands still struggling to catch his breath from laughing. “It’s called The Velvet Peel?”

Yes… Yes it is.

It’s a banana-shaped sex toy. No metaphors, no subtlety. A full-length banana with the peel pulled back dramatically to reveal a silicone shaft in the shape of a very anatomically optimistic penis. The peel itself? Lined with buttons. Power, thrust, and what I assume is the “destroy me” setting.

I’ve long since retired the days of using an actual banana in my hole.

Honestly, I expected an infection but somehow, I survived Derek’s wild idea. Banana chunks and all. His first time fucking me, and I walked away mostly intact.

Mostly.

I mean, I can’t look at a banana the same way anymore. Hell, I can’t smell one without getting hard. Thanks, Africa.

Gwen Stefani is right. That shit really is bananas.

B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

The Velvet Peel felt like the safest possible compromise.

Derek doesn’t even hesitate. He rips it open and peels away the plastic like he’s been waiting for this his whole life.

He presses a button, and the damn thing comes alive. The banana starts thrusting out of its peel. Back and forth, slow at first, like it’s warming up. But with every click, it gets faster. More aggressive. Until it’s outright jackhammering the air.

“This is absurd, Andy.”

“Absurd would’ve been passing up the opportunity to own it,” I say, smirking. “You haven’t even met its travel case yet.”

Derek chuckles, still clutching the banana as it thrusts, but he’s looking at me now, not the toy, and I can see it in his eyes. The fondness, the heat, full acceptance that this is our life now.

I nudge him gently with my knee. “You know,” I say, “a few months ago, I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to walk into a sex shop, let alone bought an anatomically ambitious fruit-shaped sex toy and wrapped it in custom gorilla paper.”

His grin is soft now, all dimples and heart. “You’re a whole new man.”

“Turns out adventure isn’t always cliffs and jungle hikes and being scared out of your mind.” I lean closer, dropping my voice. “Sometimes it’s saying yes. To something new. To someone you trust.”

He tosses the toy aside, then leans in to brush his lips against mine.

These are the kisses I love the most. The kind that take their time, that lean into the tension and let it simmer until one or both of us are ready to snap.

When I finally pull back, my lips are already swollen, my face flushed, and I raise an eyebrow in what I hope passes for seductive. “Wanna see what kind of adventure this banana has in store?”

His eyes flare, dark and hungry, and then he’s on me. Kissing me hard, hands already tugging at my shirt as I scramble to pull his over his head. We strip in a rush, clothes tossed into the growing pile of wrapping paper and discarded ribbons.

He eases me down onto the carpet, warm from the fire crackling nearby, the glow casting soft shadows across the room. Everything else—the tree, the twinkling lights, the shredded wrapping paper, The Velvet Peel waiting ominously on the floor—fades for a second as he looks at me.

Then, with hands that already know me, he moves between my legs, lifting them gently and settling them over his shoulders.

His cock is already hard, pressed against my hole, and his mouth traces every inch he can reach. My collarbone, my chest, each kiss leaving heat in its wake.

When he returns to my lips, I catch his bottom lip between my teeth, pulling a ragged breath from him. “Easy, tiger,” I manage, voice already shaky. “We’ve got anatomically correct produce to test.”

He laughs and I take it in like oxygen, feeding the parts of me already aflame. Fingers search the rug behind him until they land on the vibrator. He hits the button and it hums to life, vibrating softly, almost politely. For now.

“So I’m going in dry on this?” The question comes laced with playful arrogance, his brow arched in challenge.

“Obviously not,” I roll my eyes. “There should be a sample lube packet in the box.”

He finds the discarded packaging and rifles through it until he pulls out the tiniest, most suspicious foil packet imaginable. He squints at the label, then bursts into laughter before tossing it onto my chest.

“Read that.”

I crane my neck, chin digging into my sternum as I try to get a good look. I pick it up, and sure enough, there it is. Bright yellow lettering, cartoon fruit on the corner.

“Banana flavored,” I stare it down, unimpressed and mildly offended. “The banana thing is kinda overdone at this point.”

“Yeah,” He yanks it from my hand and tears it open with his teeth. “We’re way past subtle, babe. I think we’re committed to the bit now.”

He squeezes it into his palm and warms it briefly with his hand before trailing his slick fingers down between my cheeks, his eyes never leaving mine.

His fingers move over my hole in easy circles, spreading the lube, taking his time.

It only takes a couple swipes before he eases a finger in and I gasp, immediately pushing back to take him deeper, all the way to the knuckle seeking out whatever friction I can get.

I’m not exactly subtle. But it’s been a minute, and I’m not trying to win any self-control awards.

He slips his fingers out, and I miss them immediately. He grabs the toy and uses what’s left of the lube on his hand to slick it up.

The slick sound it makes as he coats it in banana-scented lube earns an appreciative hum from him.

He presses the head of the banana to my hole and slowly pushes in.

The familiar burn hits fast, stealing my breath, and I reach for anything to hold onto.

My fingers dig into the carpet, finding no grip, but clinging to the friction anyway.

Something solid to hold onto while everything else threatens to come undone.

It’s smaller than Derek, sure, but it’s been a month since I’ve seen him, and besides my fingers, nothing else has been inside me.

The toy sinks in until the silicone peel is snug against me, solid and surprisingly sexy in way I didn’t expect.

Derek smirks, all wicked heat, and then turns it on. Eyes hazy and knees spread, he works the toy with one hand while his other moves over himself, matching the rhythm.

I grunt, the breath punched out of me as the banana starts to move inside me, each subtle shift sending a jolt through my core. My thighs twitch. My chest rises with every shaky inhale.