Page 8 of Ripe & Ready (Friction Fiction #1)

N o lube is a problem.

Derek’s not porn-star huge or anything, but he’s got enough girth to make things... complicated. Even with a bottle of Gun Oil and a prayer, it wouldn’t be a quick, casual situation.

Don’t get me wrong… I respect people who can spit and go. Really. Good for them. Icons. But I’m not built like that. Especially not for Derek.

Not when I’ve waited this long. Not when I want it to be good.

Not when I’d really prefer not to be split in half.

“We don’t have to today,” I say, trying really hard not to let any disappointment sneak into my voice.

Derek groans, then rubs at the back of his neck. “I didn’t think here would be the place we figured shit out.”

“Surprised me too, honestly,” I mutter, observing the open-air jungle spa we’ve somehow turned into a porn set.

His eyes scan the room like he’s about to MacGyver his way out of the situation. Then they land on the wall-mounted pumps. “Shampoo? Conditioner? Body wash?”

A flinch jerks through me before I can stop it. “Those things sting. Pretty bad, actually.”

He tips his head, accepting what he already knew.

Derek is a top and I don’t mean sometimes. I mean, exclusively. Which is fine. Know what you like, stick with it. I respect that. It's the same reason I’m a power bottom. Play to your strengths. Based on all available options, I’m met with a whole lot of weakness.

Sorry. Hole .

“Let’s go back to the bed and get off,” I say, reaching over to shut off the water we’ve been standing under. “Plenty of fucking will occur once we’re back home.”

“I know,” he says, pulling his towel from the rack. Unlike me he’s struggling to mask his disappointment.

I grab my own towel and glance over at him. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t be sad. It’s fine, really. I still get to swallow your load.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing his face with the towel. “I…” He pauses. “I think I’m scared this is all in a bubble and once we leave here, you’ll snap out of it and realize you don’t actually want me like that.”

“What?!” I stop in my tracks. “That’s wild.”

“Is it?” He tosses the towel toward the floor. “Starting something new is big and scary and that’s not usually your thing.”

God, he’s always right.

“Okay, but… what if it is now?” I say, and his expression answers before he does. “It wasn’t my thing, but what if I’m that guy now? I can do big and scary things like anyone else. I can want things. I can have them.”

His face is doing a terrible job pretending to believe me.

“I’d do it for you,” I say as I flop onto the bed, still kind of damp and definitely still flushed, and he follows, landing on top of me with this content little sigh.

“I wanted this to feel special,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose.

“It already does.”

His mouth quirks, fighting a smile and losing. “You wanted it so bad, and you know me… I want to give it to you. I have a really hard time saying no to you, Andy. ”

“Oh yeah?” I smirk. “That right?”

“I’d give you anything.”

His touch anchors me, palm warm against my jaw, mouth catching mine in a slow collision. His tongue slides in, unhurried but hungry, seeking out every bit of want I’ve been holding back and I’m ready to meet him there. Every damn ounce.

We lose ourselves in it. In the press of our skin, in the gentle glide of our bodies. Our cocks rest against each other, hard and aching, as he rocks gently above me, tongue tracing mine in soft, patient strokes.

Then suddenly… he pulls back.

Eyes wide.

Something’s clicked.

“Wait,” Derek says, breathless and smug, grinning like the menace he absolutely is. “Do you trust me?”

Which… red flag.

That question never leads anywhere good. Especially not with Derek, whose whole personality is built around jump first, Google if it’s fatal later. He’s the kind of guy who hears about DIY skydiving and thinks, yeah, I could probably pull that off.

Meanwhile, we’ve established I’ve spent most of my life avoiding risk. But now I want to try. Loosen my grip a little. Be the kind of person who leaps. Heart first, common sense second.

So, naturally, I nod. Because my body is dumb and traitorous and loves him.

He stretches across me, never fully getting off the bed.

We’re a tangle of limbs and warm skin, muscles shifting with every reach.

His backpack rustles somewhere near the edge, and I swear to God his cock keeps brushing against my thigh on purpose.

I lie there, doing everything in my power not to roll him over and ride him into the mattress. Lube or not.

He’s digging around like maybe he’s about to pull out a miracle. Some long-lost travel-size bottle of lube he packed without thinking, like a gift from the universe.

No. What he produces is a banana.

A banana.

Not even a firm one. It’s half bruised, soft in that sad, end-of-the-week way. He peels it halfway and eyes me like he’s about to change both of our lives.

“Absolutely not,” I say, staring it down trying to mentally will it back into the peel. “Derek. No. You can’t put that in my ass.”

“Why not?! You put it in your mouth.”

“Two very different holes!”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Nature’s lube.”

“Someone lied to you.” I blink at the banana, the audacity of it.

“Maybe,” Derek shrugs, all dimples and danger. “But let’s test the theory. It’s all natural. It’s food. It’s good for you. I know it sounds dumb, but we can try and if it doesn’t work?” He leans in, eyes gleaming. “I’ll eat it off your ass until you tap out.”

“Tempting,” I say, voice thinner than I want it to be, already feeling my resolve start to crack.

Because it is tempting. Dangerously so and Derek knows it.

A low growl rumbles out of him as he leans in and steals a kiss. He pulls back and smirks against my mouth, “C’mon. When in the jungle…”

I should stand my ground. Chuck the whole bunch into the trees and let a monkey figure it out. Instead, I throw my moral compass in the trash and let it rot with the bananas.

What compass am I supposed to follow when every part of me points to him? When I trust him with the softest parts of me, and I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything? Bravery’s a funny thing when it’s tangled up with love and I love Derek so much it hurts. How could I say no?

Before I can even form the sentence that’s not what potassium is for he’s smashing the banana in his palm like it’s goddamn play doh. He kneads it between his fingers, overripe and fragrant, oozing in a way that should be disgusting but somehow makes my breath catch.

In one smooth, inconveniently impressive move, he hooks one arm under my thigh, lifts, and drapes my leg over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

His body presses in close, skin hot against mine, and suddenly I’m staring up at him thinking, this is how I die…

death by banana kink and unrelenting core strength.

“Jesus,” I hiss, half turned on, half in awe. “Do you practice that in the mirror?”

He winks and slides his sticky hand between my cheeks and starts smearing it over my hole. It’s sweet. It’s slippery. It’s absolutely not FDA approved, and yet?—

“Fuck,” I gasp as a finger presses in. Not the banana. Him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the bastard.

“See?” he says, cocky as hell. “Not so bad.”

I’m already writhing, barely holding back the noises spilling from my throat as he slips in a second finger, slow and steady. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t feel this good. But it does. Oh, it does.

“Derek,” I gasp, half-laughing, half-dying, “Housekeeping is gonna hate us.”

His expression shifts, teasing and warm. “Then I better leave them an incredible tip.”

He slicks himself back and forth in the mess he’s already made between my cheeks, the sound wet and vulgar, the scent of banana so strong.

We’ve unlocked breakfast porn. My mouth starts to water not just for what’s coming, but also because now I want French toast. Or pancakes. Or literally anything that doesn’t involve being turned into a human smoothie.

As sticky and slick as I am, I know it’s not enough. He knows it’s not enough, but instead of panicking like a normal person, he reaches into his bag, calm as ever, and pulls out... a second banana.

“Reinforcements,” he says with a smile that should be illegal in at least six countries.

There’s no room for protest as he smashes it in his hand. This time, he doesn’t reach for me. He coats himself, methodical, focused, like this is something he’s done before.

I stare. At him. At his banana-glazed cock. My whole body lights up, wired and hungry in a way I can’t name.

I arch my back, eyes locked on his, and say, “You better pray I never tell my therapist about this.”

He notches his cock at my hole and presses in.

The stretch is slow, deliberate, every inch a negotiation. I suck in a breath, my hands fisting the sheets beneath me as my body adjusts to the intrusion. The slick coating of banana eases the way, but it’s still a burn, that sweet sting of fullness that makes my head spin.

He pauses when he’s halfway in, one hand gripping my thigh where it’s still slung over his shoulder. His eyes search mine, wild and dark, pupils blown wide. My body pulses around him, involuntary, desperate.

“Okay?” he asks, voice rough.

“More,” I breathe, not even recognizing my own voice.

He pushes deeper. Inch by inch. Until he’s seated fully inside me and I feel stretched to the edge of my limit. I whimper, overwhelmed. The heat, the slick, the scent of banana clinging to our skin. It’s all too much and not enough.

“Don’t move,” he says, breathless. “The banana worked, and I don’t want to waste it by blowing my load in the first thirty seconds.”

I laugh… because, come on.

A sound rumbles deep in his chest as he drops his head against my shoulder. “I said don’t move. Laughing makes your ass do these little clenches and I swear to God, Andy, for our first time I really want to give you the kind of fuck you deserve. We’ve both earned it.”

The laugh wants out, but I trap it with my teeth. Eye clamped shut, he’s so locked in he doesn’t notice. He sucks in a shaky breath then exhales slow like that will also help.

I appreciate it. I also want this to last longer than thirty seconds.

He pulls back teasing my hole, then rocks into me again, and sweet god almighty my toes immediately curl.

Every thrust is deeper, smoother, aided by the ridiculous, obscene mess between us. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, breathy moans, and the occasional squelch that would absolutely ruin us in polite society.

That tiny pause? The right call. Because now we’ve absolutely earned this.

It’s all breathy moans and yes and don’t stop and each other’s names, over and over like a prayer. The sound of skin against skin echoes off the walls and straight out into the jungle beyond our open windows.

Give the gorillas a show, I guess.

Sorry, Calliope.

I push up to meet him for every thrust. I can’t stop. I can’t stop moaning, clenching, grinding back into him like this is the last night we have. Like the fruit-sticky chaos is the only thing tethering me to earth.

He fucks me with focus now. Harder, deeper, each thrust hitting a spot that sends sparks ricocheting up my spine. I’m gasping, writhing, the sheets are ruined. My dignity? Long gone. All that’s left is him and the heat between us and the way my body tightens with each grind of his hips.

“Touch yourself,” His words come out cracked, gravel in his throat. “I’m not gonna last much longer, and I want you to cum first.”

“No, no, no… I’m a good bottom. The top cums first, Derek.”

He moans, stealing the air from the room. “Cut the shit and cum for me, Andy.”

And okay. Okay. Apparently dom Derek is a real thing.

Didn’t know he had it in him, but I’m not about to argue.

My hand slips between us, finding my cock already slick and throbbing, pre-come smeared warm across my skin, a mess of want between our bodies.

It takes one stroke. Maybe two. And then I’m undone, my whole body locking up as I cry out beneath him. My orgasm rips through me sharp and fast, clenching hard around him as I shudder with the force of it. My vision whites out. I’m ruined.

“Good boy,” he groans, the sound raw and broken as I pulse around him.

His rhythm falters. His grip tightens on my leg and then he’s following me over, slamming into me once, twice, before stilling with a sharp cry. I feel him throb deep inside me, heat flooding through me as his body jerks against mine, filling me up.

We stay like that for a long moment. Breathing hard, covered in sweat and banana, tangled in a sticky, ruined mess of our bed.

He turns to me with a sigh and brushes a strand of sweat-slick hair off my forehead. “You know what we call that?”

I blink at him, confused. “What?”

He snorts. “Banana bred.”

What I should be thinking is, “God. How did I get so lucky” with sarcasm. What I’m actually thinking is, “God. How did I get so lucky” no sarcasm.

No irony. It’s all full-blown, head-over-heels sincerity.

The joke was terrible, but it’s also perfect. A playful whine escape me as I bury my face against his shoulder before glancing back up at him.

“I smell like breakfast,” I grin. “Tomorrow morning, you’re getting me waffles.”