Page 69 of No Place Like You

I silently nod before I hear the click of my bright blue toy, and the low buzzing sound echoes through the room. Dexter nudges it between my legs, and I flinch from how on edge I am.

“I swear, if this could be me instead…” I hear him whisper. And without further warning, he pushes the vibrator into me in one sweeping, slippery go. My back arches off the bed, and bright bursting spots begin to fill my vision. This feels a thousand times more erotic than when I do it myself. Dexter’s hands guiding it in and out of me with purpose, using my squeaks and moans to show him how much pressure to use or how high or low to keep the vibration setting at. The rough stubble from Dexter’s jaw grazes my skin, and when his tongue flicks my clit, a sharp gasp slips through my lips. It all feels like too much. His mouth starts to become violent, and my heels press into the mattress. I feel his hand snake up my stomach and firmly grip a breast, where he pinches a nipple. All of these sensations tip me over the edge, and I come with such intensity, I don’t know where on earth my body is. Sitting on the top of the Empire State Building, back at home in Seattle, floating around on a cluster of big fluffy clouds—I have no fucking idea.

“Dexter!” I scream, twisting the sheets in my hands. He rides out my orgasm, moving the vibrator in and out of me until my body slumps into the bed. When my body’s finally gone fully limp, Dexter peppers my skinwith gentle kisses, and sags into the soft skin of my stomach with a satisfied hum.

This was supposed to satiate the sexual tension between us, but I feel like it’s done the complete opposite. There’s no way I’ll ever get enough of this. My skin feels like it’s buzzing like a live wire, and all I can think about is how we can go another round in two and a half minutes.

Instead of suggesting just that, I watch Dexter pad to his room. He returns a few minutes later, reemerging in clean pajama pants and an easy smile on his face. He has a towel in his hand, and he kneels next to me to gently wipe between my legs. Everything about him is tender and soft, and I start to feel that ache tug at my heart again.

“Do you need a fresh pair of panties?” he asks cheekily when he’s done. “Since you left a nice little mess in the ones you were wearing…” His voice trails at the end, and he runs his tongue along the edges of his teeth like he’s ready to devour me all over again.

I huff a laugh. “Sure.” I lift a lazy finger toward the dresser. “Top left drawer.”

He does as he’s instructed and returns to my side to help my floppy limbs into the simple cotton panties he picked out. We climb under the sheets and lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms in complete silence while fighting off a slowly creeping sleep before letting it win.

31

Dexter

I’ve always knownLucy to be beautiful. From the moment I met her, I was hooked, with her deep brown eyes and her perfectly round face with full lips that felt like a flame and I was a helpless little moth. I’ve always been attracted to her, and over the past month, that attraction’s gotten stronger. Something that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore. And now, watching her dressed in a sleek black dress that wraps around her curves and the top criss-crossing across her chest to wrap around her neck makes me want to fall on my knees. And those shoulders. I didn’t even think shoulders could be sexy, but I want to build a goddamn monument for hers.

She has her short hair styled in waves, and she’s standing over the sink in the bathroom to hook on some gold earrings. She catches me watching her from the doorway and smiles. “What?” she asks.

“You look very pretty.”

She saunters toward me, her shoes clicking on the hard floor. When she reaches me, our eyes at level with the added height of her sexy heels,she drapes her arms over my shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.” She pauses, peering down at the floor before guardedly looking back up at me. “The heels don’t bother you?”

I jerk my head back in confusion. “Are you kidding me? They’re my favorite part of this whole thing you put together. That, and your shoulders,” I add, not caring if she finds it weird that I like her shoulders of all things. I lower my lips to the hollow dip above her collarbone and place a gentle kiss before adding, “Why?”

She shrugs. “Some guys don’t like that I’m…a little taller than most women,” she answers. “When I wear heels, it usually makes me taller than them, or at least the same height, and…”

“Boys,” I throw in, and she laughs shyly. I flick my eyes to the deep red painted on her lips. “I would kiss you right now, but I’d hate to ruin that lipstick.”

“That, and we’re late.” She pats my chest and briskly walks past me before reaching for her small purse on the couch. “You ready?” she asks.

I pluck the keys off the small dish near the doorway and jingle them. “Ready whenever you are.”

“Oh,” Lucy exclaims softly. “I need my memory card.”

Tonight’s the night of Janet’s gallery’s show. Janet already texted me twice today to confirm Lucy and I are still going, the same amount of times Lucy reminded me this morning about the show. Since we have to take a cab across the bridge, we decided to grab a quick bite and head to the show after. So this is basically a date. I mean, not basically. Itisa date. And for some reason, I feel nervous. Topped off with butterflies in my stomach and a lingering giddiness I can’t seem to get rid of. It’s another item added to the growing list of coupley things we’ve been doing. Like when Lucy had an early day from work two days ago and had lunch with me, meeting me in the lobby of my office while we opted for a small sandwich shop and iced coffee. Or when we went on a quick grocery run for paper towels andCholula hot sauce and spent our time perusing various breakfast meats after Lucy told me she’d been craving maple sausage links only to realize we forgot the paper towels once we got back home. With each coupley thing we’ve been doing, I have to remind myself to not get too comfortable with the notion of being one-half of a couple. All of this is very temporary. Not temporary in a maybe sort of way but temporary in a definite sort of way.

Lucy returned from her room, her bulky camera bag looped over her shoulder and her small clutch in her hands. “Not so flattering for this fancy little outfit,” she says, gesturing toward her bag.

I take it from her and hang it on my shoulder. “I got it.”

Her brows furrow. “You sure?”

“Of course.”

She smiles and smooths her hand down her dress. “Thank you.”

After a trip across the bridge and a short meal with a few small appetizer plates to fill our stomachs, we make our way to the show. Once inside the gallery, we’re greeted by Janet. She’s swapped out her chunky oversized sweater for a simple navy blue dress and heels. A surgical mask covers half of her face, a precaution her doctor insisted on if she decides to go out in a large public area, and she’s wearing her hair prosthetic, which looks pretty damn close to how her hair was before chemo took it all away.

“You guys came!” she exclaims, pulling Lucy in for a deep embrace.

“I told you we would,” I say from behind Lucy. Janet hugs me next and ushers us inside toward where the cluster of people is gathered in front of various paintings hung throughout the gallery.

“That’s Avery.” Janet points to a girl who looks like she’s still in high school standing in the middle of a small crowd, where she’s smiling politely and nodding along to the conversations around her. She looks timid, a little uncomfortable with the amount of attention she’s getting. “She’s the artist I was talking to you about.”

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