Page 55 of Que Será, Syrah

“Yeah, buddy. That was you.”

“Okay, but that toilet thing you just said. Was that a line from a movie, or something?”

She nods. “Yes. Of course. Moonstruck.” Then she gasps, eyes widening as she asks, “Oh! Do you think that’s the reason he decided to send me to Italy? Because of the movie connection?”

“Huh?” I frown—feeling confused again. “What movie connection? I thought you said it was because you wanted to see your mother?”

She eyes me pityingly. “That was my reason for wanting to go—and the excuse he used to get me there. His reason was because I had obviously fallen in with a bad crowd, and it was only a matter of time before I got into serious trouble.”

“Was he right?”

Her lips quirk. “Well, you tell me. You were the ‘bad crowd’ after all.”

Oh, shit. And, suddenly, I want to smack younger me upside the head. “You know, what? I think he may have had a point.”

“Really?” She stares at me in disbelief. “Well, I don’t think so. And, anyway, I didn’t know it at the time, but this was actually a pattern with him. Four years earlier, he’d talked my sister into annulling her marriage. Which…the irony of that is just insane.”

“Oh?” I ask, but she shakes her head and wriggles suggestively.

“It’s not important. Forget him. Now, where were we?”

The change of subject is abrupt, but it doesn’t fucking matter. It takes barely an instant for my brain to switch gears—I’ve been primed for this moment. Waiting for it. Dreaming of it for five, long years.

“Just one sec,” I say as I lift her off my lap and set her on her feet. I stand as well, fingers delving into the pocket of my sweats for the condom I’d optimistically placed there. I place it on the counter, where it will be readily accessible if I need it. It’s hard to say if I will, at this point. Pun not intended.

Legs eyes the packet with a wicked smile. I shrug and say, “Just in case.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her eyes light up. “Well, that sounds like a challenge to me.”

“Don’t you mean it sounds like a challenge for you?” I say as I return her smile.

“Could be, could be,” she agrees.

I shove my sweatpants down my legs, then reclaim my seat on the stool. “Climb on,” I urge, holding out my hands and helping her to once again straddle my leg.

“Omigod,” she whispers, sounding awestruck as she tries an experimental slide. “Yes. Your leg is so hairy. Fuuuck. I’m going to come so fast.” Her hands settle on my shoulders, fingers gripping me tight, as she slides forward and back, skin to skin.

“Holy shit,” I groan. She feels even better than I imagined she would, even better than I’d remembered it. And the way she looks—with her lower lip caught between her teeth, and her face already flushed. “You’re so beautiful,” I tell her. “So fucking hot.”

“You, too,” she says, nodding frantically, already starting to pant. “Plus, you have the best ideas.”

“I can’t take credit for this one,” I tell her. “This was all you.”

“I dunno about that,” she tells me, her eyes half-closed as she rocks on my leg, finding her rhythm—and stealing my breath in the process. “I think if it were my idea, you’d be touching me more.”

“Can I touch your breasts?” I ask in response. It might not be necessary, but having spoiled the mood once already tonight, I’d rather err on the side of clear consent.

She gulps for breath, gasping, “Yes. You can touch me anywhere you want.” And oh, fuck, does my dick like that.

“You’re killing me,” I murmur as I shape her breasts, curving my fingers around the heavy swells, plumping them up, using my thumbs to rub circles over and around the tight peaks.

“Same,” she says, as her hips pick up speed and her fingers dig harder into my shoulders. “Same.”

Her eyes are squeezed shut now. She’s lost in the moment, racing for the finish line, when inspiration strikes me. “Can you do it without hands?”

Her eyes snap open, her rhythm faltering to a stop, as she protests, “But I’m not…?”

“Yeah, you are,” I say shrugging my shoulders, drawing her attention. “You’re using them here.”

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