Page 18 of Ripe & Ready
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 itistempting. 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 sentencethat’s not what potassium is forhe’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.
