Page 58 of Blindsided
I sit up on my elbow and stare down at it, then back up at him.
He shrugs. “You called me an idiot. I told you mean girls are my thing.”
I bite my lip and eye him speculatively. “Well, maybe I’ll call you a big faker because my tiny little poke clearly didn’t cause any permanent damage.”
He waggles his brows suggestively. “You better go down there and inspect it. Our next lesson can involve a bit of naughty nurse role-playing.”
My eyes light up. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before!”
I leap out of the bed and dash into my walk-in closet. After a moment of digging through a box in the way back, I slip out of my kitty night shirt and into something that Mac is sure to fancy.
When Freya emerges from her closet, I swear to Christ, I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“What do you think?” Freya asks, smiling proudly as she does a spin in the most scandalous nurse’s outfit ever created.
It’s a red fishnet-netted negligee that’s much too short to be a dress. Really, it’s just a slip that barely covers the tiny matching knickers she has on underneath. It’s completely sheer except for the white medical plus signs that are stitched over the tips of her wee nipples. On the top of her head is a matching white and red nurse’s hat that I can barely even focus on because her legs are on full display and her breasts are nearly spilling out of that getup.
“Why do you have that?” I ask, sitting up to stare at her properly and trying to keep my tongue in my mouth.
“I bought it for Halloween one year when I was having one of my outbursts, as you like to call them.”
“You were going to wear that tiny getup out for Halloween? Are you mad?”
Freya shrugs. “I was at the time. I was sick of seeing all these skinny women at Halloween parties flounce around in their tiny little costumes while bigger girls were dressing up like Shrek. I wanted to feel sexy.”
I stand up, my heart rate throbbing inside my chest. “Well, I fucking hope you didn’t wear that getup in public.”
Freya’s jaw drops. “And why is that?”
“Because your bloody knickers are hanging out!” I exclaim, my voice going to a strange, high-pitched, manic place.
“Coming from a man who wears a kilt with no boxers, that’s really rich,” she snaps. “And this getup is no different than what the thin girls wear on Halloween.”
“If you were mine and wearing that, I would shag you all night so you were too weak to go out and show everybody my property.”
“Your property?” Freya lets out a peal of laughter. “Well luckily, I’m not your property so you don’t need to worry about it.”
“You are mine,” I state, stepping closer to her and grabbing her by the arms. “You’re mine for the next month, and I’d be grateful if you would be willing to accept that.”
I breathe heavily down upon her, my cock thickening inside my boxers at the feel of her in my arms when she looks like this. Christ, I want her. I want her so bloody bad I can taste it. But for some strange reason, I need to feel some sort of security in what we are. I know we’re just friends, and I know the sex is temporary, but I want it to feel real while we’re together.
Freya swallows nervously. “Well, if I’m yours for the next month, then does that mean you’re mine?”
“Aye, of course it does,’’ I snap. “Why would you doubt it?”
“Are you still having your weekly lunches with Cami?” she asks and crosses her arms over her chest defensively. She’s trying to look tough, but all the change in posture does is push her breasts together and give me the urge to lean down and motor boat my face between them.
Finally, I focus on what she just said. “I called Cami and told her we couldn’t meet anymore.”
“You did?”
“Aye, Cami and I are just mates, but I’m not going to be shagging you and running off to see her. What’s the fucking point in that?”
“Well, why did you need to see her at all if you weren’t still sleeping with her?” Freya asks, her brows pinched together in an adorable way as that gerbil spins rapidly inside her mind. “What was the point of you two getting together every single week?”
“I don’t know.” I exhale heavily and grip the back of my neck. “She was therapy I suppose.”
“Therapy for what?” Freya asks pointedly.
