Page 60 of Blindsided
“Yes,” she moans, clearly ramping up to her orgasm already.
I drop back onto my elbows and watch the show, enjoying the sight of my love bites peppered all over her breasts. “Touch yourself, my treasure.”
Freya’s closed eyes open, and she looks at me with an adorable frown.
I chin nod to her pelvis. “Touch your clit there while you ride me. Give me a show.”
She huffs out an aroused sort of laugh but does as I say. She makes a proper show of it as well. Her hand skates slowly from her hair, over her breast, swirling around her navel and making me positively growl with anticipation.
Cookie’s a fast learner, I think smugly to myself as her finger dips down to rub over top of her clit. I bite my lip and watch her as she gingerly moves over it.
She can do better.
I put my hand over hers, showing her how to apply pressure and rub it hard and fast. These pressure points make her wild with lust, and she nods eagerly, clearly understanding my direction as she begins speeding up, driving herself higher and higher. Feeling the build grow stronger and stronger.
When I feel her begin to tighten, I lie back, grab her thighs, and thrust up into her hard and fast. Her hand falls, and she collapses over me, crying out her release into my neck as she drenches my entire fucking shaft with her arousal. In a rush, I hug her to me and roll her over, pulling out just in time to finish on her belly and breasts.
It’s a good chunk of time that we just lie there. My cock softens while we both fight to catch our breaths and formulate full sentences.
Finally, Freya croaks out, “Fucking hell, I’m starving. You?”
And with that compelling statement, we both laugh our way out of post coitus and right back into friendship.
“We’re seriously going to need a bigger car. There is no way!” I exclaim, glancing into Mac’s backseat as we wait in line at the car wash Mac frequents just outside London.
He smiles over at me like I’m an adorable little pet he wants to snuggle. “Cookie, this was one of theNever Have I Evers.”
I exhale and look back there again. “I just…don’t think car sex was intended for people like me.”
“People like you,” Mac states, his eyes going flat. “Car sex works in a myriad of ways, my wee treasure. Just trust your love coach to guide you. Plus, you drank to this at Tanner and Belle’s flat, so it’s only right that you turn that lie into a truth.”
I stare back at him accusingly. “You’re enjoying my discomfort far too much. We’re officially in a fight.”
“Oh good, something new and different for us,” Mac replies with an unamused tone.
Ignoring his snark, I face forward, anxiously rubbing my palms on my skirt. I’m as excited as I am nervous while I stare at the long line of cars going inside the giant building one at a time. I bet none of those people are planning to shag while their car rides the tracks through the wash. This is taking car sex to another level entirely. Damn Mac. Damn him to hell!
Mac and I are well into our second week of this friends-with-benefits arrangement, and if someone would have told me a year ago everything I would be doing for these next few weeks with a famous footballer, I would have told them they were off their rocker.
Yet here I sit, in a car wash line with the man in question.
And it’s not just the sex with Mac that’s surprising me. We’re doing other things that men and women do together all the time. We go out to eat, we go to the cinema, run errands. Just this past weekend, I was sick with a twenty-four-hour flu bug, and I begged Mac to leave me alone. I begged him to go back to his place for a night and get away from my ugliness.
He refused.
He got me soup, ran to the chemist’s for some medicine, and waited on me hand and foot. He even slept on the couch when I told him his body heat was making my fever worse.
That was the only night we didn’t have sex.
The ample amount of sex we have had has been mind-blowingly brilliant. I was right; it does get better with practice. And there are so many positions that Netflix has never portrayed in the programs I watch. For example, I never laughed so hard as when Mac was trying to show me doggy style and then said, while he thrust balls deep into me, “We’re doing it just like the horses onHeartland.”
The fucking arse.
He had to wait until my fit of giggles stopped so we could continue. Yet somehow, through that entire ridiculous scene, he never lost his hard-on. He really is quite the freak.
One of the best perks about having Mac at my place and this arrangement we’re doing is the snuggling while watching Netflix. Mac literally spoons me on the sofa and plays with my hair while we’re watching the telly. It’s marvelous. His heart really is as soft and mushy as his head is thick and obstinate. The cuddling is probably what I’m going to miss most when this all ends.
I take that back. It’ll be the sex. Most definitely the sex. And maybe that kiss on my shoulder thing he does when he leaves early in the morning to go for a run. It’s just the lightest brush of his lips on my shoulder, but it makes me feel warm and gooey inside like pudding. I’ll miss that, too.
