Page 62 of Blindsided
He releases next with a very vocal growl, his body quivering as he flexes into me with each spasm. My inner core is tingling and oversensitive as I feel every pulse of him against my needy inner core. I drop my head into his neck and sigh with relief before croaking out, “I think I like car wash sex.”
He laughs and reaches up to pull my hair away from my face long enough to kiss me. It starts off as a peck, but then he rethinks it and pulls me in for a deep, drugging kiss that is all kinds of intimate as his cock begins to go soft inside me.
God, this feels good.
By the time we tear our lips apart, I notice the car is getting ready to go through its final rinse cycle, and we need to get off each other and get back to the front seat. Mac gingerly rolls me off his lap, his condom-wrapped dick sliding out of me as I move to sit beside him in the back seat. I lazily push my skirt down and button my blouse, which I didn’t even realise had come undone, while he ditches the condom in a nearby tissue and pulls his shorts up.
He looks over at me and smiles like the cat who got the cream when suddenly, clear water washes away all of the bubbles revealing several men outside the car with towels in hand. My eyes go wide as they instantly begin wiping down every square inch of his vehicle and I consider ducking below the windows and hoping no one sees me.
However, that plan goes out the window when a man opens my door, his jaw dropping with surprise to find me and Mac sitting in the back. I stare back, unsure what to say, and then my jaw drops in horror as my knickers slide out the door where they had apparently landed and fall to the ground by the man’s feet.
“Interior cleaning?” he asks nervously, glancing at his feet and then to my thighs.
Mac voice cuts into the mortification screaming in my mind. “Not today, lad.”
And then, without any shame, Mac hops out of the car, jogs over to my side and picks up my knickers with a wicked smirk before jumping into the driver’s seat.
“Where to, Miss?” he asks, adjusting the rear-view mirror.
I cover my face in mortification as he drives us away from the towel guys. “Take me to Hell because that is certainly where I belong.”
Iam currently seated on a private jet with six famous footballers, four London-famous designers of fashion and furniture, two genius female surgeons, two blondes who look like models but are actually really smart and cool working mothers…
And then there’s me. Freya. A woman covered in freckles who is seriously thinking this lot would be better off with a partridge in a pear tree.
Honestly.
This is why people like me aren’t friends with people like this!
Because it fosters insecurities.
Creates complexes.
I need proper friends with social anxieties who look mediocre in bikinis. I need friends who actually finish their plates of food at a restaurant and don’t feel bad about it. And hell, since I’m listing out friendship goals, I’d like a friend with some horses. Horses that I could ride someday if I ever learned how. Does a friend with a ranch in Canada where she heals troubled horses sound like too much to ask the universe?
Apparently so, because I’m stuck with this happily-in-love lot.
I bet none of these people have a cat who hates humans.
Sigh.
I really need to calm my mind down. This weekend is supposed to be fun. And I am normally great around this bunch. They’re truly lovely people who give me life goals to aspire to, but today their love just seems to mock me. And remind me of all that I will never have in life.
The past two weeks with Mac have been insanely perfect. We’re even getting along better than we ever have before, which is messing with my mind completely. I also keep thinking about that conversation we had about Mac talking about me to Cami for over a year. What did that even mean? Was it really just about sex? For a year? It has to mean more, right? Or do I just want it to be more because I’m actually starting to fancy Mac as more than just a shag? A lot more than just a shag.
Crikey, I’m a mess!
Now, instead of relaxing into this friends-with-benefits situation and having fun with our friends, I’m obsessing over the meaning behind everything Mac says and does, and am way too chicken to just ask him about his feelings! And the worst part is, the only person I have to talk to about it all is Hercules, and he seems completely bored by the topic.
I need to get ahold of myself. For the next forty-eight hours, I need to pretend I’m not a daft idiot who is doing exactly what I promised I wouldn’t do: falling in love with my best friend.
An hour and a half later, our private plane has landed in Prestwick Glasgow Airport, and our large group of seven couples and two sad singles, who are having sex but not telling anyone they are having sex, files out into the various rented cars waiting for us on the tarmac.
Thankfully, I end up in a vehicle with the ladies and am able to avoid Mac’s curious eyes as we drive the twenty minutes towards his grandfather’s property. He told us all on the plane that the bed and breakfast has been sitting empty for the past couple of months while minor repairs were being made, but he called ahead to get it fully stocked for our visit. Apparently, Mac’s grandad just sold the estate to some wealthy bidder in an auction and has since moved into a flat in Dundonald to be closer to Mac’s parents.
The sun is shining as we pull up the gravel driveway to the beautiful Georgian house nestled right on the shore of Prestwick Beach in Ayrshire. A quick glance around shows no neighbours as far as the eyes can see. It’s idyllic.
And actually kind of sad when I think about the stories Mac shared about how this bed and breakfast was his grandmother’s dream. To watch it all be sold off to some stranger must be hard on the family.
