Текст книги "Оллмп"

Автор книги: Меган Куин

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He doesn’t answer right away but, I feel him take a few deep breaths. “I’ve never stopped to feel the rain.” I turn my head, open my eyes, and see him staring back at me. “Thank you.”

He’s so genuine in this moment.

So real.

There’s no domineering asshole trying to control me.

There’s no sign of the man who’s been playing Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

This is Huxley.

The true man.

And it feels like a bullet to the chest. I like this side of him. I like him like this more than I probably should.

Together, we lie in the rain, letting it soak us to the bone and gather on the rooftop surface. The plops from the water hitting the hard surface fill the silence between us, while the smell of wet blacktop wafts around us.

Pure perfection.

“When did you start doing this?” he asks, turning toward me.

I turn toward him as well. The rain has let up so it’s more of a sprinkle now. “When I was in high school. I’ve always loved the rain, especially since it rarely rains here in California. I loved the feeling of being caught up in something other than everyday life. Especially when I was hanging out with Angela. I felt out of control at times. The rain would help me slow down.” Being with Angela often felt like being in a dark, unwelcome storm. But the rain, by contrast, was soft. Safe. Clean.

He reaches out and places his hand on my cheek before wiping away a few droplets of water with his thumb. It’s a sweet, intimate gesture, and instead of shying away, I lean into it.

“How often do you come up here?”

“Not often enough,” he says. “I’ve probably come up here once or twice. But when you said you wanted a place to lie in the rain, I knew exactly where I’d take you.” Seeming insecure, he asks, “Do you like it?”

I nod. “I like it a lot. It could use a piece of furniture.” I chuckle. “But I think it’s perfect. Thank you.”

When he doesn’t say anything, but instead continues to stare at me, I take that moment to scoot closer to him. The heat of the day doesn’t quite break through all the rain, so my body is slightly chilled, but not chilled enough to force me to leave. I just need a little warmth.

Noticing my intention, he lifts his arm, and I scoot in even closer until he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his side. And, oh God, does he smell good. Like fresh, masculine laundry—if that makes sense.

“Should’ve put on something warmer,” he says.

“I didn’t know I’d be out in the rain, and these are the clothes you provided me.” I look up at him. “I’ve come to realize you’re a pervert.”

He lightly chuckles. “I’m not a pervert.”

“Everything in that closet of mine is scandalous. I’m going to start working my way into your dresser drawers and taking all your shirts.”

“Have whatever you want. You look sexy in both.”

I lift up, my hand on his chest as I stare at him. “Was that a compliment, Huxley?”

“Want me to take it back?”

“No.” I shake my head and press my hand to my heart. “I need to cherish this moment. Huxley Cane complimented me. Not sure this moment could get any better.”

“It can,” he says and pulls me on top of him. Compared to his tall and muscular stature, I feel so miniature, so petite. Both of his hands fall to my lower back and then slip an inch under the waistband of my shorts.

“Is this comfortable for you?” I ask him.

“Very,” he says.

“And I thought you wouldn’t appreciate having a shrew of a woman draped across you.”

He laughs, and it’s such a beautiful sound. “I might enjoy the shrew more than I thought.”

This causes me to sit all the way up until I’m situated on top of his lap. “Are you saying you enjoy my company rather than despise it?”

His hands fall to my thighs, and he moves them farther north until they connect with the insides of my hips. It’s a small touch, but it carries a large impact as a bolt of lust shoots right up my spine.

“I never despised you. You have to stop thinking that. Did I find you mildly irritating at times? Of course.”

I laugh. “Such a charmer.”

“Wasn’t aware I needed to charm you.” His eyes speak of pure playfulness. “Do you need charming?”

I pretend to fluff my wet hair. “Wouldn’t hurt you to throw a little charm this way.”

He wets his lips even though they probably don’t need it because of the rain. “What do you consider charm? Words or actions?”

“Both can qualify.”

He glances at my chest and then back up at me. “So, if I were to say your tits look hot in that see-through lace top, would that charm you?”

It’s see-through?

I glance down and see the clear definition of my nipples. Well, I guess it is see-through when it’s wet.

“I guess that would charm me marginally, but I believe you could probably do better.”

“Yeah?” His hands snake up my sides until they loop under my bralette and pull it up and over my head. He tosses the drenched fabric to the side and then brings his hands to my thighs. “What about now? Charming?”

I sit there, on his lap, topless, in the rain, and to any other person, this action could be defined as “horny man.”

But, God, with one blink of his eye, he could charm these shorts right off me.

“From your silence and heavy breathing, I’m going to take that as a yes.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself. It’s sexy and also vaguely annoying. The annoying part causes my next action.

I rest my hand on his stomach and shift my pelvis over his lap. His playful eyes immediately turn dark, seductive.

“What are you doing?”

“Showing you what charm really is.” I rotate my hips again, and this time, I’m rewarded by him growing harder underneath me.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want his cock. After giving him head in the shower, there’s nothing I want more than to experience him driving into me over and over again. But he’s also a bit of a flight risk, and while we’ve made some progress this weekend—progress toward what, I’m not sure, but at least he’s engaging with me—I don’t want to push him too far, just enough.

Water drips down my face as I smile at him. “You see, Huxley”—I rub my center over his erection in a continuous motion, finding just the right spot for both of us—“charm can easily come in the form of dry-humping.”

He lets out a roar of laughter right before the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen lights up his face. God, he’s beautiful. Sexy and hot, yes, but right now, I see a boyish cuteness to him as well.

“I had no idea charm could be translated through dry-humping. I always thought the universal translation for dry-humping was . . . ‘hey, I’m horny.’”

I steady my hands on his stomach, which causes my breasts to press together. “It can mean both.”

Still smiling, he reaches up to my breasts and rolls my nipples with his fingers. “Good to know.” He then envelops my right breast in his hand, squeezing, massaging. “Have I ever told you how fucking hot your tits are?”

“Mmm,” I moan, picking up my pace just a notch. “I can’t remember. Maybe. But tell me more.”

“They’re sexy as fuck, Lottie. Not too big, not too small, tight little nipples that beg me to touch them. I could spend hours just playing with your tits.”

“Hours seems excessive.” My head falls back as he sits up and brings his mouth to my breast. He sucks tightly on my nipple and . . . that’s it. The scruff of his jaw rubbing against my sensitive skin combined with the intimate feeling of his lips on my nipple sends a crazy rip of pleasure down my spine and all the way to my curled toes.

“Hours are necessary.” He moves his mouth to my other breast and pays as much attention to that nipple as he did the other.

My hand floats to the back of his head, and I hold him in place, not wanting him to stop doing what he’s doing, because it lights me up, makes me feel alive.

The patter of rain around us heightens the mood, as well as the way the water runs over our two bodies, soaking our clothes, our hair, our skin. It’s erotic. The only thing that could make this better would be if we were both completely naked.

“God, Huxley,” I groan when he tugs on my nipple with his teeth. “I want more.”

He takes that as a sign to flip me to my back, laying me across the cold, wet surface of the teak-wood flooring. His gorgeous body hovers above mine, blocking the rainfall from hitting me in the face. His chest ripples above me, his hair’s wet with droplets, and his eyes are so intense with need that I find myself spreading my legs.

He positions himself between them, his large frame causing me to make even more room. He lowers his pelvis to mine, and when they touch, immediate gratification strikes me in the chest.

Yes.

He feels so much better like this.

Heavy against me.

Hard as stone.

But he’s the one in control, something I’ve come to love when he touches me. I want him to own me, own my body, and make me forget everything around us.

“I want your shorts off,” he says in a tortured tone.

He pushes his hand through his hair, sopping the water away, and lifts off me only enough to pull down on my shorts. I help him remove them with a lift of my hips, and once they’re off, he drops them to the side and positions himself against me again.

I’ve never been naked in the rain.

And I’m going to be honest, it might be my new favorite thing.

It’s exciting.

Daring.

Erotic.

Huxley hovers over me, the only thing between us his shorts, and they do nothing to hide his massive erection.

“I love seeing you like this,” he says, “submitting to me. I’ve never seen anything sexier in my life. This is it, right here, you naked, wet, legs spread, waiting for me.” He wets his lips. “How much do you want me?”

“More than I care to admit,” I say, looping my hand behind his neck.

“Still hate me?”

“No.”

“Still want to help me?”

“Do I even have a choice?” I ask, wondering where this questioning is coming from.

He flashes his eyes to me. “Even if I don’t want to admit it, you always have a choice.” He rubs his length along my aroused clit. Oh God, that feels too freaking good. My hand trembles against his neck as he reaches up to my breast and teases it with his fingers. Looking me in the eyes, he says, “If you told me, tomorrow, you want out, I’d destroy the contract.”

He thrusts against me.

“What?” I gasp as he pushes again, and again, and again. “Oh God,” I moan, his pace stirring pleasure deep within me. “Wh-why?”

“Because,” he says, thrusting again. I catch the tension in his shoulders. He’s holding back. From the thick veins in his neck and the tight clench of his jaw, he could give more, wants to give more. “Even though you might not believe it, I want you to be happy.” He thrusts again, and my back arches as my body pulses. Begs. “I don’t want to trap you.” Another thrust. Two more, that’s all it’s going to take. “I don’t want you to feel trapped.” Thrust.

“Yes, God, yes, Huxley.” I grip him and meet his thrusts with my own. I’m right there, on the edge. Pleasure pools at the base of my spine, this euphoric feeling amplifying with every push of his erection against my clit.

So close.

God, I’m so close.

“I just want you happy,” he says, and I hear him.

I’m listening to everything he’s saying to me, but it’s not quite registering in my head.

His words aren’t making sense, because all I can focus on is teetering on the edge of my orgasm and wanting to fall over. I want to fall over with him.

“How close are you?” I ask him.

“Right . . . there,” he groans.

“Then take it, take me. Harder, Huxley.”

He smooths his hand down to my ass, where he grips me tightly and pulls me all the way against him, intensifying the connection. That’s all it takes.

One thrust and I’m done.

Every last ounce of pleasure gathers, coils, into the center of my body, only to be ripped into millions of joyous pieces as my body combusts underneath him.

“Oh, fuck,” I yell. “Yes, Huxley.”

“Jesus,” he mutters as he drives harder and harder until he stills, groans loudly, and then collapses on top of me.

He props his weight up with one arm on the ground, but his head tilts down, our foreheads connecting. It’s as close as our mouths have been this entire time, making me realize that the man might have just dry-humped me to completion, but he never once laid his lips on mine.

Why?

My eyes search out his and I catch him taking a few large breaths before making eye contact with me. Rain continues to fall on us, and in the distance, I hear the rumble of thunder for the first time since we’ve been out here.

Huxley wipes the water off his face before blinking a few times. “We should, uh . . . get back inside.”

“Yeah,” I say, breathless, still staring up at him. The pull between us is so damn strong that I want nothing more than to cling to him and be carried to his bed.

But when he stands and offers me his hand to help me up, I notice a change in him. Hesitation. Uneasiness.

And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Huxley tugs me quickly toward the door, opens it, and hurries me inside. Then he snags my garments and guides me down the stairs carefully, making sure we don’t slip. When we reach the hallway, he takes my hand and maneuvers me toward our bedrooms. I’m curious which way he’ll take me—maybe to his shower so we can warm up?

But then he stops in front of my bedroom door and lets go of my hand. Our time is up. With a step back, he grips his neck and scans my naked body. “You should take a shower, get warmed up.”

“Yeah,” I answer awkwardly.

“Do you need anything?”

You.

A conversation.

Some understanding of what the hell we’re doing.

Maybe a brief recap of the things you said up on the roof.

“Um, I don’t think so,” I answer.

He nods. “Okay. If you want, I can order something for dinner.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’m not very hungry.”

“Sure.” He takes another step back, and my hope plummets as I see him retreat once again.

Why?

Why does he do this?

Why does he take one giant leap forward only to take two steps back?

And why do I even care?

Yeah, I know . . . I know.

Everyone knows. Because somehow, someway, I’ve started to care about him.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Seventeen

LOTTIE

“Where are you?” Kelsey asks over the phone as I lean against the white brick of the breast pump store.

“You don’t want to know.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Okay, I’m at a breast pump store, waiting for Ellie to show up so we can shop together.”

“You were right, I don’t want to know.”

“Told you.”

“Aren’t you a little worried you’re leading this girl on? She seems to be getting attached to you—I mean, you’re going breast pump shopping.”

“I know.” I nibble on the corner of my mouth. “I actually feel kind of bad, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t like faking this pregnancy since so many people try so hard to get pregnant, and there’s no way in hell I’d ever act as if I’d miscarried to end all of this pregnancy stuff. Remember Aunt Rina? She had five miscarriages and holding her hand through them with Mom was devastating. The more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I feel.”

“So maybe . . . tell her the truth.”

“Are you insane? Huxley would lose the deal for sure.”

“What are you going to do when you’re supposed to start showing and you don’t?”

“I don’t know. But you don’t start showing until around thirteen weeks or so with your first baby, right?” At least, that’s what I read when I looked it up last night. I press my hand to my forehead. “God, I’m in such a mess.”

“Has more happened?”

I bite down on my index finger. Yesterday, Kelsey was gone most of the day running errands and interviewing another supplier since the one we contacted hasn’t gotten back to us yet. Therefore, I haven’t talked to her much.

Actually, I haven’t spoken to her at all.

She has no idea what happened this past weekend with Huxley.

Hell, I barely have a grasp on what happened, but this is something I’d normally tell my sister right away. But after the rooftop, I wasn’t sure what to do. I felt . . . weird.

As if something wasn’t right.

And I know it wasn’t what I did, but more so what happened after. I wanted more, so much more with him, but, for the life of me, didn’t know how to express it. He’s been so hot and cold with me, so inconsistent with how he treats me, that I’m scared. I like him, a lot, and I’m unsure what that means for us, for me. I’m not sure if I can make a move, if I can tell him. If he even wants more with me.

He didn’t kiss me on Sunday when he had the perfect opportunity to do so. We were drenched from the rain, and there was nothing around us but nature. If he was going to kiss me at any point in time, it would’ve been then, but he didn’t, which leads me to believe that he has no desire to shift this relationship in any way. He’s told me he’s not wanting to blur the lines. He’s also told me he wants me to be happy. But why? Why does that matter to him, if I don’t really matter to him?

I joked about our agreement replicating that of Pretty Woman, me being the less whore-y version of Vivian, but instead of Vivian being the one who doesn’t kiss on the lips . . . it’s Huxley.

And if I learned anything from that movie, it’s that kissing means so much more. It carries weight. Kissing connects you on an intimate level and Huxley doesn’t want that. It’s evident. He might want my body, but he doesn’t want me.

Which, in return, makes me feel weird. But does that mean I want him?

“Lottie, you there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I clear my throat. God, why am I getting emotional? I shouldn’t be getting emotional.

“What’s going on? Did something happen that you’re not telling me about?”

Wincing, I look up to the sky as I say, “I, uh, I might have done some things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Um, you know, like . . . I might have given him head in the shower, and then possibly dry-humped him on a roof.”

“What?” Kelsey screams into the phone. “Lottie, are you serious right now?”

“I wish I wasn’t.” I let out a deep breath. “God, Kelsey, I don’t know what’s happening to me. It all started with our pitch. He chose us, Kelsey. He chose us over Dave, and that, God, that crippled me. When I saw Dave show up, I thought we’d have to reschedule—that our chance was gone again—but he took our meeting instead, like he promised. It put a dent in the negative thoughts I had of the man. And then, this weekend . . .” I let out a deep sigh and rest my head against the brick. “He was different. Softer, didn’t have the edge he usually does. He joked, laughed, teased. And, yeah . . . he did more things than I care to admit.”

“Holy shit, Lottie. What does this mean?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, completely shocked I’m about to say this out loud. “It means I like him.”

“Wait . . . like . . . you like him, like him?”

“Yeah. And I shouldn’t. God, he’s been so mercurial. So up and down and straight-up assholish at times, but he also has this giving heart I can’t seem to ignore.”

“Oh, the same heart I kept telling you about?”

“This is your fault. You made me look at him differently.”

“This is not my fault. You’re the one who set out to find a rich husband.”

“I didn’t think it was actually going to happen,” I hiss into the phone. “Stuff like that doesn’t just work out for me.”

“Okay, so you like him, you put his penis in your mouth—what now?”

“I have no clue. I don’t know how to act around him. Not after what happened over the weekend, and there’s one thing I didn’t tell you about.”

“Uh, what else could there be? You dry-humped him on the roof.” She’s silent for a second and then says, “Let me guess—he has a big penis?”

“As if God couldn’t stop with the good looks, he had to bless him with the penis of all penises.”

“Figured as much. A man with such a stern gaze doesn’t have a floppy noodle between his legs.”

“More like a steel rod made to build skyscrapers.”

Kelsey lets out a laugh. “The imagery on that . . . too much.”

“But that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Obviously,” Kelsey says. “So, what is it?”

Feeling slightly embarrassed, I turn so my side is pressed up against the brick. For some reason, the position makes me feel less exposed. “He, uh . . . he didn’t kiss me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, during all of our escapades, he never once kissed me.”

“Oh . . .”

“Oh?” I repeat. “That doesn’t sound like a good ‘oh,’ that sounds like a sympathetic ‘oh.’”

“Not once?”

My stomach twists, and once again, my emotions roar with shame. “No,” I say solemnly. “What do you think that means?” When Kelsey doesn’t answer right away, I add, “That he’s Vivian-ing me, right?”

“Vivi-what?”

“You know, how in Pretty Woman, Vivian doesn’t want to kiss Edward, or any of her clients, because it’s too intimate? I feel as though that’s what Huxley is doing.”

“Oh, I get it.” Kelsey pauses, and I swear it feels as though I’m waiting on pins and needles for her response. “I don’t know, Lottie.”

“That’s not what you were supposed to say,” I nearly screech into the phone. “You were supposed to say ‘no, that’s not it at all’.”

“I’m not going to lie to you.”

“God.” I press my hand to my forehead. “Look at me. I like a guy who’s Vivian-ing me. How did this happen?”

“Stupid luck?”

“You are not helpful today. I’m really freaked out, Kels. My stomach is twisted in knots, I—ugh . . .”

“What?” Kelsey asks.

A car pulls up on the street and I recognize it immediately. “Ellie is here. I should go.”

“Okay, I’m sorry that I’m not being a helpful sister. Honestly, all I can think to say is maybe just see where it goes.”

“But that complicates things.”

“Hate to tell you, sis, but things are already complicated. Might as well see if he’s worth your time.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“Then I’m doing my job. Love you, Lottie.”

Groaning, I say, “Love you, Kelsey.”

I hang up the phone just as Ellie pops out of the car and waves at me frantically.

She’s a little . . . much . . . for me, but she is incredibly nice. I do feel bad about deceiving her. Why couldn’t I just have been the fake fiancée? Why do I have to be fake pregnant too?

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” Ellie says as she comes up to me and gives me a huge hug. “Are you excited?”

“Uh, you know, this might be a little much for me,” I say honestly. “But I’m more than happy to help you.”

“Oh, are you uncomfortable?” she asks.

“Overwhelmed with everything.” There, not a lie. I really am overwhelmed, especially with Huxley.

“I can understand that completely.” She takes my hand. “But don’t worry, I’ve got you.” She charges us into the store and all the way to the back, where there’s a designated area of breast pumps. Fake breasts of all shapes and sizes and colors line the wall—good for them—and below them are these weird suction-cup things with bottles at the end.

Is that what’s supposed to go on the breast?

“I love this place so much,” Ellie says. “When my sister was pregnant, we went to the same store, but in Georgia—oh, you might know where it is, actually. Off Clive Street?”

Uhhh . . .

Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be from Georgia.

I tap my chin. “Sounds familiar.”

“It’s right next to Peaches Bakery.”

“Ohh, Peaches.” I nod as if I’ve been there a million times.

“Wouldn’t you just kill for one of their cupcakes right now? Which one was your favorite?”

Oh God.

My favorite.

Err . . .

Think of something unoriginal that every bakery would have.

“Chocolate,” I say with a nod.

Her face contorts in confusion. “Chocolate?”

Oh fuck, do they not have a chocolate option? What bakery doesn’t have chocolate as an option? That would be absolutely ludicrous.

“Well, you know—”

She nudges my shoulder with a laugh. “I was sure you were going to say their crumble-cake cupcake, as you just give me those vibes.”

Never in a million years would I have said crumble-cake cupcake.

I shrug playfully. “A chocolate girl here.”

“I’m a chocolate girl myself. Have you tried their pink velvet cupcake? I honestly don’t understand how it differs from vanilla.”

“I was just about to say that,” I say as I pick up a fake breast and examine it. God, it’s so lifelike. “What do they do, just splash some food coloring in it and call it a day?” I ask.

“Totally. But their peach pie . . .”

I wave my hand at her. “To die for.”

“Hello, ladies. Welcome,” a saleswoman says. “Do you need help with anything?”

Ellie spins around with a smile and says, “Looking at breast pumps. I’m Ellie, and this is my friend Lottie. She’s not ready to find a perfect fit, but I’m here to squeeze breasts and figure out what works for me.”

“Wonderful. I’m Ann, and I’m an expert when it comes to breast pumps. Now let me see your breasts.”

Uhh . . .

Ellie goes to lift her top—wow, just like that, no shame—but Ann says, “No, no. Just puff your chest so I can have a better look.”

Ellie laughs. “Oh, okay. I was ready to strip down for you.”

That was obvious.

And entirely unnecessary.

Ann reaches out and asks, “Do you mind if I touch?”

“Please do. It’s why I came here.” Talking to me, Ellie says, “They can fit you perfectly to your needs, and you can test them out on the wall of breasts to see how they would work.”

I glance at the wall of breasts. “Seems as if you have every size there,” I say awkwardly.

“We do,” Ann says as she fondles Ellie. This is weird, really freaking weird. “And you can adjust the flow too.”

“The . . . uh, the what now?”

“The flow,” Ellie says. “They produce actual liquid, so you can get the full experience.”

Who on earth comes up with a place like this? Floating breasts glued to walls with an actual “milk” flow. I’m confused . . . and uncomfortably intrigued.

“Like almost every woman I come across, there’s a sizeable difference between your right breast and left.” Ann lifts both of Ellie’s boobs.

“Yeah, guilty. The left just can’t seem to catch up.”

“No breasts are symmetrical, but some women have a large difference and you’re one of the lucky ones.”

Ellie looks at me. “What boob is bigger on your body?”

“Umm . . .” I grip my boobs. “I think my right?”

“If you’re right-handed, it probably is bigger,” Ann says. She then asks Ellie, “Can I ask nipple size?”

“Why don’t I just show you? It’ll be so much easier.” Before I can even excuse myself to give her some privacy, Ellie lifts her shirt and bra at the same time, flashing both me and Ann.

And there are her boobs, just like that.

Now what the hell am I supposed to do with this? Do I look, do I not look? Do I pretend to find something fascinating on the ground? Do I stare at the wall of breasts? Do I pray the floor swallows me whole?

I was not mentally prepared for this.

“Oh, wow, you have wonderful nipples,” Ann says, and from the corner of my eye, I see her get in close and pinch Ellie’s nipple between her fingers. “Very firm nipple. That will serve you well.”

“Oh, really? I’m so happy to hear that. Do you have firm nipples, Lottie?”

“Huh? What?” I ask, glancing over at Ellie, but keeping my eyes north. “Sorry—these . . . books,” I pick up a book from a table. “Fascinating. What did you say?”

“Firm nipples. Do you have them?”

Awkwardly, I smooth my hand over my breasts, attempting to feel them through my layers of clothing—because this, the topless party happening in front of me, is not something I’ll be joining. “Well, you know, I have small nipples.”

“Nipples or areolas?” Ann asks.

“Both.”

She nods. “I think I have the perfect breast pump for you, then. There’s only one that works great with small nipples. But for you, Ellie, we have some choices to make, because these nipples are just spectacular. Lottie, come here, feel this.”

I wave my hand at Ann. “Oh, you know, that’s really okay.” I laugh. “I can see from here.” I look at Ellie’s boobs. And yup—bare, everything bare. “Those for sure look firm.” I give her a thumbs up. “Good job growing.”

Ellie laughs. “Isn’t she fun? Come on, Lottie, just feel. You can feel what the baby will be sucking on. You know I don’t care at all.”

She might not care, but I do.

“It’s very educational,” Ann says. “You can mimic the sucking sensation.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m all about education, but I think I’m good with not sucking my friend’s nipple.”

Ann and Ellie both look at each other and then throw back their heads and laugh.

“Not with your mouth,” Ann says, grabbing my hand. “With your fingers.”

In a flash, my hand smacks right into Ellie’s left breast and her extremely hard nipple rubs against my fingers.

Thick, tight, just . . . a solid nip.

And I’m touching it.

I’m touching another woman’s nipple.

Fondling is more like it, as Ann makes me move my fingers all over it.

“Oo, that tickles,” Ellie says, and that’s it for me.

I yank my hand away and fold my arms across my chest. “You’ve got some baby suckers there,” I say, trying to mentally block this day already from memory.

Huxley is going to owe me big time.

“I’m so excited you think so.” Ellie lowers her shirt and bra. “So, what do you think, Ann? Can we milk some breasts?”

“You didn’t come here not to.” Ann pats me on the shoulder. “This is where the fun begins.”

“Lottie?” Huxley calls out. “Where are you?”

I don’t say anything.

I don’t even move.

Instead, I sit in the living room, on the most comfortable couch I’ve ever sat on, stiffly perched at the edge, hands in my lap, as I stare at the elaborate fireplace right in front of me.

There are no words for what my morning was like. No words at all.

After being squirted in the eye by a fake breast glued to a wall, I’ve done my fair share of adulting for today.

“There you are,” Huxley says, stopping in the living room doorway. “I just got a text from Dave. He told me Ellie won’t stop raving about this morning.” When I don’t look at him, I hear him shuffle across the floor to get in my line of sight. “Uh, everything okay?”

Lips pressed together, I shake my head. “Nope. Not even close.”

“What happened?”

“I touched her bare boob, Huxley. I touched Ellie’s bare boob.”

“What?” he asks as he takes a seat on the coffee table so he’s sitting across from me. His handsome face comes into view, but it does nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders. “What do you mean, you touched her boob?”

“And I got squirted in the face.”

“By her boob?” Huxley practically yells.

“No, by a boob on the wall.”

He sits taller. “You’re going to have to run through it for me, because I’m confused.”

“As am I.” I pat his knee. “As am I.” I let out a deep breath and say, “I don’t have it in me to recount what happened. Just know, if I ever proved how serious I’m taking this deal, today would be the day.”