Page 36 of Forked (Frenched 2)
confuse things by saying—or hearing—anything too serious.”
He picked up his head. “Jesus, Coco. I was just gonna say that my dick is so fucking happy right now. That too serious for you?”
My mouth hung open, and my face burned even hotter. I just made a total fool of myself.
Nick burst out laughing as he slid out of me and zipped up his pants. “Let me get you a towel, OK? Hold on.” Chuckling, he opened a drawer, pulled out a hand towel, and wet it at the sink.
Pulling the lace strap onto my shoulder, I straightened up and turned around, hoping that my facial hue was at least one shade paler than Russian Red. Nick went down on one knee in front of me, running the towel up the inside of one leg.
“No, I can do that.” I took the towel from him. “Please. Just let me.”
“Are you sure?” He looked up. “I don’t mi
nd.”
“I’m sure. And I’m…” I sighed, squeezing my
eyes shut for a second. “Really sorry for lecturing you just now. I thought you were—never mind.” Shaking my head, I quickly swiped the towel up my other leg, scooped up my pajama bottoms, and headed for the downstairs bath. “Be right back.”
Inside the bathroom, I used the towel to clean up, shaking my head. How dumb was I? And how conceited? Thinking that a few random fucks meant that he was in love with me again. He wasn’t in love— he was just having a good time, like he always did. And honestly, I was too. It had been so long since I’d had sex, especially good and rough like that. Nick and I’d had plenty sex when we were together, but I knew myself and my body much better now. I had sexual preferences I’d never have been able to voice back then, either because I didn’t know them or was too self-conscious to do it.
My body shivered involuntarily as I recalled Nick’s reaction to my request. It was fucking perfect. You couldn’t tell just any guy you liked rough sex—I’d tried it a few times. One guy thought it was a free pass to be selfish, and I ended up feeling like a piece of gym equipment—overworked and dripping with someone else’s sweat. Another guy, one with Mommy Issues, didn’t get what I meant at all. “Like, you want me to hit you? I don’t think I can do that. I’ve got some childhood trauma.” And then there was the one who ran to his closet and came back with a leash and collar and asked if he could take me for a walk around the house on all fours before he fucked me. And would I mind barking?
Um…no. No judgies, but no thanks.
After rinsing out the towel, I pulled my bottoms back on, washed my hands, and opened the door in time to hear the oven’s buzzer going off. The heavenly scent of chocolate cake hung in the air— chocolate cake and sex.
Not a bad combination on a Friday night.
“Are they done?” I asked as I reached the kitchen. Earlier I’d seen a stacked washer and dryer in the pantry, so I ducked in there and set the towel on the washing machine.
“I think so.” Nick set the pans on the counter. “Now we let them cool, and then frost them. Up for some Scrabble while we wait?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Nick poured us some more scotch, retrieved Scrabble from the top of his coat closet, and turned the cakes out onto cooling racks before sitting down next to me at the island.
I opened the box. “Now, no cheating, Lupo. I’ve got my eye on you.”
“I’d like your ass on me. Want to sit on my lap?”
“Tempting, but no. You stay in your chair, I’ll stay in mine.”
We played one game, drank too much scotch, and laughed so much my sides hurt. At one point,
Nick tried to use panky and I told him it wasn’t a word.
“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I can use it in a sentence. ‘The panky in the kitchen tonight was delightful.’”
“Still not a word.”
“Did you know what I meant?”
“Yes, but—“
“It has a definition, so it’s a word!” He pulled me off my chair and onto his lap. “Or perhaps you need a demonstration of the word.” He slid his hand down the front of my shorts.
“Nick, come on. Again already? I thought you had to frost the cake.” But his fingers were already working their magic, making my knees open wider and my spine go slack against his chest.
