She was a grown-ass woman.
Of course she could do that.
Really.
Maybe.
Okay, this was going to be hell.
…
It took about ten minutes into the movie before Frankie realized he was the world’s biggest dumbass.
They’d sat down on the couch, Gussie collapsed in his doggie bed across the room, and he flipped on the first movie on Netflix that didn’t sound like complete crap and turned the lights out to better get the movie experience—that’s when things went south.
The choice of movie didn’t help. It was supposed to be a comedy. What he hadn’t realized was that it was a sex comedy about two friends who decided to add benefits to the mix. There was nothing like being alone in the dark watching two people decide whether or not they could fuck without making things complicated to pretty much guarantee that he wasn’t going to be able to stop imagining how a similar conversation would go with Lucy.
In his mind, it always ended the same—both of them naked—but the where and the what they were doing changed. Sometimes she was bent over the back of the couch, her ass high up in the air. Sometimes she was straddling him as he sat on the couch, his hands gripping her round hips. Sometimes she was on her back with her legs resting against his chest and her ankles on his shoulders as he pistoned his hips forward and back, going as deep as possible into her hot, wet warmth.
Fuck.
He’d lost his damn mind.
Leave your dick out of it, Hartigan. You are on a break!
At the other end of the love seat, Lucy let out a snort of disbelief. “This never works out.”
It took Frankie a second to realize she was talking about the action that was happening on the screen, not in his head. “What do you mean?”
She turned to face him. “Sex always changes everything.”
“That’s not true. I have had lots of no-strings-attached sex, and it never changed anything.” It was not having sex that impacted his relationships with women.
Oh sure, they remained friendly, but later when their clothes were on the women always treated him differently, as if he’d served his purpose.
The light from the television may have been the only light in the room, but reading Lucy’s no-shit expression didn’t take any effort.
“And that’s why you’re now in a no-orgasm zone,” she said.
Okay, he was trying to figure things out, he wasn’t punishing himself with a fate worse than getting stuck working a desk job downtown at the Waterbury Fire Department HQ. “I am not banished from orgasms.”
She chuckled. “As long as it’s…” She cleared her throat and gave him a teasing look. “Hands-on, huh?”
“Very funny.” He scooted a few inches closer, letting his arm fall across the back of the couch so that his fingertips almost brushed the curve of her shoulder. He shouldn’t have. He should have stayed where he was, but he was an idiot. A very turned-on idiot who had to shift to make sure he kept that information to himself. “There are a lot of activities in between holding hands and fucking.”
“Suppose it depends on what your definition of sex is.”
“It’s P in the V.” Okay not really, but he liked it when she got worked up. Her cheeks got all flushed, and she got a fiery spark in her eyes. Okay, and she always took in a deep breath before she let loose on him that lifted her tremendous tits so he was gifted with a spectacular view of her cleavage.
She rolled her eyes. “Could there be any more of a straight male definition of sex than that?”
No deep breath. Damn. He needed to work harder at it.
“Fine.” He leaned closer. “Sex equals penetration from a penis either to the vagina or the anus.”
There was a beat of silence—even the people on the movie stopped yammering about whether fucking a friend was a good idea or not—and then she took a deep breath. Her breasts strained against the cotton of her V-neck tank top.
Score!
“That is totally wrong,” she said, looking at him like he was the last firefighter to get on the truck. “A man’s dick might be fun, but it isn’t necessary for sex.”
Was he an immature asshole for arguing such a dumb position just to get a peek down her shirt? Yes. But he could live with that. What sucked was having to keep arguing such a dumb position so she wouldn’t see right through him.
She arched an eyebrow and gave him a you-are-so-full-of-shit look. “So, hand jobs don’t count as sex?”
“No.” And now the image of her fingers wrapped around his cock had him adjusting himself as discreetly as possible, because talk was all and good but they weren’t going to get naked. Did thoughts get any more depressing?