Friction(72)

Sliding his hand from the juncture of my thighs, he replaces his fingers with his tongue, sucking and teasing until my moans become music around us. When I feel cold, smooth metal rubbing against my clit, I cast hooded eyes down to watch him as he rubs a small bullet along my flesh.

I nearly come undone when he draws away, touching the stainless steel to the tip of his tongue. It’s smaller than most of the toys I’ve seen in the shop, a work of art with intricate petals at the base. When I realize exactly what it is he’s holding, my lips part. “Jace,” I pant, “Is that…”

He reaches behind me, giving my ass a harsh squeeze to confirm. My legs shake as my heart collides with my ribcage. “I want everything from you, Lucy. Every taste. Every hole. Everything.”

I want everything from him too.

Every taste. Every emotion. Every truth.

So, I nod my head. Bow my body against him. And I give and take.



Although he tells me not to leave, I still slink out of Jace’s house at close to four the next morning so that I can go home to get dressed for work. I'm relieved that my mother is still in bed because my hair is crazy and I still have that flushed look that only comes from the kind of night I had shared with Jace. After I shower and make myself presentable, though, she’s already up and fussing around the kitchen.

I hum along to the sound of Gaga and Tony from the counter CD player, and she looks up from her newspaper. “You’re in a good mood.” She turns her mug to her lips, her stare sharp and knowing as she lowers it to the placemat.

“The event we went to went really well. Jace’s client was very … pleased.”

She makes a face. It’s obvious she wants to ask more, after all, this is my mother, but she only moves her head in a slight nod. “I'm happy to hear that.” She supports her chin in her hands. “I was thinking, maybe we can reschedule that dinner with my friend. Maybe this weekend? Maybe you can even invite your boss.”

I glance over my shoulder at her while I pour my own cup of coffee. I’m not sure how Jace will respond to an invitation to have dinner with my mom, especially since we’re still casual—even if last night felt like anything but—yet it’s worth a try. “I'd like that.”

She beams, and from her content expression, I can tell she really enjoys this man. It makes me happy. Hell, it would make my dad happy. “I think this is great, Mom,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “That you found someone who makes you … smile again. I haven’t seen you this way in a long time, but I don’t want it to stop.”

I don’t want anything in my new life to stop.

“I don’t want that to happen either,” she says softly.



I'm still in a good mood when I step into the office, and I have every intention of finding Jace and letting him know just how sore my body is this morning, but Daisy motions for me to stop when I reach for the workshop door.

She's on the phone, wearing a pained expression, but she covers the receiver and firmly tells me, “Don’t go back there, Sunshine.”

Waiting in the chairs by her desk, I frown, listening to her repeatedly apologize to whomever she is speaking to. The second she hangs up the phone rings again, but she rakes her fingers through her platinum hair and ignores it. “It’s ringing off the fucking hook,” she mutters.

“New orders?” I ask sympathetically, and my heart freezes when her face falls.

“Jace hasn’t”—she takes a breath and drags her hand over her face—“he hasn’t called you yet to tell you what’s going on?”

“No…” A heavy weight plummets to the pit of my stomach, and the pressure claws up, stopping at my heart. “Daisy is everything okay?”

She reels in another deep breath and squeezes her eyelids shut. “Oh, Sunshine…” she sighs. “We’re so fucked right now.”

That pain in my chest intensifies, so I stand. I fidget with the strap of my purse, waiting for an explanation. Waiting for her to tell me she’s upset over something that easily fixable—like making the wrong size table or shipping a box of toys with five or six products missing.

“You're really freaking me out,” I say, my voice rising with each word. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Your Snapchat,” she says simply, and when I stare at her blankly, her jaw goes slack. “The story you put up on there last night? We’ve been reporting it all morning, but it’s still there. Someone took a photo of your pic. It’s all over the place this morning. Jace’s clients are freaking the fuck out.”

Since there was only one picture I shared last night, a chill slices through me. “No.” There’s a tremor in my voice, and I shake my head. “I mean, yes. I sent a private snap to my best friend, but she would never do that to me. She would never…” I drag in a deep, gasping breath as I nearly rip my purse open, digging around for my phone.

As I fumble through the apps on my phone, Daisy offers me a look of sympathy mixed with a double shot of pity. “I'm sure she wouldn't, but you didn’t make it private. Jace might not have gotten it because he hates social media, but I saw it. And someone who follows you is a shithead who might’ve ruined us.”

My throat feels like it’s closing so tightly I can no longer breathe as I confirm what she’s just told me when I open the app to find the photo from B’s party—the one I thought I sent secretly to Jamie—in my public posts. I release a sound that doesn’t even sound human as I jab at the screen, desperately trying to erase my mistake. Tossing my phone on her desk, I sink into the chair and drop my head between my knees. “How bad is it? How … where has the photo been shared?”