Full Package(50)

In her naked glory, she grabs a condom from the table and straddles me. I brush strands of pink hair from her face. “Your pink is fading,” I say, as I run a finger over her locks.

“I need to touch it up. I’ll do it tomorrow morning, since I’m not working. Takes me a little while since I have to focus on putting the color in so I don’t get it all over my neck,” she says as she opens the condom wrapper.

“Do you want me to help? I have steady hands.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course,” I say, wishing I could add the full truth. I’d do anything for you.

She drops a kiss to my lips then rolls the condom onto my dick. So much for the hair talk. All I care about now is this. She lowers herself onto me, and her wet, warm pussy hugs my cock. We groan in unison. Electricity rushes through me. Pleasure spreads to every damn molecule. I grip her hips. “Jesus, Josie.”

She rises up on my dick, then back down. “I know, right? It’s so good.” Her voice sounds as if it’s breaking.

I cup her cheeks as she rides me. “What am I going to do with you?”

She shakes her head, like she barely knows the answer either.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” I say, then crush her lips to mine.

I don’t know how to do this. Not when she owns me, not when she takes care of me, and not when she fucking wins my heart over and over.

I can’t stop feeling this way. I can’t stop falling. I’m so fucking in love with her, it hurts. I want to be the one who wants her, and be the one she wants, just like she asked for.

“One guy who wants me the way I want him.”

You have him, I want to say. He’s right fucking here.

She breaks our kiss as she rides me harder and wilder, and it’s spectacular watching her chase her pleasure. I drop my hand to her legs, rubbing her clit as she fucks me until she shudders and then breaks apart.

Her face falls next to mine, cheek to cheek, her mouth near my ear. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Hell if I know how, either.



Later, when we’re in bed, and I reassure her for the tenth time that her medicine worked and my ankle’s fine, she sets her hand on my shoulder. “Did you enjoy our date?”

That last word makes my breath catch. Her voice is nervous, like she truly hopes I’ll say yes.

“Loved it,” I say as I run my fingers through her hair.

“Even the kooky teacher and the class that totally wasn’t our style?”

I nod. “Even that.”

“It was perfect for us,” she says softly, snuggling closer.

Our. Date. Us.

That well of hope? It springs up again. This is the turning point. This is when she says she’s all in. This is us without a hitch.

She sighs and cuddles up against me. “I wish it could be like this.”

I tense. Because that doesn’t sound like all in. “Like what?” I ask carefully.

“Like tonight. Perfect. Even with your ankle.”

“But it can’t be?”

She looks up and meets my eyes. “I don’t want to lose you. You know that.”

I nod, afraid if I speak I’ll ruin what we have.

Or maybe she will, given her next words. “Chase,” she says slowly, her voice sad. “What happens when this ends?”

My chest aches. My heart stings. “What do you mean?” I choke out.

She waves in the direction of my wall, my room, and draws a deep breath like it fuels her. “Do you just go back to your bed? To your room?”

“I don’t know,” I say, each word like a stone in my mouth.

“I don’t want this to stop,” she says, and I want to grab her, hold her, tell her it doesn’t have to. “But it has to, right?”

Her voice wobbles, like she’s on the cusp of tears. For a second, hope tries to jostle its way past the pragmatic reality that friends who dally too far into benefits are doomed. Because it sounds like she doesn’t want this to end, either. Like she’s looking for the loophole, too.

But I’m not sure it exists.

In medicine, there are risks, there are side effects. You have to weigh them and decide if the treatment is worth the cure. Taking the leap with Josie, telling her I’m crazy in love with her, isn’t like popping some Advil for my ankle. It’s jacking up my whole body with steroids that could do serious damage down the line.

“Right?” she asks again, like she needs me to be the one to keep the ingredients separate.

I flash back to her worries and her words the first night we slept together.

“I need you to be the tough one. You need to be the doctor who rips off the Band-Aid eventually.”

I look into her eyes. She’s waiting for my answer. She needs me to be strong. Fuck. I don’t want to play that role with her.

But if we’re going to pull this off—the return to Friendshipland—I’ve got to.

I push past the lump in my throat. “Right.”

She sighs, and the sound is both wistful and horribly pained. “We’ll be like a cake that bakes too long. You’ve got to know when to take it out of the oven or it’ll burn.”

“I don’t want to burn,” I say.

But I fear I already have.