Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(80)

I tried to take my mind off my own orgasm and concentrate on hers, stroking with my thumb in teasing circles. “Is this how you do this?” I asked. “When you’re by yourself?”

“Yeah, push a little harder. And I want your fingers inside me.”

Well, if there’s one good thing about abstinence, it’s that it does wonders for people’s masturbatory skills. Mary knew what she wanted as much as I did. And she continued to work my cock, tugging in rapid strokes as I swirled two fingers inside her, massaging the insides of her slick * with my fingertips. And she wasn’t kidding about wanting my fingers inside her. I could feel her clench tightly around them as she rode my slippery palm.

“I wish it was my cock inside you,” I whispered, “that was about to make you come.”

“Oh God,” she muttered. “Keep going. Just like that.”

Her hand moved faster in response to her own pleasure, and I could feel my orgasm building quickly. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come,” I said. Not that I wanted her to stop. That was actually the last thing I wanted. But I thought it was only polite to give a fair warning in case she wanted to grab a napkin or paper towel first.

Surprisingly, she sped up, circling her hand around my slick tip when she got to the top. “Ladies first,” I said, biting my lip as I tried to hold back my own release.

My fingertip found that spot inside that could make any woman come almost instantaneously, and I pressed hard against it as my thumb tapped against her clit. Within seconds, I had her convulsing around my hand, riding my fingers until I felt the last of her orgasm die down.

Her warm palm continued to move faster, and I thrust my hips in quick jerks until I knew I couldn’t last any longer. My hand clamped over Mary’s as semen came out in long hot spurts into her palm. I groaned with a release I hadn’t felt in months as she milked every last drop from me. I can’t give myself a handjob like that.

When Mary removed her hand from my pants, I gave her a paper towel to clean up. Who ever thought I’d like not having sex that much?

And as I fixed my clothes and accepted the cleaning products she handed me for my car, I couldn't help the smile that played on my lips as I thought how I'd definitely be calling Mary for a second date.





Chapter 31: Lily


It had been a few weeks since our own public version of Dinner for Schmucks—otherwise known as a night out with Adam and his friends—and neither one of us had brought it up since. Both of us seemed content to pretend that the uncomfortable horror show hadn’t even happened. And surprisingly, that feat came fairly easily. We’d gone on a few more dates with just the two of us and, as always, things had gone smoothly.

However, as much as I enjoyed having Adam all to myself—and Jesus, did I enjoy that—I couldn’t shake the feeling that it would have been nice to have some other couples to hang out with. I had seen his friends once or twice since then, but unfortunately the epic fail had been strikingly similar to The Butterfly Effect. And after a careful analysis of what could have gone wrong, I could only come up with one explanation: all of his friends were complete f*cking *s.

But despite the fact that I would rather suffer a slow death by hanging myself with the elastic of a stranger’s underwear than spend more time with Adam's friends, my gut told me they were the problem, not us. So I figured it was time to test this theory by arranging a night out with some of my friends. I saw it as my duty—a public service—to show Adam what normal people were like.

And for some reason I decided that normal was Amanda and Shane. When I invited Adam to come to Shane’s house on Friday night for a double date, I figured it would be the best of both worlds. Adam and I could spend time together while I enjoyed the comfort of familiar friends and surroundings. No strange questions. No one patronizing the waiter. Just the four of us relaxing and eating whatever health-conscious crap Shane decided to cook for us. Who couldn’t have fun with the two of them?

Work dragged on Friday because Mr. Murdock scheduled me to proctor the standardized test that the school had been giving. For three days in a row. One day was more than enough. Two days was nearly unbearable. And by day three, I considered writing a letter to the Department of Homeland Security that suggested they use this shit as a form of torture for suspected terrorists.

By the time 5:30 rolled around, I desperately needed a drink. Or maybe two. Luckily, Amanda took it upon herself to get me slightly liquored up while we got ready to go to Shane’s. She also agreed to drive us. It made the most sense since Amanda would most likely be sleeping at Shane’s anyway, and I could catch a ride home with Adam.

“Enjoy it,” Amanda said, gesturing up and down the length of my body with her hand.

“Enjoy what?” I’d become used to having to ask Amanda to explain things, but she had me completely baffled. What the hell is she talking about?

“The tights,” she said. “It’s your last year in them. You’re twenty-nine now. Once you hit thirty, you can’t wear ‘em anymore.”

“What? Why not? They’re comfortable, and as long as my ass is covered by a long sweater like this one,” I said, pulling my striped gray shirt down a little lower, “there’s nothing to worry about.”

Amanda’s expression remained incredulous. “Uh-huh. Hey, speaking of you turning twenty-nine, what did Mr. Wonderful get you? I never even asked. Wait let me guess,” Amanda said, squinting her eyes together as she plopped herself on the bed pretending to be deep in thought. “I know it’s gotta be good. An all-expense paid trip to some tropical island where everyone’s beautiful and the orange juice is made each morning from freshly squeezed fruit off the trees near your private villa?"