Love Song(52)

“Can I have some of that?”

Blake curls up in the chair beside me, holding out an empty glass. I eye it for a second before shrugging. Whatever. I can’t keep policing her. Besides, from what I’ve seen so far, she barely drinks, and when she does, she knows her limits. I slosh some amber liquid into her glass, then sip mine.

A comfortable silence settles between us. We drink our whiskey, staring at the water. Our floating swim dock is barely moving, that’s how still the lake is tonight.

“What were you thinking about when you were jerking off?”

I almost choke on my drink.

Shit. Here I was, mentally patting her on the back for handling her alcohol so well. Turns out you give Blake Logan one whiskey and she’s asking about my jerk-off fantasies.

“Yeah…” I keep my gaze straight ahead. “Not telling you that.”

“Come on, tell me. What were you thinking about?”

You. On your knees. Sucking me dry.

I take another gulp of whiskey. “Nope,” I say firmly.

“Do you remember when you were annoying me in the kitchen?”

“Which time?”

“Any time I’m cooking. But I’m talking about the night you called me bossy.”

I don’t remember at all, but clearly it was memorable enough for her to bring it up again. When she continues, I realize why it flagged in her memory.

“You said you liked bossy girls as long as it was out of bed.” Blake polishes off her drink and reaches for the bottle, but I lean in and grab it before she can.

“No. You’re cut off.”

“One more,” she protests.

“Half a shot.”

I pour a scant amount of whiskey into her glass. She glares at me but accepts the compromise. As she sips, I feel her gaze boring into the side of my face.

“So you’re the bossy one in bed?” she prompts. “You like taking charge?”

I groan, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Why not?”

“Blake…” Her name leaves my mouth, but I don’t know if it’s a warning or a plea.

“What? It’s not like I’m asking for a demonstration. Why can’t we talk about this?”

“Because you and I…” I gesture between us. “We’re friends. I’m not about to ruin that by telling you things I shouldn’t.”

“Friends talk about sex. Come on. Bossy how? Bossy like handcuffs and safe words?”

My groin throbs at the images her words just conjured.

Blake handcuffed to my bed. Begging for my dick.

I exhale slowly, already regretting what I’m about to say next. “I don’t know. Bossy like intense. I’m not laid-back, not when it comes to sex. I like it when the woman I’m with gives me everything.”

“What do you mean everything? Like anal?”

I burst out laughing. Jesus Christ.

“No,” I say between chuckles. “I mean, sure, if she wants it, I’m happy to accommodate. But I mean everything as in not just physically.” My voice becomes gruff as a strange sensation moves through my chest. “I want…trust. Vulnerability. I want her to look me in the eye, to be right there with me. No walls. I want every thought, every look, every breath focused on me and what I’m making her feel.”

I notice Blake’s hand trembling as she picks up her glass and gulps down some whiskey. “Oh. That does sound intense.”

“Yeah.” I lick my lips. Her eyes stay on me, pinning me in place. “I don’t want half of someone. I want all of them. Mind, body, all of it. That’s what gets me hard.”

Jesus, I sound like a dick. I’ve never articulated any of this before, but now that I hear it, it triggers a pang of shame, this notion of asking someone to give me everything and then bailing afterward. I reciprocate in the moment, though. I do. I never ask for anything I’m not willing to give in return.

I just…don’t stay.

I notice that Blake’s cheeks are flushed, either from the whiskey or my words. Hopefully the former. I don’t want to turn her on. Well, I do, but I also don’t. God. This girl does my fucking head in.

“That’s not bossy,” she says, and her voice isn’t too steady. “That’s just honest.”

My fingers tighten around my glass. “Yeah. I guess that’s what I want. Honesty. I want someone who will let me see all of them.”

“That’s…not a bad thing.”

I don’t miss the way her tits rise as she sucks in a breath. The whiskey has loosened my tongue, and I can’t stop the next words from tumbling out.

“You’d hate it,” I say roughly. “You’d hate me like that. It’s too much.”

I can’t look away from her, not when she’s watching me with those big blue eyes. Even when I know I’m showing more of myself than I want.

“You’d hate how much I’d want from you. How much I’d take.”

Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “What makes you think I’d hate that?”

I hear my pulse thundering in my ears. I need to pull out of this tailspin. Now. This is not friendship etiquette.

“It’s getting late,” I say, scraping back my chair. “I wanted to turn in early tonight, try to get some real sleep. Night, freckles.”