Dash gave her an amused look, and she felt a kind of cautious hope that made her nervous. Because she knew she couldn’t expect more than what Dash was able to give, but she would take what he had for now.
When they got to Dash’s house, he quickly led Sophie to his room, and she was surprised by how much…stuff was there. Dash’s neatly made bed was against a wall accented with a muted brown, yellow, and red patterned wallpaper—which reminded her of an early film he’d made with Wes Anderson—and on the opposite side was a long dresser, topped with dozens of ceramic dishes and vases. Above those were framed movie posters of Dash’s films, and on the floor were piles of DVD screeners. Even the ceiling had something going on—gorgeous dark-wood exposed beams in neat rows.
She picked up a ceramic tray from the dresser and turned it over in her hand. “This is cute. Where’d you get it?”
“I made it,” he said.
She blinked at him, still holding the tray. Then she brought it closer and examined every side. “I know you said you crafted, but these are… I mean, you could sell these, like, in stores.” She carefully placed the tray back on the table. “Poppy could even sell these at the spa—you’d both make a fortune.”
“I couldn’t ask her to do that.” He placed his palm against the wall, and Sophie’s eyes followed the line of his arm.
She didn’t know how to do this with him—how to be in a room and not be next to him. The oval window was open, and a warm breeze came through that made the place smell like fir and wet earth. She moved toward him as she said, “You wouldn’t have to ask her. If she knew you were this talented, she’d beg to sell them.”
When she stood a few inches from him, he ran a hand up her arm and a trail of goose bumps erupted at his touch. He eyed them, then her. “We don’t have to do anything. I just want you to know that.”
“I know we don’t have to.” Sophie stepped toward him, so they were eye to eye. If she’d learned something from the past two weeks it was that she’d spent most of her relationships trying to be what the other person wanted. But she was done hiding who she was. Sophie wouldn’t try to be perfect for Dash. She was going to speak her mind, because she knew Dash could handle it. “All I want is to get you naked, lie you down on that bed, and trace the lines of your tattoos with body oil.” She licked her lips at the thought of it, then said, “Does that sound good?”
A flush crossed Dash’s cheeks, and she was so surprised to see him caught off guard that she let out a chuckle.
“Whatever you want,” he eventually replied.
They weren’t one and done, and maybe they didn’t need a label. Their whole thing could just be to go with the flow and have fun. In fact, because they were friends with no added relationship pressures, she started to think she was more comfortable around Dash than she’d ever been with anyone else.
Dash took a step back to peel his shirt off and over his head. Sophie exhaled sharply as she eyed his beautifully inked torso, with lines that dipped into the top of his pants. He was a work of art.
“Usually, I leave the room while my clients undress, but I’ll stay, just in case you need assistance.” She had never been much into role play, but something about being in the room with Dash—an actor—made her feel like she could try.
And her words did seem to do the trick, as his mouth quirked up and he tugged at his belt buckle. “Might need a professional’s hand here.”
She stepped close and slowly released the belt from the buckle, then pulled it out and away from him. She tossed the belt over her shoulder and watched as Dash unbuttoned his jeans and took the zipper down. As he pushed his pants off, his boxers came, too, and she saw the hard length of him.
Sophie had seen a few dicks in her time, but this was…a cock. Hard and thick, and bouncing from the attention. She brought a hand to her lips to cover her gasp of delight.
“Show-off,” she said.
“Once a performer, always a performer.” He made a cutesy shrug.
She removed her hand from her mouth and finally locked eyes with him. They both shared an easy smile. Dash’s chest rose and fell as he stared back. She sensed they were both ready, so she cleared her throat.
“Lie down, please.” She gestured toward the bed.
He turned to do just that, and her eyes went wide at the sight of his bare ass; two firm and round apples perfectly placed on top of his legs. Sweet sassy-assy, what was she supposed to do, ignore the ripe fruit? If she was Eve, she’d be making pies already.
Dash lay across the bed, and Sophie stood at the edge. “Close your eyes and try to relax.” And so he did. She took a moment to admire the whole of him—his set and square jaw, firm chest, subtle abs, the coarse hairs under his belly button, the indents at his hip bones, the beautiful tats that swirled across his arms, on his lower stomach and upper thighs. For the time being, he was her someone, and she wasn’t going to waste a moment.
She turned to the bedside table, saw the oil he’d bought in Ojai, and grabbed the bottle. She warmed the oil between her hands and brought them to Dash’s nose. He took a deep inhale. “That’s a lemon oil we like to use here at the spa. It should awaken your senses.”
“I definitely feel awake.”
She bit her lip at just how awake certain parts of him were. She started by rubbing smooth firm circles across his chest, then worked her way to his nipples, where he peaked under her touch.
Then she slowly slid her slick hands down and stopped at the tattoo below his belly button—the words You Chose in a cursive font. She traced each letter with the tip of her finger, and he tensed against her touch.
“You chose?” she asked.
He lifted his head and looked down at himself. “Something I got to remember that I’m in charge of my own destiny. I chose to change, but I can choose to drink again, too. I work every day to make the right choice.”
She traced the words once more, which were now infused with new meaning. She dragged her fingers through the coarse hairs just above his hardness, and his body twitched beneath her.
“Firmer,” he commanded.
He wanted firm? Oh, she’d show him firm. She reapplied oil and took him at the base and brought her grip all the way up the thick length of him. A moan escaped his lips as she slowly brought her hand down, then back up once more.
He stiffened, and the vein at the underside of him throbbed along her hand. As she slicked down, then back up, she began to pulse with longing, too. What would it be like to have him at her entrance, waiting to plunge in?
“How’s the pressure?” she asked.
“Better.”
Not satisfied with that answer, she cupped his balls with her free hand and gave them a gentle tug. He hissed.
“Much better.”
She smirked.
“Good.” She twisted her grip as she reached the top of him and elicited another low moan. She had to know what he tasted like.
So she bent down and put the tip of him into her mouth. He was both salty and sweet, and her mouth tightened as she flicked the sensitive seam of him with her tongue.
“I’m going to…” he started, but then his whole body tensed beneath her. She lifted her mouth and began to pump her hand steadily around him.