Muffin Top (Page 27)

In his mind, it always ended the same—both of them naked—but the where and the what they were doing changed. Sometimes she was bent over the back of the couch, her ass high up in the air. Sometimes she was straddling him as he sat on the couch, his hands gripping her round hips. Sometimes she was on her back with her legs resting against his chest and her ankles on his shoulders as he pistoned his hips forward and back, going as deep as possible into her hot, wet warmth.

Fuck.

He’d lost his damn mind.

Leave your dick out of it, Hartigan. You are on a break!

At the other end of the love seat, Lucy let out a snort of disbelief. “This never works out.”

It took Frankie a second to realize she was talking about the action that was happening on the screen, not in his head. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face him. “Sex always changes everything.”

“That’s not true. I have had lots of no-strings-attached sex, and it never changed anything.” It was not having sex that impacted his relationships with women.

Oh sure, they remained friendly, but later when their clothes were on the women always treated him differently, as if he’d served his purpose.

The light from the television may have been the only light in the room, but reading Lucy’s no-shit expression didn’t take any effort.

“And that’s why you’re now in a no-orgasm zone,” she said.

Okay, he was trying to figure things out, he wasn’t punishing himself with a fate worse than getting stuck working a desk job downtown at the Waterbury Fire Department HQ. “I am not banished from orgasms.”

She chuckled. “As long as it’s…” She cleared her throat and gave him a teasing look. “Hands-on, huh?”

“Very funny.” He scooted a few inches closer, letting his arm fall across the back of the couch so that his fingertips almost brushed the curve of her shoulder. He shouldn’t have. He should have stayed where he was, but he was an idiot. A very turned-on idiot who had to shift to make sure he kept that information to himself. “There are a lot of activities in between holding hands and fucking.”

“Suppose it depends on what your definition of sex is.”

“It’s P in the V.” Okay not really, but he liked it when she got worked up. Her cheeks got all flushed, and she got a fiery spark in her eyes. Okay, and she always took in a deep breath before she let loose on him that lifted her tremendous tits so he was gifted with a spectacular view of her cleavage.

She rolled her eyes. “Could there be any more of a straight male definition of sex than that?”

No deep breath. Damn. He needed to work harder at it.

“Fine.” He leaned closer. “Sex equals penetration from a penis either to the vagina or the anus.”

There was a beat of silence—even the people on the movie stopped yammering about whether fucking a friend was a good idea or not—and then she took a deep breath. Her breasts strained against the cotton of her V-neck tank top.

Score!

“That is totally wrong,” she said, looking at him like he was the last firefighter to get on the truck. “A man’s dick might be fun, but it isn’t necessary for sex.”

Was he an immature asshole for arguing such a dumb position just to get a peek down her shirt? Yes. But he could live with that. What sucked was having to keep arguing such a dumb position so she wouldn’t see right through him.

She arched an eyebrow and gave him a you-are-so-full-of-shit look. “So, hand jobs don’t count as sex?”

“No.” And now the image of her fingers wrapped around his cock had him adjusting himself as discreetly as possible, because talk was all and good but they weren’t going to get naked. Did thoughts get any more depressing?

“And oral?” she asked, shifting her position and causing her skirt to raise a few inches on her thighs. The space where her creamy flesh pressed together drew his gaze, hypnotizing him.

It took everything he had not to close his eyes and revel in the mental picture of diving between her legs. “No.”

She cocked her head to one side and considered him. He wasn’t going to like what was going to come out of her mouth next. Correction. He was going to like it. A lot. And he shouldn’t. Not at all.

“And sliding your cock up and down a wet slit,” she said as she leaned closer, the move brushing her bare shoulder against his fingertips and shooting a bolt of electricity straight to his balls. “Does that count as sex as long as there’s no penetration?”

Sweet fucking mercy.

He was going to die—right here, right now—with pre-come on the tip of his raging hard-on.

“No.” The word came out rough and desperate, sort of like how he felt at the moment.

Yep. He was going to die and then go straight to hell for uttering such idiotic lies. Some might say he was going to H. E. double hockey sticks because of the dirty thoughts he was having about what exactly he wanted to do to and with Lucy, but he had a feeling God would forgive him. Frankie was only human, after all, and she could tempt a saint, which he very definitely was not. He was just an asshole who decided to go on a sex break to prove something—he couldn’t remember at the moment what—to himself and get his big head straight.

“And what,” she asked, pausing long enough to tug her plump bottom lip between her teeth, “is it that the lesbians of the world are having without a man’s dick?”

Yep. He was going to hell for lying. “Oral.”

“Oh my God,” she said with an astonished laugh, pressing her hand against his chest and shoving. He, of course, didn’t go anywhere, and she didn’t drop her hand. “For a man who’s seen more vagina than some gynecologists, your ignorance is astounding.”

“Careful, you might dent my ego.” Not possible, since it was made out of titanium, but his zipper was definitely in trouble.

“Your definition of sex is asinine.”

“Why?” He agreed, but the way Lucy’s brain worked was a total turn-on, and he liked getting a peek at that almost as much as checking out her tits.

This was a new one for him. He didn’t usually spend this much time talking to the women he spent time with, and their discussions didn’t have a lot to do with their definition of sex so much as the demand for what to do sexually.

The thing was, he was having fun, even with the zipper biting into his hard dick.

Lucy dropped her hand from his chest to his thigh as they sat there facing each other on the love seat in her dad’s darkened living room while the movie played on, forgotten on the big-screen TV. Moving away from her was the last thing he wanted to do, but he shifted farther back anyway as the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable because she’d accidentally touched his junk.

Every nerve was attuned to Lucy as she seemed to think out her response. The way she fiddled with her hair with her free hand. The way she wet her bottom lip with her tongue. The way her breathing hitched and her pulse picked up at the base of her throat each time her gaze moved from his face to her hand on his thigh and back again.

“Because all of those things mean making yourself vulnerable to another human being, and that’s the importance of sex,” she said, her voice soft but confident. “The orgasms are great, but what makes sex amazing is the personal connection.”

It wasn’t that she lost him with that argument so much it seemed old-fashioned for her to say.