The black cotton sails across the room, giving me an unobstructed view of rippling muscles beneath golden skin.
“I’ll need to see more,” I say, mesmerized by the sway of his hips.
He nudges my knees apart, stepping between them to lower his zipper and discard the remainder of his clothes in a slow tease. His cock points at me, and my nipples point back. As the music wraps us in a sensual cocoon, as he not only strips himself, he undresses me too.
“Not only will you get stripteases”—he leans down and scoops me into his arms—“you’ll get treats.”
“I do love treats,” I say as he stalks toward the kitchen, depositing me on the cool granite island.
“I do too. Especially when they’re eaten off of a beautiful woman.” He opens the fridge and withdraws a tall can of Reddi-wip. Extra creamy. The kind Austin never buys because he creates his own dessert topping from scratch. Also, extra creamy. In the roommate wars, I’d have to give the point to Logan, because Austin never preferred to eat his off of me.
Logan: 1
Austin: 0
Okay, maybe half a point for Austin’s homemade cream because it’s so delicious. Once, I ate the whole bowl.
Logan: 1
Austin: 1/2
“I’ve wanted to taste your tits all night.” Logan squirts a mound of whipped cream on my breast and sucks it into his mouth, grazing my nipple with his teeth. I grip the counter’s edge. Playing with food is a new sexual experience, and it’s definitely upping the chances of me accepting his roommate offer.
“Mm,” he murmurs as he applies the same decadent attention to my other breast.
“That feels so good,” I pant out.
“We’d have dessert nights,” he tempts. “I’d make a sundae on your pussy.” He squirts a fresh trail across my collarbone, lapping it up with his tongue, sucking a path up my neck and nipping my lobe. “Then I’ll fuck you in the shower.”
I moan as he slips his hand between my legs, exploring my seam. “That’s a damn good sales pitch.”
“You’re so wet,” he marvels, peering down at his fingers pumping inside me.
Finally, he kisses me, and I wrap my palm around his hardness, stroking. When his skilled hand has me edging toward an orgasm, he lifts me and stalks toward the bathroom, straight into the shower.
Our hungry kiss continues as he twists on the water, and a steamy spray fills the tiled enclosure. Logan wins another point when he sinks to his knees and glides his tongue inside me, gripping my ass to bring me closer to his face. Although, if I’m being fair, Austin has this cool shower bench that makes it really easy for me to sit and shave my legs. If not for that, the leg now over Logan’s shoulder as he devours me might not be as smooth. But I’d say Logan wins again when he rises and spins me around, reaching around the shower curtain to pluck a condom from a drawer before entering me from behind.
“Oh God,” I cry out as my hands slap against the tiled wall, bracing myself for his deep strokes.
Logan: 2
Austin: 1 (I really enjoy that shower bench, so another half point.)
“Damn, Chloe,” he says. “I could come just watching you. No one has ever made me think about that.”
I deduct half a point from Logan’s total because now I’m thinking about how many people Logan’s had sex with in this shower. I’m sure he’s had his fair share, given the amount of females hanging around the band at their gigs.
Those thoughts swirl out of my head and down the drain when he slams into me and adds a twist of his hips, sending tingles all the way to my fingertips. My orgasm hits me so hard, my knees buckle.
Logan grunts and pumps faster, until he releases on a sexy moan. Shower sex is a definite plus, in the perk department. So is watching him wash himself after the deed. And watching him watch me as I dry my hair.
Once we’re in bed, Logan traces circles on my shoulder. “How’s Mae’d doing?”
Great sex and pillow talk? Unf. I fill him in on my business and how it’s booming with website orders and tell him about my new project with Something Borrowed.
“You’ll be taking over the pottery world soon,” he says in a drowsy voice. “My back deck would be a perfect place for your pottery wheel.”
We briefly talk about me possibly moving in, but avoid talking about whether I’d be moving in as a “roomie” or a “girlfriend.” Oddly, I’m okay that we haven’t said that word. It’s nice to have no labels. My heavy eyelids can barely stay open when he mentions it would be awesome to have someone there to water his plants when he’s on tours.
Hm. I’m a little fussed that it might be the former, but too tired to analyze it.
In the past, I probably would’ve found a reason I should agree and then made excuses why I agreed. But, I realize, I don’t know if I want to water his plants. And that’s okay.
So I say I’d rather not decide yet, and I’m going to see if Austin will sign a month-to-month lease while we figure out our Next Steps In Life.
Winner: Chloe
Two
Messy breakups are more likely to cause depression than other tragic moments in your life. Believe it or not, even more so than death. It worries me. I needed help, and the internet never fails to provide. So as Logan made pancakes this morning, I searched the web for tips on the best ways to help Austin through his split with Lucy, because this isn’t an ordinary breakup like the ones I’ve experienced.
I mean, he’s been part of a “we” for over a year. Now, he’s just an “I,” and that’s a tremendous change. According to the internet gurus, it’s possible he could even suffer an identity crisis, so it’s best I am prepared for anything and everything.
You’d think since I’ve had more than my fair share of breakups that it would be smooth sailing for me to navigate Austin through the tumultuous sea of heartbreak. But that’s not the case. Unlike my failed relationships, Austin and Lucy were pretty darn serious, so I can’t relate to the depth of what he’s probably feeling now that they are over. Even if what he’s experiencing is foreign to me, I can still support him with all the expert knowledge I gained this morning.
I even made an anonymous post on FriendsOfFriends and the consensus is that I need to ease his burden by distracting him from thinking about it and also that I am still in love with him. Which I am not.
I closured.
My plan involves just being there for him with no judgments. That’s what he did for me, and I’m going to return the favor and be the best friend I can be for as long as he needs me. It’s important for me to approach things with compassion and no matter what he tells me, be careful with my words because what if they get back together?
When I arrive home and walk in the door, Austin is unleashing his emotions on the hardwood floor, Swiffering at a rapid pace across the living room. The music notes on his arms dance as his biceps flex from the amount of muscle he’s putting into it. Other than that, he looks normal. You’d never guess he’s experiencing emotional trauma. He’s not moping nor schlubbing around in wrinkled pajamas, like I tend to do when I’m upset with life. He’s dressed in worn jeans and a black T-shirt, hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the open blinds on the windows.