But me? I know how to get in and out of a woman’s arms. Sweet talk. Clean exits.
With Lot, though, I’m handing out keys and asking her to stay. Cat on my couch. Her toothbrush on my bathroom counter. Clothes spilling out of her overnight bag, exploding onto my dresser. Body butter all up in my sheets. In my nose. In my head.
Still… doesn’t mean I’m locking it down. She’s got her life in New York. I’ve got mine here.
“Me and Lot,” I say, “we’re just back doin’ our thing with a little extra somethin’.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“If you need a label, sure.”
“Sounds like a recipe for building feelings,” he warns.
“Feelings have always been there. But we know what’s up.”
“And what’s that exactly?”
“Can’t define it.” I shrug. “But nothing heavy.”
C studies me in that slow, contemplative way of his, like he’s turning it over in his head. “Why don’t you two come for dinner on Sunday? Soph’s in Chicago. We’ll do a couples’ thing.”
“We’re not a couple.”
“So pull up asfriends with benefits.”
“I’ll check with Lot.”
“Aight. Let me know what the missus says.”
“Bro, you need to quit.”
He laughs and claps my back. “Bring the grail.”
Once I finish setting up and C’s gone, I show Benny how to make the new drink I created for tonight.Sass in a Glass. Yeah, okay, Lot inspired it.
I mix blood orange gin for the bite, passion fruit liqueur for that touch of sweetness, fresh lime for zing, and a dash of chili bitters to match her fire. Shake and pour in a champagne glass. Finish with a splash of Prosecco for sparkle and garnish it with a blood orange slice and a dark cherry.
“Name fits.” Benny nods after tasting it. “Smacks you in the face, then kisses you sweetly.”
That’s Lot to a T. When he’s replicated the recipe to my satisfaction, I head home to shower and change.
The sky’s turned indigo velvet by the time I pull in. The porch light glows. Inside, the house is warm. The bedroom’s pure chaos.There are clothes everywhere, Lot in the middle like the eye of a fashion storm.
Queenie’s weaving between her ankles as Lot adjusts her short black skirt, its teasing swing enough to fuck with a man’s head. Her long-sleeve sheer top clings to her like a second skin, baring her midriff, a black bra visible underneath. Her locs are down, but my attention shifts to her thigh-high stockings.
The look is edgy, sexy, and chic.
“Damn, Web,” I exhale. “You got anything under that skirt?”
She grins, the corner of her lip tipping up, making it a half smirk. “You’ll have to find out.”
Challenge accepted. I cross the room and tug her toward me. She stumbles over Queenie and lands right in my arms, letting out a startled gasp, and I swallow it. Kissing Lot is like diving into a whirlpool—all silk heat and wild current.
My hands slide under her skirt, finding thick, soft, and completely bare cheeks.
“Fuck, Lot,” I growl, squeezing two handfuls. “You really taking your gorgeous ass to Docks like this?”
“Mm-hmm.” She moans and cups my dick through my jeans. “Go commando and we’ll be even. I’ll rub against this piece all night. Did I mention dancing makes me horny?”
