I stifle a giggle and a moan at the same time, which is damn hard to do. “It’s a kind of rifle the explorers carried. Named for the Dutch words ‘thunder gun.’ It had a heavy stock, short barrel, and wide-mouthed muzzle.”
“Mmm,” Dax says, brushing a kiss across my lips as he presses deeper into me. “Speaking of mouths, yours is delicious.”
My giggle turns into a moan as he tilts his pelvis just a little, hitting something really good. Pulses of pleasure dance through my core, and I know I’m getting close. There’s a delicious buzz building slowly in my body, and I struggle to form coherent thoughts. “Did you know Lewis and Clark had a sextant on their journey?”
“Is that like a threesome, or a special teepee for fucking?”
“Neither,” I gasp, recognizing the first tingle of orgasm building to a crescendo. The rest of my explanation comes out in a tangled rush. “It’s a special instrument used to make astronomical observationstocalculatedistances.”
All the words run together, and I’m pretty sure he has no idea what I just said. For that matter, neither do I. All I care about right now is that Dax keeps moving like that, hips thrusting to stir scrumptious friction at the place where we’re joined. I arch up against him, so close I hear my pulse fluttering in my ears.
“Want to hear a Lewis and Clark joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rumbly in my ear.
“Wha—what?” I think he said something about a joke, but for all I know he asked me to rub off my eyebrows with sandpaper. I’ll agree, as long as he keeps moving like this.
“A Lewis and Clark joke,” he repeats, his breath warm against my throat. “I learned it in grade school.”
“Yes!” I gasp and tighten my legs around Dax, wondering if he knows I’m right on the brink. That if he moves even a little, he’ll tip me right over the edge.
“What did Lewis and Clark say when they finally reached the Pacific Ocean?” he asks.
I’m so far gone I can’t form words, but I choke out something that sounds like “what?”
Or maybe “don’t stop fucking me,” I’m not sure. I bite my arm to keep from crying out as the first wave hits me.
“Long time, no sea.”
I burst out laughing, right as the orgasm grabs hold. The result is a dizzying combination of gasping and giggling and thrusting and breathless, giddy hysterics.
Holy mother of hell, who knew a laughing orgasm was a thing?
By the time I come down, I’m practically hyperventilating. Tears stream down my face and Dax reaches down to wipe one from my lashes. He grins down at me, a little breathless from his own release. “I knew that would come in handy someday.”
“Oh God,” I gasp, still struggling to catch my breath. “I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so hard in bed.”
“Most guys would take offense to that.”
But he isn’t most guys. In every way possible, in all the best ways, Dax Kensington is not most guys.
And somewhere deep down, I know it will kill me to say goodbye when The Test is done.
Later that week, my sisters come over for wine, gossip, and friendship salad.
“Please stop calling it that.” Cassie groans as she plunks down a limp-looking carrot, a head of broccoli, and something that looks suspiciously like a baggie of Cheetos. “Friendship salad makes it sound like we’re going to hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’ over a plate of arugula.”
“Well, we might if someone had thought to bring arugula,” Missy huffs as she eyes Cassie’s offerings with disdain before arranging herself on one of my leather barstools at the edge of my granite island. “Luckily, I brought kohlrabi, shredded beets, green onion, and a half- pound of Brussel sprouts that I slow-roasted with pancetta and Medjool dates to lend a sweet-smoky favor.”
“Lucky us,” Cassie mutters, though she’s smiling as she reaches over and steals a piece of pancetta out of Missy’s Tupperware container. Missy smacks her hand, and Cassie yelps with indignation.
“Sorry I’m late!” Sarah Keating bursts through the front door, her long caramel hair flying behind her and a phallic object in her hand. “Does anyone else feel self- conscious shopping for cucumbers? Like you’re standing there squeezing them and checking out the length and girth to make sure you get the best one, and you look over to see every creepy guy in the produce section is staring at you.”
Cassie snort-laughs, while Missy tries—and fails—to look appalled. “That has never in a million years crossed my mind,” Missy says. “But that’s a very nice-looking cucumber. English, right?”
“Beats me.” Sarah arranges herself on the barstool next to Cassie, while Missy reaches over to pour her a glass of Pinot Noir.
“Where’s Junie?” Cassie asks.
Sarah is a case manager at the group home where Junie lives, which is how we all know her. In the year-and-a-half since Cassie and Simon met, we’ve become quite tight.
