“Sounds good. It’s been a long day.” We made our way down to the little dirt trail along Blue Sky Lake that led to my house. The sun was still out, as it was the middle of June and it stayed light fairly late now.
“Well, don’t get too tired. We’ve been so busy this week, you haven’t given me any new tips outside of telling me to be confident,” she said, glancing over at me and rolling her eyes. “So tonight, I want to get down and dirty.”
And there goes my dick.
He was a responsive motherfucker.
“You’re serious about this?” I shook my head. “You don’t need any tips, Gracie. I think that’s obvious, if you consider the way Dirk follows you around like a fucking puppy.”
“I’m not talking about getting a guy to flirt with me,” she said as we walked up my driveway toward the front door, and she turned to look at me. “I know how to flirt. I’m talking about actual sex. I think it might be a weakness of mine, and that bothers me. I hate sucking at things.”
Jesus.
She really just went there.
“First of all, don’t say ‘sucking’ when you’re talking about sex and not expect a dude to react.” I groaned as I pushed the front door open.
I fucking loved sex.
Loved women.
Loved making them feel good.
But for some reason, talking about sex with my best friend had me on edge.
I’d been going through a bit of a dry spell these last few months. Bass was right: I hadn’t been myself ever since Gracie moved to Paris.
We’d never lived far from one another.
And I must’ve been distracted.
And now I was horny as hell with her living in my house.
But I wanted her here, so I couldn’t tell her that.
“Oh, so if I throw out the word ‘suck,’ it’ll earn me some brownie points?” she asked as she followed me into the kitchen.
Gracie paused at the sink and washed her hands before pulling out a pan covered in foil from the refrigerator and popping it in the oven.
“I marinated the chicken when I dropped the groceries off this afternoon. We’re having your favorite, Bear. Barbecue chicken, mashed potatoes, and a big salad.”
My stomach growled at the mention of it. “You don’t want me to throw the chicken on the grill?”
“No. I’ll bake it. That way you can grab your shower while it’s cooking, because dinner time is lesson time.” She chuckled, scooting past me in her dark jeans that hugged her peach-shaped ass perfectly.
Damn. I did need to get laid.
And now I was going to be eating chicken and talking about sex, and my dick was going to have a meltdown.
A shower was a good idea.
I’d relieve some of this building tension and be good to go in no time.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
I could hear country music coming through the Alexa in the kitchen now, and I made my way to my bedroom and into the bathroom. I couldn’t get in there quick enough.
My dick was a finicky bastard, and having this pending sex talk on my mind had him on edge.
