When Sparks Fly

“Uh, I was thinking maybe we could get some ice cream or something.” He chuckles nervously.

“At nine thirty in the morning?”

“What about chocolate chip pancakes, then? Chocolate is supposed to be a good substitute for orgasms, isn’t it?”

I arch a brow. “If you’d gone without an orgasm for weeks, would chocolate be a reasonable substitute for you?”

He makes a face. “Not really, no.”

I consider how much longer it’s going to be before I can get myself off on my own again, especially with my preferred arm in a cast and my limited mobility. I have a couple more weeks before the cast on my arm comes off, and even then, I’ll need rehab before my hand is up for the task. It’s an unreasonable length of time to go without an orgasm.

Especially not with Declan still helping me with showers and doing shirtless burpees, looking more and more delicious with every passing day. The attraction I once felt back when we were freshman in college seems to have found its way out of the friendship box I stuffed it into years ago.

I bite my nail as heat creeps into my cheeks. Declan and I have been more touchy-feely lately. We used to sit at opposite ends of the couch, but now he’s always next to me and keeps his arm around me. And whenever we pass each other, I find myself reaching out. But it’s gone beyond that. When he’s done rubbing my back, he’ll often pull me back against his chest and snuggle with me for a while. There’s been more than one occasion where I’ve felt him. It’s excited me more than I care to admit.

“Maybe you could help me.” The words pop out, more accidental than purposeful, but it’s too late to call them back.

Declan blinks at me. “I’m sorry, what?”

I swallow down my mortification. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m kidding. Obviously.”

He crosses the room to come to the edge of the bed, his expression shifting from shock to something I can’t read. “I don’t think you are.”

“Just forget I said anything. I’m frustrated and talking out of my ass.”

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without an orgasm?”

“I don’t know. Like the first seventeen years of my life.” I’m embarrassed, and I don’t want to get into this with him, but at the same time I do.

“I don’t mean when you first had an orgasm. What’s the longest you’ve gone since then?” His voice is quiet and low, and the way he’s looking at me makes it hard to hold his gaze, so I stare at his fingers, gliding across the fabric near my leg.

“Until this accident, maybe three days, but I had the flu and I could barely get out of bed.”

“I imagine that’s pretty uncomfortable, then.” His fingertips graze my knee and my skin breaks out in a wave of goose bumps.

“It is,” I whisper.

“Avery.” His voice is gravelly.

I lift my head slowly, gaze dragging along his forearm, catching at his waist, where I can very much see the effect this conversation is having on him. “I can’t focus on anything,” I admit. “It’s such a distraction.” He’s a distraction. The kind that makes my current predicament even worse. “Just forget I said anything. I’ll deal.” Or die of embarrassment.

Declan’s chest rises and falls with every uneasy breath, and he rubs his fingers over his bottom lip. His throat bobs with a nervous swallow. “Ask me again. I wasn’t ready before.” His heavy, fiery gaze meets mine.

I don’t know what’s happening here, but I feel powerless to stop the words from pouring out, and I’m not even sure I’d want to if I could. “Will you help me?”

“Be explicit, Avery. Ask me for exactly what you want so I know we’re on the same page.”

“I’ve already said it. Why do you need me to say it again?”

“You’re in a very vulnerable position. I don’t ever want to take advantage of you, so you need to be very sure about what you want.”

“I want you to touch me,” I say but can’t meet his eyes.

He puts a finger under my chin and gently urges me to raise my head so I meet his gaze. “If we’re going to do this, we need to talk about it. Let me be very clear that it won’t be like when I help you out with showers or back rubs.”

“You don’t have to—” I’m terrified. I’m the one who put this on the table, but I didn’t think about the consequences of actually going through with it.

“Listen.” He cups my cheek in his palm and covers my lips with his thumb. “I’m telling you if we do this, it won’t be because I only want to help you, which obviously I do. If we go through with this, it’s because I want to be the one who makes you feel good. Because I may need it as much as you do.”