I tangle my hands in his hair, thrust my breast into his mouth, and…and…I think I might be in love. His granny might have been right. There was a good portion of time that I’ve loved Taylen as more than a friend, and I didn’t even know it because I didn’t allow myself to know it. However, this feels right, although it isn’t friendly. This is so, so far out of the friendzone, but thank all my pineapple stars because it’s amazing, and I had no idea.
Taylen could have had any woman in the world. He could be cursed with anyone.
But he’s not.
He’s cursed with me.
And this feels so damn good that I’d like to hope the curse is like the soul contract, a forever until we shuck off our mortal coils kind of thing.
I’m scared too, but the pleasure is overriding my fear sensors. I can’t be afraid of this happening or ruining our friendship. Maybe that’s what’s always held me back. There was always a firm boundary in place, a line that could never be crossed, but then…but then the curse happened. His granny said those magic words. And I woke up.
Taylen knows it all. The best parts of me, and the worst. There is no one who knows me better in the entire galaxy or the entire known anywhere. I trust him. I’d trust him with my life, and now I want to trust him with this. With all of me.
Maybe the curse was an unexpected blessing. I’m not sure if it’s a for life thing, and I’m kind of one of those people who typically need to plan ahead, but right now, I’m just going to let go, trust in a strange, otherworldly force of a curse even though I don’t understand it, and enjoy every single second of this.
CHAPTER 10
Taylen
I’ve never, ever thought of doing this with Elodie. As in, well, thinking about banging her. I’ve never thought about doing anything but respecting her, laughing with her, solidly friending her, and enjoying my life with her in it from that point of view. As friends.
But friends don’t suck on other friend’s nipples.
At least we don’t. We haven’t. We wouldn’t have.
Elodie’s fingers rake through my hair, her nails clawing at my scalp, and god, her hands are so much better at raking through it than my own are. She arches into me—her nipple hard and peaked against my tongue—and I’m pretty sure I have no idea what I’ve been doing my entire life. Or at least the past fifteen or so years that we’ve been adults. How have I never once thought about doing this with her? Because it’s definitely all that I can think about now. I thought this would be taboo and terrible, but instead, it’s not. It’s…it’s…indescribable.
“Use your teeth a little,” Elodie commands. She rakes my scalp with her nails again, pushing my face into her chest.
I comply, using my tongue and just the tiniest scrape of my teeth. Elodie shudders and lets out a noise that sounds like a strangled bird both dying and taking flight all at once. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her as if our whole fate depends on it, and I want to taste every inch of her body. I also want to be inside her.
It’s like she can read my mind because her hand travels down from my hair to my chest, and as I raise my head and claim her mouth in another fiery, fantastical kiss, her hand trails down my chest and stops at my jeans. She doesn’t bother with the buttons. Instead, she keeps going and cups my dick over the denim of my jeans.
“Fuck,” I hiss into her mouth.
“I want to touch you,” she pants. “Can I touch you?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
Her hand leaves, then it dips into my pants, underneath my gotch. Her hand. Is. On. My. Bare. Skin. I suck on her tongue, and she gasps. Then, her hand curls around my cock, and I gasp. My balls tighten, which makes me gasp again. I need to touch her too, so I move my hand, and she lets out another gasp. I stroke her between her legs, finding the denim soaked there. This time, we both gasp together.
My dick is straining in her hand, trapped between her palm and the denim. My balls feel like they’re the size of grapefruits, heavy and hard. I want to make her come. She’s going to make me come when she moves her hand like that. She’s going to…I’m going to…
All of a sudden, the whirring sound of the lock being disengaged on the front door dimly registers with me, though the twist of the knob and the creak of the door more than registers in my head. I break away from Elodie when I hear the soft hum of voices.