Birthday Girl

“I need you to do everything a woman does now,” he instructs. “Everything a good girl does for a man. Can you do that?”

I nod, panting. “Yes.”

My orgasm is cresting again, my nipples press painfully into the tiled wall, and it feels so good between my legs. I want him. I want him on me. I want to know what he feels like.

Reaching behind me, I don’t think. I grab a loofah and slide it between my legs. The netting chafes my clit in a way than sends me over the edge. I roll my hips into it, wanting to feel anything, because it’s him in my head and that’s enough. His smell surrounds me, his mouth sucks my neck, and he’s hefting me up, so he can slip inside me. It’s rough and hard, his hands on my tits one minute and his mouth stealing my breath the next. God, his tongue tastes good.

The orgasm tingles deep, building and bui

lding, and Cole’s father is fucking me so good.

I come, the wave washing over me, and I cry out in silence, breathing hard but making no sound. God. I collapse against the wall, nearly crumbling as I shudder, the orgasm drifting down my legs and making my knees week. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake through it until it ebbs away, leaving me light-headed.

When the shower stops spinning and my breathing has returned to normal, I open my eyes, a flood of emotions rushing me.

Oh, my God. I want to cry.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why would I do that? And with his father? I…

I’m confused and stressed out and seeking comfort in a guy, because he’s been nice to me a couple times. Jesus.

No matter what happens with Cole and me, Pike Lawson is off limits. Don’t forget that. There are hundreds of men out there just like him. He’s not special.

It can’t be him. Ever.

I straighten, taking a deep breath. Looking down, though, I see the loofah in my hand isn’t my pink one. It’s Pike’s silver one.

“Shit.”

A few suds are still in it from his shower this morning.

And I used it to orgasm. Awesome.

I groan inwardly.

Climbing out of the shower, I bury it under tissue paper in the trash can and make a mental note to get him a new one next time I’m out.

And some different body wash, I think, too.

Pike

“Jordan?”

I dart my gaze left and right as I pass each aisle, having lost her nearly ten minutes ago. Where the hell did she go?

The guys and I finished at the site early today, and with a little daylight left, I’d come home from work to find Jordan working in the garden. She wanted to check out some chicken wire or something for the tomato plants, and I thought I’d add a stone border around the tree in the backyard, so we hopped in the truck and headed to Home Depot.

After putting in the order for the stone, though, I lost her.

I finally spot her at the end of an aisle digging in a shallow box sitting on a shelf. Standing back upright, she pulls out a sheet of tiles and holds it up in front of her, studying it. Carrying the two new yard tools I’d picked out, I walk for her, steeling myself.

She looks beautiful today, and shit keeps happening to my body every time I look at her. Like there are live wires underneath my damn skin. Black T-shirt, white shorts, hair down and free, minimal make-up—she’s no frills, and it works. Farmer’s daughter and exactly my type once upon a time.

I shake my head, clearing it.

“What’s that?” I ask, approaching.

She glances at me, still holding up the square sheet of tiles. “It’s backsplash.”