The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1) by Lauren Blakely (best fiction novels of all time txt) 📗

space in my life for it. It’s for the best that he’s already erected walls. “He’s taking a break from dating. I’m focused on work. Truly, I’m just going as his friend.” Friends with benefits perhaps, I add silently, reminding my lips not to curve into a naughty grin as I imagine some of the benefits.

More kisses?

More than kisses?

Kisses all over?

A shiver runs through me . . .

Pressing her palms together, my mom gazes ceilingward. “Someday you might date him.”

I swat her playfully. “Don’t be silly. I just said neither one of us is in the market for a relationship. I’m busy with the team. He has spring training and then, you know, the regular season. Which lasts for six long months.”

“To that I say—blah, blah, blah.”

I laugh. “Glad you have your own opinion.”

“I do indeed. And I’ve been rooting for you two ever since he looked at you the night you went to prom.”

I jerk my head back. “What? How did he look at me?”

“Like he wished he were Charlie Duncan.” She shrugs, a little devilishly. “I saw something in his eyes then.”

I’m still for a moment, flashing back not to eight years ago, but to a few nights ago. At Eric’s wedding, Crosby mentioned Charlie and his broken heart. Is my mother right? Did Crosby look at me like he wished he’d taken me to prom eight years ago?

Just as quickly as it arrived, I wave off the galloping-away thought.

That was the past.

But in the present, is he wanting more than our plus-one?

We did leave the door open.

Does he want to kick it all the way open?

Do I want to?

My stomach flips as I imagine his hand on my face again, his lips sweeping over mine, our breath mingling.

And more. So much more.

I return to the moment. “And I saw something in your eyes when you gazed at these shoes.” I point at the red pumps. “Let’s go buy them.”

A few hours later, I take a sip of chardonnay, enjoying how it warms me.

How it fuels thoughts of benefits.

What type of benefits are on the table?

Sinking onto my plush duvet, my mind indulges in a meander down friends-with-benefits lane, checking out the scenery. Right there are the words Crosby said to me the other night. We’re absolutely friends, even though I would very much like to kiss you deliberately again.

I wander around the bend to check out his text from the next morning. In fact, I think last night was full of all sorts of terrific accidents that should be repeated.

What comes around the next curve in the lane?

What do I want to come next?

I’m not entirely sure, but I know this much—I want more.

As I scroll through our recent texts, I land on one where he invited me to send him a pic of what I’m wearing to this weekend’s event.

Why not?

I set down the wine, slide on the shoes, and arrange myself on the bed.

This will be fun. Just more of plus-oneing with the best man.

I send him a picture.

Me in bed, wearing these shoes, my feet crossed at the ankles.

Along with a few words.

Nadia: I bought these for our event, my plus-one.

His reply arrives lightning fast.

Crosby: I didn’t have a foot fetish, but now I do. I really fucking do.

Nadia: I like this fetish of yours.

Crosby: And I would like to kiss your ankles very much.

I tremble, picturing his lips on my ankles, him brushing his mouth along my skin. It’s not a plus-one type of response from him. It’s so much better.

Nadia: I think I’d like that.

Crosby: You know what I’d like?

Nadia: What would you like?

As I wait for his reply, I savor the sensations floating through me, the shivers running up and down my body, the tingle in my chest. It feels so good to flirt. So good to kick us up beyond plus-one.

Crosby: I would like to slowly, deliciously unbuckle them, take them off you, and kiss my way up to your knees.

Fire flickers through me, scorching my veins. My God, did it get red-hot in here all of a sudden? Yes, it did.

Nadia: I bet that would feel so damn good.

I’m no expert at flirting, and I hope I’m doing this right. But the speed of his reply tells me that I’m doing it exactly as we both want.

Crosby: Kiss you behind your knee, lick you along your thighs, press my lips to your legs.

Nadia: I’m . . .

Crosby: You’re what?

I draw a deep breath.

Am I doing this?

Smashing past this friendship wall? Knocking it down? Sending this banter into officially naughty terrain?

I squirm, my body hot, my center pulsing.

Yes. Yes, I am doing this.

I type out my greatest wish right now. I feel daring and bold as I write it, no matter how risky this might be. We’ve sped up to sixty miles per hour in the span of one hot picture of my feet in heels.

But maybe that was all we needed, a match to our kindling.

Nadia: I’m wanting you to kiss me all over.

Crosby: Fuck, Nadia. I’d love to. You’re going to look so damn good in those shoes. And I bet you taste so good everywhere. Every inch of you.

I wave a hand in front of my face, as if that will lower my temperature. But my skin is flushed, hot with lust and need. I’m dangerously wet and wickedly turned on.

There’s only one solution.

Nadia: On that note, I need a moment. Be right back.

Letting go of the phone, I slide down my panties, kicking them to the floor. Opening the nightstand drawer, I grab my most favorite rabbit. Turning it on, I lift up my knees, then let them fall apart as I close my eyes.

The rabbit’s ears buzz, tantalizing my wet clit.

A gasp falls from my lips, hungry and wild.

I glide the rabbit’s head through my hot center. It moves easily. I’m that slick, that aroused.

That ready for Crosby.

My skin tingles all over, cells bursting with electricity, sparking with pleasure