Read Online Dare To Love Series: Dreaming Up a Dare (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Catherine Gayle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Gayle
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hot and bothered as I was.
“Okay,” she said finally, “but do we have to jump straight into the kinky stuff? Can’t we start with just plain old sex?”
“With me, there’s no such thing as plain old sex .” As soon as I said it, I wished I’d kept my cocky asshole side in check. “I just mean that it’s not going to be forgettable. I won’t let it be.” But now I was rambling, which wasn’t something I normally did. That was Pepper’s typical MO, a point further emphasized by the way she was looking at me with raised eyebrows and a goofy expression. “But more importantly, does that mean you’re ready? I mean—”
“For sex?” she cut in.
“No, for underwater basket weaving. Yes, for sex. With me,” I added, probably unnecessarily. And only me. If things went according to my plan, she wouldn’t ever go to bed with another man again.
But she didn’t answer me right away. In fact, she delayed so long I started to rethink everything.
“I know this isn’t exactly the most romantic—”
“Yes,” she said, stopping me in my tracks.
“Yes?” I studied her eyes, her face, searching for any hint of the hesitance that had caused her to take so long in answering me. There wasn’t anything to be found. “You’re sure? Because there’s definitely no way we can un-fuck once we’ve fucked.”
“I’m sure,” she said. As if to prove her point, she reached for the hem of her tank top and lifted it over her head.
My mouth went dry. This was really happening.
Holy shit.
Eight
Pepper
My breaths came sharp and fast, like we’d already finished, but we hadn’t touched each other yet. Not even so much as a kiss. The anticipation was apparently more than enough to get me all hot and bothered.
I tossed my tank top on the floor so I wouldn’t lose all my courage, cover myself up again, and run off to hide in my bedroom.
Jackson’s eyes were focused on my breasts so intensely I was tempted to pick the shirt up again. Or cross my arms in front of me. Anything I could do to protect myself from his penetrating gaze.
I’d always been self-conscious about my body.
I was built like a boy. An extremely short, skinny, muscular boy. Tiny boobs, almost no difference between my waist and hips, thick thighs and calves, defined abs.
Mom always told me I was built like a gymnast, but it didn’t matter how many times she said it. The words never sunk in and translated to anything in my mind other than You look like a boy . And even if boy wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when someone saw me, I definitely didn’t look like the leggy, busty, curvy model types Jackson almost always dated.
He was sure to change his mind and try to back out of this at any moment. I did my best to brace myself for the rejection, which was bound to hurt worse because I’d allowed myself to believe, at least for a moment, that he might truly mean what he said.
An eternity passed, or at least it felt that way to me. With every second that ticked by, my need to escape climbed, moving upward from my gut until it was clawing at my lungs. Just as I made up my mind to grab my shirt off the floor, run into the guest room, and slam the door closed behind me, Jackson covered my breast with his palm, gentle but demanding at once. Maybe even possessive, although it was entirely possible that part was only in my head.
I fought the urge to arch into him. Every nerve ending in me screamed for more, but all the fears and doubts were still surging at the back of my mind, reminding me that what we were doing would prove to be the end of our friendship. Somehow. In some way. As of right now, for better or worse, everything between us had to change.
We could never go back to what we had before.
Maybe it was grief for what we were losing that kept me chained in place, unable to move a muscle, even as my anticipation for what might be ahead of us urged me on.
He shifted his hand slightly, his palm rough against my
“Okay,” she said finally, “but do we have to jump straight into the kinky stuff? Can’t we start with just plain old sex?”
“With me, there’s no such thing as plain old sex .” As soon as I said it, I wished I’d kept my cocky asshole side in check. “I just mean that it’s not going to be forgettable. I won’t let it be.” But now I was rambling, which wasn’t something I normally did. That was Pepper’s typical MO, a point further emphasized by the way she was looking at me with raised eyebrows and a goofy expression. “But more importantly, does that mean you’re ready? I mean—”
“For sex?” she cut in.
“No, for underwater basket weaving. Yes, for sex. With me,” I added, probably unnecessarily. And only me. If things went according to my plan, she wouldn’t ever go to bed with another man again.
But she didn’t answer me right away. In fact, she delayed so long I started to rethink everything.
“I know this isn’t exactly the most romantic—”
“Yes,” she said, stopping me in my tracks.
“Yes?” I studied her eyes, her face, searching for any hint of the hesitance that had caused her to take so long in answering me. There wasn’t anything to be found. “You’re sure? Because there’s definitely no way we can un-fuck once we’ve fucked.”
“I’m sure,” she said. As if to prove her point, she reached for the hem of her tank top and lifted it over her head.
My mouth went dry. This was really happening.
Holy shit.
Eight
Pepper
My breaths came sharp and fast, like we’d already finished, but we hadn’t touched each other yet. Not even so much as a kiss. The anticipation was apparently more than enough to get me all hot and bothered.
I tossed my tank top on the floor so I wouldn’t lose all my courage, cover myself up again, and run off to hide in my bedroom.
Jackson’s eyes were focused on my breasts so intensely I was tempted to pick the shirt up again. Or cross my arms in front of me. Anything I could do to protect myself from his penetrating gaze.
I’d always been self-conscious about my body.
I was built like a boy. An extremely short, skinny, muscular boy. Tiny boobs, almost no difference between my waist and hips, thick thighs and calves, defined abs.
Mom always told me I was built like a gymnast, but it didn’t matter how many times she said it. The words never sunk in and translated to anything in my mind other than You look like a boy . And even if boy wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when someone saw me, I definitely didn’t look like the leggy, busty, curvy model types Jackson almost always dated.
He was sure to change his mind and try to back out of this at any moment. I did my best to brace myself for the rejection, which was bound to hurt worse because I’d allowed myself to believe, at least for a moment, that he might truly mean what he said.
An eternity passed, or at least it felt that way to me. With every second that ticked by, my need to escape climbed, moving upward from my gut until it was clawing at my lungs. Just as I made up my mind to grab my shirt off the floor, run into the guest room, and slam the door closed behind me, Jackson covered my breast with his palm, gentle but demanding at once. Maybe even possessive, although it was entirely possible that part was only in my head.
I fought the urge to arch into him. Every nerve ending in me screamed for more, but all the fears and doubts were still surging at the back of my mind, reminding me that what we were doing would prove to be the end of our friendship. Somehow. In some way. As of right now, for better or worse, everything between us had to change.
We could never go back to what we had before.
Maybe it was grief for what we were losing that kept me chained in place, unable to move a muscle, even as my anticipation for what might be ahead of us urged me on.
He shifted his hand slightly, his palm rough against my
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