Blindsided Page 17

  A pussy that is all mine.

  Never been touched by another.

  Fuck me, I’m a pig.

  I sit up and wrap my arms around her waist, clutching her to me as I bury my face in her red lace-covered breasts. I bite through the fabric and clamp on her nipple aggressively, taking what’s mine. She lets out a yelp of a cry that’s sexy, but not as sexy as her bare tits. I quickly grab the bottom of this ridiculous nurse’s outfit that she actually thought she could wear in public and rip it off of her. It tears in the movement, and a satisfied smile spreads across my face.

  “No more naughty nurse, I guess,” I murmur against her skin, sucking hard wee spots all over her breasts as they bounce with every thrust she makes. “You’re just Freya, and you’re mine. All fucking mine.”

  “Yes,” she moans, clearly ramping up to her orgasm already.

  I drop back onto my elbows and watch the show, enjoying the sight of my love bites peppered all over her breasts. “Touch yourself, my treasure.”

  Freya’s closed eyes open, and she looks at me with an adorable frown.

  I chin nod to her pelvis. “Touch your clit there while you ride me. Give me a show.”

  She huffs out an aroused sort of laugh but does as I say. She makes a proper show of it as well. Her hand skates slowly from her hair, over her breast, swirling around her navel and making me positively growl with anticipation.

  Cookie’s a fast learner, I think smugly to myself as her finger dips down to rub over top of her clit. I bite my lip and watch her as she gingerly moves over it.

  She can do better.

  I put my hand over hers, showing her how to apply pressure and rub it hard and fast. These pressure points make her wild with lust, and she nods eagerly, clearly understanding my direction as she begins speeding up, driving herself higher and higher. Feeling the build grow stronger and stronger.

  When I feel her begin to tighten, I lie back, grab her thighs, and thrust up into her hard and fast. Her hand falls, and she collapses over me, crying out her release into my neck as she drenches my entire fucking shaft with her arousal. In a rush, I hug her to me and roll her over, pulling out just in time to finish on her belly and breasts.

  It’s a good chunk of time that we just lie there. My cock softens while we both fight to catch our breaths and formulate full sentences.

  Finally, Freya croaks out, “Fucking hell, I’m starving. You?”

  And with that compelling statement, we both laugh our way out of post coitus and right back into friendship.

  “We’re seriously going to need a bigger car. There is no way!” I exclaim, glancing into Mac’s backseat as we wait in line at the car wash Mac frequents just outside London.

  He smiles over at me like I’m an adorable little pet he wants to snuggle. “Cookie, this was one of the Never Have I Evers.”

  I exhale and look back there again. “I just…don’t think car sex was intended for people like me.”

  “People like you,” Mac states, his eyes going flat. “Car sex works in a myriad of ways, my wee treasure. Just trust your love coach to guide you. Plus, you drank to this at Tanner and Belle’s flat, so it’s only right that you turn that lie into a truth.”

  I stare back at him accusingly. “You’re enjoying my discomfort far too much. We’re officially in a fight.”

  “Oh good, something new and different for us,” Mac replies with an unamused tone.

  Ignoring his snark, I face forward, anxiously rubbing my palms on my skirt. I’m as excited as I am nervous while I stare at the long line of cars going inside the giant building one at a time. I bet none of those people are planning to shag while their car rides the tracks through the wash. This is taking car sex to another level entirely. Damn Mac. Damn him to hell!

  Mac and I are well into our second week of this friends-with-benefits arrangement, and if someone would have told me a year ago everything I would be doing for these next few weeks with a famous footballer, I would have told them they were off their rocker.

  Yet here I sit, in a car wash line with the man in question.

  And it’s not just the sex with Mac that’s surprising me. We’re doing other things that men and women do together all the time. We go out to eat, we go to the cinema, run errands. Just this past weekend, I was sick with a twenty-four-hour flu bug, and I begged Mac to leave me alone. I begged him to go back to his place for a night and get away from my ugliness.

  He refused.

  He got me soup, ran to the chemist’s for some medicine, and waited on me hand and foot. He even slept on the couch when I told him his body heat was making my fever worse.

  That was the only night we didn’t have sex.

  The ample amount of sex we have had has been mind-blowingly brilliant. I was right; it does get better with practice. And there are so many positions that Netflix has never portrayed in the programs I watch. For example, I never laughed so hard as when Mac was trying to show me doggy style and then said, while he thrust balls deep into me, “We’re doing it just like the horses on Heartland.”

  The fucking arse.

  He had to wait until my fit of giggles stopped so we could continue. Yet somehow, through that entire ridiculous scene, he never lost his hard-on. He really is quite the freak.

  One of the best perks about having Mac at my place and this arrangement we’re doing is the snuggling while watching Netflix. Mac literally spoons me on the sofa and plays with my hair while we’re watching the telly. It’s marvelous. His heart really is as soft and mushy as his head is thick and obstinate. The cuddling is probably what I’m going to miss most when this all ends.

  I take that back. It’ll be the sex. Most definitely the sex. And maybe that kiss on my shoulder thing he does when he leaves early in the morning to go for a run. It’s just the lightest brush of his lips on my shoulder, but it makes me feel warm and gooey inside like pudding. I’ll miss that, too.

  “Freya, we’re next in line. Tell me we’re doing this, for the love of Christ, because my cocker is already standing at full salute just thinking about it.”

  I glance down at his groin inside his running shorts and bite my lip nervously. “Okay, fine. But no hickeys this time, or I swear—”

  “Okay, I hear you, woman.” He smirks victoriously. “Now, just wait till the tracks take the car inside, and as soon as the bubbles are on the windshield, we’ll jump in the back. We’ve got eight minutes.”

  “God, how many women have you done this with?” I groan, looking around nervously for any form of life as Mac slips the car into neutral and the tracks take control.

  “None,” he states with a shrug. “You’re the first one who fell for it.”

  “What?” I exclaim, and then suddenly, the car is being sprayed with foam.

  Mac unbuckles and slips into the back like the agile athlete he is. “Take your knickers off before you come back,” he commands, his voice gruff with desire already.

  I squint my eyes closed and do as he says because all I can think about is that we have less than eight minutes, so arguing with him like usual really isn’t a wise time choice. I toss them into the back seat and turn to make my way over the console. Had anyone been able to see through the rainbow-coloured foam that’s currently hitting the car, they would have seen my white, ample rear end filling the entire windshield.

  I land with an oomph on Mac’s lap, and his eyes twinkle with excitement. He slaps my arse. “Right, now straddle me, Cookie,” he commands, his hands spreading out on my thighs as he hikes my skirt up.

  I glance down as I centre myself over top of him. “I told you to stop calling me food names when we’re shagging.”

  “I’m sorry, my wee treasure,” Mac lifts his face up and pulls me in for a kiss. “Now pull my cock out of my shorts and stop wasting time. We’re probably down to six minutes.”

  My brows lift, and I shift back to do as he says, the hard silky heat of him sending a frisson of desire pulsing between my legs so that I can feel myself dampen
with need.

  Mac holds a foil packet up for me. “Put the condom on.”

  I eye him curiously because we haven’t used these for several days now.

  “Less messy this way,” he replies gruffly.

  How practical. Biting my lip, I open the packet, take out the condom, and shakily roll it onto his straining erection. “I did it!” I exclaim like an immature idiot.

  “Now ride me hard and fast, treasure. Ride me like you mean it.”

  I can’t help the small giggle that escapes my mouth because Mac is being so serious throughout the absurdity of what we’re trying to do. You’d think we’re solving a difficult math problem instead of trying to shag inside a moving car wash.

  But I’m a quick study, so I move to position him between my folds, my body quivering with anticipation for the girth of him that I know will stretch me in the most delicious way. When I have him where I want him, I hold onto his shoulders and sink down over him, my legs spreading out as far as possible.

  “Ow, the buckle,” I yelp as my knee comes into sharp contact with it. Mac grabs my thighs, scooting over slightly and shifting us to the edge of the back seat.

  At this angle, he’s even deeper inside me, and my mouth opens in a silent cry.

  “Better?” he asks with a lascivious smirk.

  I nod and manage to murmur, “My bed would be better.”

  “Stop complaining and kiss me, woman,” he growls with a smile, and I can’t help but smile back as our lips and tongues tangle with each other. He pulls away and adds breathlessly, “I need you to start moving on my cock, or I’m going to come just like this without getting you off. You have me way too bloody wound up.”

  I nod slowly, vaguely aware of the car moving forward, but the action happening in this SUV is far more interesting to me. I start moving on top of him, my hips swooping forwards and backwards as quickly as possible, my clit grinding into him when I roll inward.

  My God, this is exhilarating. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s hard to believe I’ve lived my whole life thinking I didn’t need this. Now that I’ve had it, I don’t know how I’ll ever get over losing it. Would it even be possible to find it again? Could I really be that lucky?

  My thoughts and motions are halted when Mac grabs my thighs and thrusts up into me hard and fast, my head bumping the ceiling of the car, as he chases my climax like he knows exactly where it lives inside me.

  “Fuck me,” Mac growls, grabbing my breasts over top of my blouse. “God, Freya, I need you to come soon.”

  “Okay,” I whine, my breaths coming hard and fast as I groan through a deep throb growing between my legs. “I’m coming, Mac. Oh God!” I cry, my voice loud in the small space of the car.

  “Fuuuck,” Mac growls, his voice throaty and dry as he squeezes my hips and pushes into me as deep as he can while I arch my back and come all over him.

  He releases next with a very vocal growl, his body quivering as he flexes into me with each spasm. My inner core is tingling and oversensitive as I feel every pulse of him against my needy inner core. I drop my head into his neck and sigh with relief before croaking out, “I think I like car wash sex.”

  He laughs and reaches up to pull my hair away from my face long enough to kiss me. It starts off as a peck, but then he rethinks it and pulls me in for a deep, drugging kiss that is all kinds of intimate as his cock begins to go soft inside me.

  God, this feels good.

  By the time we tear our lips apart, I notice the car is getting ready to go through its final rinse cycle, and we need to get off each other and get back to the front seat. Mac gingerly rolls me off his lap, his condom-wrapped dick sliding out of me as I move to sit beside him in the back seat. I lazily push my skirt down and button my blouse, which I didn’t even realise had come undone, while he ditches the condom in a nearby tissue and pulls his shorts up.

  He looks over at me and smiles like the cat who got the cream when suddenly, clear water washes away all of the bubbles revealing several men outside the car with towels in hand. My eyes go wide as they instantly begin wiping down every square inch of his vehicle and I consider ducking below the windows and hoping no one sees me.

  However, that plan goes out the window when a man opens my door, his jaw dropping with surprise to find me and Mac sitting in the back. I stare back, unsure what to say, and then my jaw drops in horror as my knickers slide out the door where they had apparently landed and fall to the ground by the man’s feet.

  “Interior cleaning?” he asks nervously, glancing at his feet and then to my thighs.

  Mac voice cuts into the mortification screaming in my mind. “Not today, lad.”

  And then, without any shame, Mac hops out of the car, jogs over to my side and picks up my knickers with a wicked smirk before jumping into the driver’s seat.

  “Where to, Miss?” he asks, adjusting the rear-view mirror.

  I cover my face in mortification as he drives us away from the towel guys. “Take me to Hell because that is certainly where I belong.”

  I am currently seated on a private jet with six famous footballers, four London-famous designers of fashion and furniture, two genius female surgeons, two blondes who look like models but are actually really smart and cool working mothers…

  And then there’s me. Freya. A woman covered in freckles who is seriously thinking this lot would be better off with a partridge in a pear tree.

  Honestly.

  This is why people like me aren’t friends with people like this!

  Because it fosters insecurities.

  Creates complexes.

  I need proper friends with social anxieties who look mediocre in bikinis. I need friends who actually finish their plates of food at a restaurant and don’t feel bad about it. And hell, since I’m listing out friendship goals, I’d like a friend with some horses. Horses that I could ride someday if I ever learned how. Does a friend with a ranch in Canada where she heals troubled horses sound like too much to ask the universe?

  Apparently so, because I’m stuck with this happily-in-love lot.

  I bet none of these people have a cat who hates humans.

  Sigh.

  I really need to calm my mind down. This weekend is supposed to be fun. And I am normally great around this bunch. They’re truly lovely people who give me life goals to aspire to, but today their love just seems to mock me. And remind me of all that I will never have in life.

  The past two weeks with Mac have been insanely perfect. We’re even getting along better than we ever have before, which is messing with my mind completely. I also keep thinking about that conversation we had about Mac talking about me to Cami for over a year. What did that even mean? Was it really just about sex? For a year? It has to mean more, right? Or do I just want it to be more because I’m actually starting to fancy Mac as more than just a shag? A lot more than just a shag.

  Crikey, I’m a mess!

  Now, instead of relaxing into this friends-with-benefits situation and having fun with our friends, I’m obsessing over the meaning behind everything Mac says and does, and am way too chicken to just ask him about his feelings! And the worst part is, the only person I have to talk to about it all is Hercules, and he seems completely bored by the topic.

  I need to get ahold of myself. For the next forty-eight hours, I need to pretend I’m not a daft idiot who is doing exactly what I promised I wouldn’t do: falling in love with my best friend.

  An hour and a half later, our private plane has landed in Prestwick Glasgow Airport, and our large group of seven couples and two sad singles, who are having sex but not telling anyone they are having sex, files out into the various rented cars waiting for us on the tarmac.

  Thankfully, I end up in a vehicle with the ladies and am able to avoid Mac’s curious eyes as we drive the twenty minutes towards his grandfather’s property. He told us all on the plane that the bed and breakfast has been sitting empty for the past couple of months while minor repairs were being made, b
ut he called ahead to get it fully stocked for our visit. Apparently, Mac’s grandad just sold the estate to some wealthy bidder in an auction and has since moved into a flat in Dundonald to be closer to Mac’s parents.

  The sun is shining as we pull up the gravel driveway to the beautiful Georgian house nestled right on the shore of Prestwick Beach in Ayrshire. A quick glance around shows no neighbours as far as the eyes can see. It’s idyllic.

  And actually kind of sad when I think about the stories Mac shared about how this bed and breakfast was his grandmother’s dream. To watch it all be sold off to some stranger must be hard on the family.

  Mac appears relaxed as he walks up to the front door and stands back to let everyone pass through. I’m last through the entrance, and I try to sneak by him, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back into him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, crooking his hand under my chin so I’m forced to look up at him. “Are we in a fight?”

  I plaster on a smile. “Not at all. I’m fine. This is lovely!”

  He’s not buying it. “You were quiet on the plane.”

  “You mean the private jet?” I state with a laugh. “I was just…taking it all in. That was my first time travelling like that.”

  Mac furrows his brow at me. “You’re off.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Just excited for the weekend.”

  He tilts his head. “You’ll tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

  “Of course, pal.” I smile brightly and smack his arm.

  He looks confused but lets me go inside with the others.

  God, Freya. Your poker face needs some serious work!

  Mac waltzes in behind me and lets out a quick whistle to get everyone’s attention. “So there are exactly eight bedrooms, and it’s first come, first serve, except for the bunk bed room on the third floor. I’ve claimed that one for the two singles of the weekend.”