Mixed Signals

Chapter 19

Dylan

"So, what great erotic adventures do you have in store for us this weekend?" Bay asks, as I sit across from her, admiring her fine ass as she stands at my kitchen counter, in my shirt. Her hair up in that damned bun, waltzing around my small kitchen as she raids my refrigerator as if she owns it. Reaching inside for her favorite French vanilla coffee creamer. Just in time for the coffee pot to make that annoying beeping noise. The green light on, indicating its completion. I've been trying to hide my damn arousal from her from the moment I sat down. But, even I can't hide what I'm feeling under a pair of sweatpants, about five minutes away from busting out of my damn boxers as it is. Seeing Bay standing in my kitchen––in my fucking shirt––isn't making it any easier to keep my hands off of her and show some restraint for once in my life.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding! I'm a grown ass man. And she's a grown woman. We're in a monogamous relationship. And I'm not going to fuck thing up with her again. I don't know if I could live with myself if I let something like that happen. Not after everything we've been through. If it were up to me, I'd have her tied to my bed all day. Fucking her brains out, just the way she likes it. Rocking her fucking world.

"Who said I had anything planned?" I ask, taking a sip of my coffee, trying to hide my amusement. As if she has any idea what's going on in my perverted brain. Trying not to think about her, naked in my kitchen, spread out on my island countertop as I devour and fuck her every way that is humanly possible in such a position. She's damn-lucky I'm not into tying women up––although, I admit, the idea had crossed my mind at one time or another in recent weeks––or some freaking Christian Grey- style BDSM bullshit. Whatever she's into this week in terms of sexual exploration.

"Oh come on!" She almost laughs, rolling her eyes in that cute way whenever she thinks I'm absolutely full of shit. Keeping something from her. "Don't bullshit me, Dyl. I know by that smug look that your so desperately hiding behind your coffee mug, that even you can't fool me anymore. Come on. It's not going to be the end of the world if you tell me. I have a bullshit radar you know. From the moment I met you, even way back when, I can see when your up to something. So, spill it, pretty boy! Come on, don't torture me like this." She almost whines, protesting. But, she knows I don't like that shit. Keeping herself in check.

"Oh Bailey. Sweet...innocent....naive, young Bailey. You're going to have to trust me on this. I promise, I'm going to rock your fucking world. You just have to relax and be patient. I know that's a bit of a foreign concept for you. But, that's the price you gotta pay in order to get what you want from me. If you can do that, then I'll give you ten orgasms by the time your favorite televisions shows are on tonight. Think you can handle it?" He asks. His lips perking up into a smile.

She opens her mouth to speak. But, another voice behind me stops her. She looks over my shoulder, staring at someone behind me. I turn around to the source of the voice calling out my name.

Tall. Skinny. Blonde. Lucy Bradshaw hasn't changed at all since I last saw her. Years ago. I look back over at Bay, her face still frozen. Shocked. I can't read her. But, I know her well enough to know that she's absolutely mortified that one of my ex-girlfriends is here. And by the look on her face, looking for a booty call. Just like she always is whenever I run into her. Being who I was, I always gave the bitch what she wanted. But, I'm with Bay now. And the only woman I ever intend on having in my bed tonight is her. If Lucy wants a fucking booty call, I'm sure there are plenty of age appropriate men here just eager to whip their dicks out and fuck her.

I, however, will never be one of those men.

"Dylan Bennet. How the hell are you." Lucy smiles, going in for the hug. And I try not to vomit as she wraps a single arm around me holding me for two seconds too long. "God, how long's it been? Two? Three years? Still playing the field?" She asks, not even noticing Bay standing beside me. Not that I'm surprised. Lucy and Bay were never friends.