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 as I rub.

My legs part farther, and I hike up the speed, seeking friction, sweet friction, as I chase relief. I breathe harder, rocking my hips, abandoning myself to the feelings igniting in me.

To the tendrils of desire curling in my toes, coiling in my stomach, pulsing in my aching center.

As I imagine Crosby.

His face. His mouth. His lips. I breathe his name on a harsh pant.

“Crosby.”

Then I say it again, loving how it feels on my tongue in the heat of the moment, what it does to my body, the way it makes me ravenous with lust everywhere. How I’m hot with the prospect of bliss. I punch up my hips, pushing the rabbit into me.

I moan, letting my legs fall open wider as the silicone shaft sinks deeper and I imagine it’s Crosby.

Pushing, sinking, thrusting, until he fills me all the way and I gasp.

Crosby.

Oh God.

Please.

Yes. More.

Like that, fucking myself with the rabbit, its ears wildly caressing my clit at rocket speed, I moan and groan. I writhe and melt.

I picture. I imagine.

My mind plays dirty image after dirtier image, switching ruthlessly between him licking me, eating me, then fucking me.

The thing I’ve never had. The thing I want desperately now.

Sex, gorgeous, beautiful, hot, hard sex.

I want him inside me.

Taking me, having me, fucking me.

I detonate, coming hard and fierce as I call out his name.

It sounds so incredibly right. I picture him leaning over me, braced on strong arms, dipping his head, brushing a soft, gentle kiss to my lips.

Telling me how incredible that was for him too.

All of that. I want all of that. I want more than plus-oneing with the best man.

After the rabbit’s gone back into its burrow, I pick up my phone. Read a new message.

Crosby: What kind of moment did you need? Everything okay? Did I cross a line?

I reply, as more than a friend.

Nadia: I needed a moment . . . to cross all sorts of lines myself.

Crosby: Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

Nadia: I’m saying I’m feeling very satisfied right now.

Crosby: And I bet that was not an accident at all.

Nadia: It was very deliberate satisfaction.

15

Crosby

After a gallons-of-sweat-inducing StairMaster workout, some pretzel-like stretching worthy of a YouTube yogini, and a punishing session with my personal trainer at the gym—because sessions with personal trainers should always be punishing—a quick glance at the clock tells me I’m seven hours away from seeing Nadia.