Full Package by Lauren Blakely Page B

both our tongues. We’ve always been pretty open, but this conversation is slip-sliding quite nicely in a whole new direction.
    â€œJust from time to time?” I ask.
    She shrugs naughtily, a little I’ve-got-a-secretlook in her eyes.
    â€œIt’s okay. Tell the doctor. Masturbation is normal. Don’t be ashamed.” I wrap her in a huge hug, as if I’m comforting her. Not because I’m trying to touch her. When we separate, I clear my throat. “So, seriously. What kind of intimate videos do you like?” I ask, adopting an interviewer’s tone, as if I’m the dude on the site who asked that question.
    Only, it was inappropriate from him. From me, the question is thoroughly acceptable, since it’s all in the name of scientific research.
    â€œYou want to know?” she asks, her eyes wide as she holds my gaze.
    God yes. So much. I’m dying to know what turns you on. “Of course I want to know what floats Josie’s boat on the diddle couch.” She tosses a pillow at me. I catch it. “Fine. Pleasure den. Can we call it your Pleasure Den of Personal Delights?”
    â€œOnly if I can call the shower your Whack Zone.”
    I let my jaw fall open in a shocked expression. “Fine, call it the Whack Zone. Just answer the question.”
    â€œOkay,” she says, taking a breath and squaring her shoulders. “I like male-male porn.”
    I’m taken aback for a moment. “You do?”
    â€œI do,” she says with a nod, owning it. “Does that bother you? You seem surprised.”
    â€œI was surprised. But it doesn’t bother me. To each her own.”
    â€œYour turn,” she says, lifting her chin. “What do you like?”
    The answer is easy. “I like videos of girls getting themselves off.”
    Her eyes widen, and I see a hint of desire in them. “Yeah?”
    I nod.
    â€œWhy?” she asks, her voice soft but eager. Curiosity drips from her tone.
    I shift, as if that’ll relieve the pressure in my jeans. But it doesn’t. My dick is trying to hit a new record for hardness right now, as if it’s competing in the Erection Olympics. But I can’t fault my dick. It’s impossible to be anything but turned on during this conversation.
    The tequila is helping my Honest Abe attitude this evening. Or maybe just living in close proximity to her is. For some reason, I don’t feel like holding back tonight. “Because . . . there’s something about the image of a woman all alone, so turned on she needs to take care of the business herself. No one else has to do a thing for her. She’s just wildly aroused from her mind, her imagination. She closes her eyes. Her hand drifts down. She creates a fantasy in her head.”
    Josie draws a sharp breath. “That is hot,” she whispers, and her voice sounds different. Aroused.
    I stretch my arm across the back of the couch and paint with more words, loving this whole new direction of tonight’s conversation. “I love seeing how wet she gets. Before she even takes off her panties. That really fucking turns me on.”
    I meet her eyes, and the green irises shine with unmistakable desire. I’m not hiding mine, either. Whether it’s us momentarily lusting for each other, or just getting aroused by the conversation, I don’t know. I don’t care, either. I can’t separate anything right now. I’m hard, and I bet she’s wet.
    â€œIt’s fun being wet,” she says in a husky, smoky tone that seeps into my bones like a shot of pure, liquid lust. “I can see why you’d like watching that.”
    â€œAnd then it turns me the fuck on to watch a gorgeous woman spread her legs, touch herself, and then make herself come.”
    She blinks, then blows out a long stream of air and waves her hand in front of her face. “Wow. Those seven-layer bars baked on high in the oven. It is hot in here.”
    I