Sunshine Kisses

A lot of that last one.

They didn’t fight.

They bickered and teased and sometimes got annoyed, but they certainly didn’t stand chest to chest in a swimming pool, growling at each other. So she’d never experienced Erik vibrating with anger in quite the same way she just had.

Abby stood by what she’d said: he had no right to act territorial and jealous. He had left her, making it clear there was nothing between them. But even though every iota of feminism in her rejected it, she’d be lying if she said his behaviour hadn’t left an ache between her legs. Her nipples were hard, despite the balmy temperature of the room.

She lay there for a while, willing her body to calm down. But flashes of Erik’s chest danced through her mind. Defined muscle rippling as he sliced through the water. Rivulets tracing all the hard lines of him as he came up for air. The memory of the warmth rolling off him had the aching inside her intensifying.

The last time she’d had sex was four months prior, when she had gone home with Finn. That hadn’t been driven by her physical needs. She’d been looking for a mental and emotional distraction, conceding that her body could be the gateway to that. But it had been a long time since she’d wanted.

It had been fine when she’d been in relationships and had a boyfriend to take care of the situation. Despite frequent encouragement from her friends—and romance novels—taking matters into her own hands had never appealed much. The few times she’d done it, the physical satisfaction rarely made up for the feeling of discomfort she was left with.

Abby considered herself extremely sex-positive…on behalf of other people. She’d read just about anything, and listen to her friends’ exploits and experimentation with a full glass of wine, rapt attention, and no judgement. But a person didn’t spend over twelve years in various Religious Education classrooms, attending Sunday school, Catechism and eventually Confirmation classes weekly, without developing complicated feelings around intimacy and desire. And while participating in mostly vanilla sex was something she’d largely made peace with, masturbation—or anything that skewed a little kinky—still frequently left her grappling with guilt.

It was a strong part of the inspiration for her thesis topic. Other women didn’t need to feel the shame around sexual freedom that she did. Perhaps one day she’d even start applying those lessons to her own life.

As the desperate need pulsing through her intensified, she considered that the pangs of conscience might be worth the release she needed. The shifting of the sheets against her heated, sensitised skin was unbearable. Her muscles were throbbing as blood pounded through her body. The barest brush of fingers over her nipples had her gasping loudly, before she quickly clapped one hand over her mouth. She hadn’t determined yet how thick the wall between their bedrooms was. Not very, she suspected.

Still, softer whimpers escaped as she trailed her fingers downwards, trying desperately to keep her mind focused on favourite moments from her books rather than her tall, handsome, well-muscled best friend.

Her hand was slipping over her hip bone when a grunt sounded somewhere beyond her headboard. A grunt that sounded suspiciously like—

No.

He couldn’t be.

Working out. He was probably working out. She’d heard him make those sounds once before, when his athletics coach had prescribed a strength training routine that had him doing an absolutely monstrous number of push-ups. Heat had flooded her body then, too. But she’d been sixteen, sheltered, and not altogether aware of the effects of her hormones.

Now, with his abs a sight that would be seared into her memory forever, she couldn’t stop herself picturing it again. Erik, body as gorgeous as it was now, cycling through his conditioning exercises. Clad only in athletic shorts, instead of the team shirt and sweatpants he’d worn back then. The ongoing grunts made it hard to wipe the image from her mind.

Slipping her hand lower, more whimpers sounded as the pressure finally gave her body some relief, even while she continued to fight the onslaught of Erik intent on occupying her brain. Her skin was slick within seconds, but despite the pleasure coursing through her, she couldn’t get there.

Abby stilled as she recalled the pink toy she’d tossed in her nightstand the previous evening. She’d had no intention of using it, but as a frustrated sob stuck somewhere in her chest, she found herself reaching into her drawer. She needed this. Needed freedom from the tension she’d been carrying.

Oh.

The first brush of the vibrator against her dragged a long, low groan from her lips.

Why had she never done this before?

She was dimly aware of the shower starting, and the sound injected a new visual into her mind’s eye.

Erik.

Naked.

Wet.

The hot spray turning to steam around him.

Finally, she stopped fighting it. Allowed herself to indulge in the idea of him kneeling between her legs. Gathering her hair in a fist while he entered her from behind. That breathtaking smile shining up at her as he slowly fucked her with his fingers on a lazy morning in bed.

The release she was chasing came tantalisingly closer, and she pushed the toy in deeper, back arching as it made her see stars. Utterly lost in sensation, she moaned Erik’s name over and over as she came.

‘Abby, I know you’re pissed at me, but can I please use some of your shamp—’

She let out a small shriek as her head rolled towards the bathroom door, where an Erik straight out of her fantasies stood, water dripping down his flushed skin, a white towel slung dangerously low on his hips, and his eyes widening as he took stock of the sight in front of him.