Page 48 of Forever Fighting
“Hi.” She licks her lips and shifts her weight, looking at me and then looking away.
“Are we supposed to get on the table?” I ask.
She shrugs. “My attendant told me to wait for our technicians.”
Before I can respond, the door opens, and a man and a woman enter, each holding two glasses filled with an orangish-pink liquid.
“It’s our antioxidant, purifying cooler,” the woman explains and hands one to each of us. Brae and I exchange looks, but both drink it down. It’s tart as fuck but oddly delicious and refreshing. “We’ll leave the room, and you can both remove your robes and get onto the tables face up to start. There are towels to cover yourselves.”
Then they leave, and I blink at Braelyn, blood already pulsing loudly through my ears, making my brain slower than perhaps I otherwise might be.
“I’m only in my briefs.”
She laughs, but it’s strained. “I’m in nothing but a thong.”
I choke and cover my face with my hands, breathing out slowly so I don’t collapse. “Jesus, fuck, Brae.”
“Clearly, I didn’t think all this through when I agreed. Turn around, and I’ll get on the table first, and then you can. I’ve seen you in your briefs.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in only a thong.” I turn around, trying not to listen as she gets undressed and onto the table, but I have bigger problems at the moment, and yes, once again I’m talking about my dick. Because I’m going to embarrass myself when I’m lying on a table and pitching a fucking tent under the towel.
I adjust myself, but it’s useless. There is no hiding it, and when she says, “I’m ready,” all I can think is,I am too.
Keeping my back to her, I remove my robe, hang it on the hook beside hers, remove my uncomfortable flip-flops, and climb onto the bed. I don’t look at her. I don’t. But it’s like my peripheral vision is running the show, and I catch flashes of her with two towels covering her tits and pussy.
The bed is heated, which isn’t great, considering I’m already sweating. I stare up at the ceiling and think about how to make croquembouche, a complex French dessert that is a test of time and patience.
It works for a bit, especially since neither of us is talking now, but then the attendants walk back in and the guy goes for Braelyn and the woman for me, and I hate this. All of this. He’s going to touch her when she’s practically naked, and I’m not. Adding to that, the woman snaps on gloves before she dollops a cold, goopy salt concoction onto my body and starts scrubbing the hell out of my skin.
The only good thing about it is that it gets rid of my hard-on because it fucking hurts. By the time she’s done, I’ll be completely raw, bleeding, and lucky if my tattoos are still visible.
After the longest fifteen minutes of my life, she tells me to roll over and does the same torture to my backside.
“Now you can both shower,” the technician tells us. “Just press the button on the wall when you’re done, and we’ll be in five minutes after that. Make sure you dry off before you get back onto the bed, face down to start.”
They leave us alone, and I blow out a harsh breath.
“You are so grounded.”
She laughs. “Do you remember how often our parents used to say that to us?”
I don’t reply. I’m trying to figure out how this will work without me showering essentially naked with my best friend. Because while she’s my best friend, I’m also seriously in love with her and seriously attracted to her. To where I don’t even see other women at this point.
It’s all her.
She’s the most beautiful. The funniest. The smartest. The sexiest. Other women are gray, while Braelyn is painted in every color.
“Braelyn… I can’t shower with you like that.”I’ll touch you. I’ll touch you everywhere. I’ll fuck you in the goddamn shower, spa technicians and a lifetime of friendship be damned.
“No. Agreed. Do you wanna go first?”
“This was supposed to be fun and relaxing, right? This is the opposite of that. You owe me… I don’t know. I’ll think of something, but my skin feels like a tuna.”
She giggles. “A tuna?”
I climb off the bed and head for the shower, keeping the towel around my waist, forcing myself not to look at the bed beside mine. “Yes. A tuna. I just had my skin flayed off me andnow it feels like my flesh is being seared. Is it supposed to burn?”
Suddenly, it’s like my skin is on fire while someone is taking pins dipped in acid and stabbing me with them.
