“We don’t talk about that,” I warned.

“Wait, what?” Lyla asked, as she laughed and walked over to sidle up for story time. “What’s this I hear about a possible lesbian encounter? Oh, please, tell.”

“You’re supposed to be standing in line, go on,” I tried to shoo her away.

“Damn, relax,” Lyla smiled, as she stood back in place. “Why is this so important anyway?”

I finished up Tootse’s breasts and grabbed my canvas as I spoke, “Because, there is an art contest that I want to enter. Whoever wins gets a spotlight in the art gallery on Royal. It would be a dream come true.”

“So, you’re squishing breasts against a canvas to win?” Francy asked, confused.

“Yes,” I said, matter-of-factly. “It’s all about interpretation. Now, put your back against the wall, Tootse, and for God’s sake, do not move.”

Like the good little girl she was, Tootse backed up against the wall and put her hands on her head like we practiced together before I painted her breasts. We had to do a couple of practice rounds, so she knew what she was getting into.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Ready,” she nodded.

I held the canvas stiffly in my hands and angled it to the side as I pressed it against Tootse’s breasts, giving her my own personal form of a canvas mammogram. Pulling away quickly, I looked down at the canvas and was pleased when I could visibly see the outline of her nipples.

“Oh, this is awesome,” I praised myself, as I went in for another press, but at a different angle.

As I continued to reapply paint and press Tootse’s breasts against my canvas, the girls grilled me about my love life, something I was very much expecting when they came over. I was just surprised it took them so long to ask about it.

“So what’s going on with Jett?” Lyla asked, just as I finished up with Tootse.

I took the blow dryer that was plugged in and started drying the canvas, so I could move on to the next pair of breasts without smearing the colors together.

“What about him?” I replied, acting nonchalant. I was still a little uneasy about the whole dating thing. I mean, I wanted to date him, fuck did I want to date him, but it just seemed too easy, like I was giving in too easily. The man put me through a lot, and I felt like I was going against all of womankind by just saying yes.

I could hear the women’s rights activists shaming me now, by chanting over and over…doormat, doooormat!

Even though these women were in my head, they could fuck off, because until they had been fully inserted with the tree trunk resting pleasantly between Jett Colby’s thighs, they could back the hell off. Plus, the moment he talks to you intimately in that deep southern voice of his, fuck me in the damn meat valley, I can’t stay away.

And it’s not all physical, hell no, there is an emotional connection I have with him, one that has grown stronger over time. At first, it wasn’t that strong, but over time, since he’s been opening up slowly, I’ve come to know the man I’ve always been curious about since I met him at Kitten’s Castle.

I wanted to flip him off, to send him on his way, to show him that he couldn’t always control my heart, but I would have been lying if I’d said that. The man had a hold on me, the kind of hold that would last a lifetime, so instead of fighting it, I was going to let it happen. I was going to fall all over again, but this time, it would be on my terms. If he wanted me in his life, in his bed, and in his arms, then he was going to have to fucking work for it.

“Don’t act like nothing is going on. Blane told us he stopped by the other day at the square.”

Rolling my eyes, I pulled Francy over to my painting area and started spreading green paint all over her breasts. “Blane is such a gossip. I would swear the man spends his nights bouncing on his bed in a pink nightie with his hair clipped in bows while talking on his red lip phone.”

“Does he have one of those?” Francy asked, while she raised her arms for me. She was much more professional at getting her breasts painted than Tootse, not that there was really a professional aspect of it, she just wasn’t squirming around like a child.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he does,” I answered.

“Babs really likes him,” Lyla added.

“Who, Jett?” I asked, as my stomach dropped for a second.

“No, Blane,” Francy answered. “Come on, Babs and Jett are like brother and sister.”

“Who fucked,” I said. “Don’t use that comparison with them; it’s just wrong.”

“Understandable, but seriously, to all of us Jett is a friend, and that’s it. Once you walked in the club, we knew he was done for.”

“So Babs and Blane then?” I asked, while changing the subject off of me and Jett. I wasn’t ready to answer those questions just yet. I would use Babs as a distraction for as long as I could.

Eyeing me carefully, Lyla let me change the subject, but I could tell it would only be momentarily. “Yes, you should see the woman, always asking about him, texting him, and drooling over a picture she took with him the other night…”

“She is so masturbating to that picture,” Francy pointed out. “I heard some moaning coming from her bedroom last night.”

“You did not,” I laughed, trying to envision Babs being one to masturbate to a picture on a phone. Well, actually, she most likely would.

“I did, a genuine moan…like her fingers were hitting the right spot.”

“Could have been a vibrator,” Tootse said, coming back in the room with a top on now and her boobs cleaned up. “She has about four of them. Oh, my God, she was showing me one the other day; it plugs into the wall.”

“Shut up, it does not,” I giggled.

“No joke,” Tootse sat on the floor and leaned back on her hands. “The thing looked like something from the fifties, but when she turned it on, I was pretty sure it jostled my cervix from just standing next to it. What did she call it?” Tootse thought, as she looked up to the ceiling, trying to rack her brain for the name.

Casually, Lyla answered while looking at her nails, “The Earth Quake.”

We all turned toward her and gave her a questioning glare. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “It’s the granddaddy of vibrators. No need for batteries or the possibility of running out of juice in mid-orgasm. No, it plugs into the wall, has a gel handle for comfort, and rocks your pussy like no man would ever be able to handle. It’s called the Earth Quake because the thing rattles your loins like a five on the Richter scale. Want to learn how to squirt? Grab an Earth Quake and sit back, the damn thing does it all for you.” Lyla shivered and then fanned her face. “I need to get another one, because just thinking of it has gotten me hornier than a dog in heat.”

“You? Horny? That’s hard to imagine,” I said sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t be so horny if you just gave in to Kace,” Francy chastised.

With a giant smile on my face, I turned toward Lyla, paint brush mid-stroke, and said, “Kace came on to you?”

“Hell no,” Lyla cringed. “That man is appalling.”

There was a collective guffaw that rang through the room, as every other woman except Lyla scoffed at her assessment of Kace.

Kace.

Fuck me. If I wasn’t with Jett, there was no doubt in my mind I would be spreading my legs, welcoming Kace with flapping wings down below. The man was impossible not to stare at with his rough exterior, devilish eyes, and his brooding attitude. With one glare, he could have you falling to your knees and begging to be taken right then and there. Believe me, I was close the moment I saw him in the shower…naked.

Oh, and his penis, there is only one other penis that beats Kace’s, and its Jett’s, but Kace was a close second. To stroke it just once would be all the pleasure someone would need for a month.

When it came to men’s genitalia, there were two categories men could fall under: the tree trunks and the twigs, Kace and Jett fell under the tree trunk category…easily.