Swap Out Read Online Free Page B

like it, especially seeing as how she keeps coming back and is seemingly determined to keep me around.
    So…yeah. I’m not claiming our “relationship” is the healthiest one ever patched together, but I don’t really see the harm in it. We’re not hurting each other, if anything, we’re helping each other out.
    Everyone has needs.
    A life-completing bottle of Mad Dog 357 Ghost Pepper Hot Sauce.
    Mocha Lattes from Starbucks.
    Sex that could be an event in the X Games.
    Just because I hate coffee and she thinks black pepper is the spiciest thing on the planet, it doesn’t mean we can’t have an understanding over our mutual predilection to daily sexcapades that are high in the number of calories burned and are a natural, healthy way to relieve stress. Seems pretty stable in my book. It’s like taking a yoga class, but cheaper and more fun.
    I snort to myself at the thought, because tonight was fun . I took her a little slow at first because I honestly didn’t know if she was really sick and was going to be again, but she told me she was fine while I undressed her, and she didn’t do anything but pull me closer as I spent a good long while with my head tucked between her thighs. Which was great until she shifted her stiletto-clad foot and the heel hooked onto the chain of my dog tags, resting over my spine, and she damn near choked me. We finally got untangled and Zoe couldn’t stop laughing between her pitiful attempts at apologizing, which mostly included her telling me it was my fault because I wouldn’t let her take her shoes off.
    I have a valid reason for that, mainly the fact that they are sexy as hell and turn me on like no other, but that concept never got fully expressed because it was all laughing and teasing: me tickling her as she squirmed and giggled, then pushed me onto my back and sunk down onto me. Even then we were still messing with each other, a certain level of trust and comfort bought by the fact that being naked and intimately connected is nothing we’re not familiar with. So it’s fine to talk, normal to taunt and make jokes because we’re different in bed and that’s when she smiles most. When we’re not thinking about work or To Do lists, we only know what feels good.
    And what felt good tonight were hands: mine smoothing their way up her thighs and over her hips, lightly squeezing her waist before flattening on her back and tugging the ends of her hair when she said my cooking smelled like a dead raccoon. And when I retorted her sense of smell was whacked because of her obsession with guzzling chemical-laden caffeine concoctions, she pouted and walked two fingers up my chest until she hooked them into my IDs.
    She has this weird thing about commanding me by my tags, and she’s probably going to break them one day but I don’t really care because when she does it…there’s just something about it that is really, insanely hot. And it worked like a charm too because when I allowed her to draw me up into sitting, my mouth level with hers, she wound the chain tighter around her hand and then timidly asked if I really hated her Starbucks habit.
    A wide grin stretched across my lips, and I told her yes.
    She scoffed and playfully swatted at me until I had her wrists locked in my grasp, tucked in between our chests, and with raw desire burning in her eyes as her gaze dropped to my lips, I let one of her hands go. I rewound an arm around her waist, then pulled her tighter against me so I was impossibly deeper.
    Everything shifted into slow movements drowned in moans, reality sunk in her whispers of things we’re not supposed to say. So I did things I’m not supposed to do.
    My touch was tender as my fingertips trailed up her back, my speed cautious when I brushed her hair over her shoulder. And when her head fell back, her breaths heavy with the slow intensity, I kissed her neck.
    One light, little innocuous press of my lips against her skin, and that was it: I was ruined. She whispered