In my dreams, I pulled this tub of body butter from my suitcase tomorrow, sometime after we’d completely unmade the bed with our fucking, passed out, did it again in the shower, and then passed out again, only to wake up a little ashy but happy. In my mind, we used Tiffany’s body butter to moisturize our skin and then fuck again and again, and then I told Tiffany that she should consider an erotic line. Anyway, the point is that in my mind, the three of us were together, which felt exotic because except for that one night at the movie theater, it has never happened. Three months and the three of us have only all been together once.

I want that. I need that. I am damn near dehydrated, I am so thirsty for exactly that.

But Darren is right; there is so much wanting between Nadia and I, and it would be a shame to squander that. Besides, there is a hell of a lot of body butter in this small container. I could still get my dream.

Nadia crawls onto the bed slowly, watching me as I return to stand by the side of the bed. We’re watching each other, actually. Hungrily.

I know my friends, and apparently, even my little sister, think I’m fast — because I am — but I do know how to slow down when necessary. That even I’m shocked at the reserves of restraint I’ve never used before is beside the point. What matters is that I don’t move my hand over Nadia’s chest and touch her breasts. I don’t trace her dark brown areolas with my fingers and then my tongue. And I don’t get on my knees and kiss her stomach, the cute paunch, the slightly raised keloid over her c-section scar. I don’t even kiss around her hips, licking her stretch marks as if they each have a unique flavor.

But Lord knows I want to, and I will.

Instead, I reach out and squeeze her shoulder with a smile. “Are you ready?” We both shiver at that question.

I will behave. I will behave. I will behave, I think to myself. Later. Later. Later.

I won’t behave at all.

The body butter is in an amber glass jar. I unscrew the top and then hand it to her.

Nadia’s eyes flit to mine, and I urge the jar at her again. “See if you like the smell. You were halfway about to invest in her company before; you should at least try the product.”

“I liked her. And it’s a good idea,” she says not quite defensively, a smile on her face. Our fingers brush as she takes the jar.

That brief touch doesn’t make my clit jump at all. Nope.

Nadia bows her head and inhales. “Oh, this is nice,” she exclaims. She begins to move her fingers into the jar.