Bonus Chapter: The Walk-In
Straight Girl Summer — Bonus Content
by Blair Lennox
🔥 The Walk-In
A Bonus Chapter from Straight Girl Summer
Contains explicit content. 18+ only.
The Varela House winter gala was going beautifully, which meant I should have been in the dining room.
Instead I was watching Maisie through the kitchen pass and losing a war I’d been fighting since seven o’clock.
Tonight she was wearing a black dress I hadn’t seen before. She’d come downstairs at six-thirty while I was loading the van and I’d dropped a sheet pan of canapés. Literally dropped them. Twenty-four duck confit crostini on the kitchen floor, and Biscuit had eaten six before I recovered motor function.
The dress was long-sleeved. High-necked. Technically conservative and absolutely catastrophic because the fabric moved with her body like it had been poured on, outlining her hips and waist in a way that should have required a permit.
“You’re staring,” Rowan said. “You’re checking your girlfriend’s legs. You need to plate the intermezzo. Your last one had a fingerprint in the sorbet.”
After service, she was waiting in the corridor. “I have a problem. The kind where I am now completely, entirely, unreasonably turned on and I need you to do something about it immediately.”
“Walk-in,” I said. “It locks from the inside.”
It was thirty-eight degrees. Our breath made clouds. “This is insane,” she said, laughing. “We’re in a refrigerator.” “You said you were unreasonably turned on. This is an unreasonable location. The math checks out.”
I pressed her against the shelving unit. Cold steel against thin fabric. She gasped, arching into me. My fingers traced up the inside of her thigh and found nothing. No lace. No cotton. Nothing.
“You came to the event without underwear.” “I’m a professional, Nic. I can multitask.”
She was soaked — drenched, hot against my hand in the cold air. I slid two fingers inside her and the sound echoed off every steel surface. I curled forward, found the spot, and she grabbed the shelf above her head. “I don’t care who hears. I’m done being quiet. That was the old version.”
I added a third finger and her knees buckled. I caught her, pressed my thumb against her clit, and she came screaming my name while the walk-in amplified it like a bell.
“Your turn,” she said. “The plan is: I get on my knees.” “The floor is thirty-eight degrees.” “I. Don’t. Care.”
She dropped. Put her mouth on me. She knew exactly the pressure I needed, the rhythm, when to use her tongue flat and when to seal her lips and suck. She slid two fingers inside me and I came braced against the shelf with her name fracturing on my lips.
I pulled her up and pressed her against the dairy shelf. “Again?” she breathed. “Again.” She came for the second time with her teeth in my shoulder, murmuring “I love you. I’ve got you.”
Rowan was standing at the pass when we emerged. “I heard approximately sixteen sounds from the back that I have chosen to attribute to plumbing.” “Vigorous plumbing,” Maisie added. “In exchange for my silence, I expect a raise and the Tuesday lunch shift off.” “Done.” “Also the sorbet had a fingerprint.” “GET OUT, ROWAN.”
She held my hand the whole way to the truck. In daylight, in darkness, in refrigerators and kitchens and every room in between. She held my hand and she didn’t let go. That was the whole story. That was enough.
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