He removes his hand from my skin to pull off his own T-shirt in one smooth motion. “See, this is how normal people remove clothing.”
I eye his sweatpants. “You may have to continue to demonstrate for me.”
“You’re just scared of my sweatpants drawcord, aren’t you?”
“Well, once bitten…” I say, and Jared gives his rumbly laugh as he removes his sweatpants to expose his ridiculous muscles from whatever superhero training regimen paramedics apparently do.
I glance down at his boxers, which are tented in a way that makes my mouth water.
“Don’t stop now. I was promised a masterclass in normal clothing removal, remember?”
I’m feeling relaxed, sexy, and confident because this is Jared. He knows me. I can be completely myself around him. I don’t have to hide any parts of myself.
And after he’s whipped off his underwear, he’s definitely not hiding any parts of himself either.
God, he’s unfairly gorgeous. All muscle and golden skin, like someone designed him specifically to make me forget how to form sentences. His chest has just the right amount of hair, and there’s this little trail that leads down to… Okay, I need to stop staring before I start drooling.
He’s eyeing my naked chest in return, then his gaze lingers on my boxers.
“Your turn,” he says.
I stand and strike what I think is a seductive pose. “Watch and learn.”
I attempt to remove my underwear in one fluid motion, except I forget about physics and momentum and end up stumbling backward into his coffee table.
“Smooth,” Jared says as he tries not to laugh.
“That was intentional. It’s called building suspense.”
“Most people just step out of their clothes. They don’t turn it into an assault on innocent furniture.”
To save further critiques of my clothing removal techniques, I practically launch myself back at him, straddling his lap.
His hands immediately find my waist, steadying me as I lean down to kiss him.
We’re both still laughing as we kiss, which means it’s more teeth than technique at first, but then his hand slides up to cup the back of my neck and the kiss turns into something that makes my whole body feel like it’s been liquefied.
His hands move down to cup my ass, and I shift closer, trying to eliminate any space between us. Our cocks rub against each other, making us both groan.
“We should probably relocate before your couch writes a tell-all memoir about the traumatic events it’s witnessed,” I say against his mouth.
“I don’t think my couch actually has feelings.”
“It definitely does. It’s judging us right now. I can feel it.” I gesture vaguely at the cushions. “It signed up to support Netflix binges, not…being part of…advanced friendship maneuvers.”
“Advanced friendship maneuvers? Is that what we’re calling it now?” He pulls back slightly, one eyebrow raised.
“We could go for friendship with cardio,” I supply helpfully. “Friendship plus.”
He laughs. “I’m definitely open to the possibility of taking this to my bed.”
I grab his hand and pull him up from the couch. “Come on then, before your furniture starts a support group.”
He lets me tug him down the hallway by the hand, which shouldn’t feel like a big deal except we’re naked and holding hands and my brain is having some kind of crisis about it. Like, is hand-holding more intimate than having someone’s dick in your mouth? According to my racing heart? Yes.
We make it approximately ten steps—I know because I’m counting to distract myself—before Jared’s pressing me against the wall and kissing me like the bedroom is actually three miles away instead of three meters. Not that I’m complaining. The wall is good. The wall is great. I love this wall.
“I thought we were relocating,” I gasp when he starts kissing down my neck.
