“Are you ready for the best mistake we’ll ever make?”
Yes, my body screams. I crash my mouth against his as my fingers grab his hair and my breasts rub against his chest.
Yes. I thought we might have chemistry based on our past kisses. I was wrong. This isn’t chemistry. This is an inferno.
His hands are everywhere, down my sides and palming my ass, gripping my hair and pinching my nipple. My fingers roam his back and clutch at his shirt. Dexter lodges a thick thigh between my legs. I grind against it shamelessly, chasing the pleasure of his muscles rubbing my sensitive apex.
A manly groan reverberates between our bodies and penetrates under my skin, unleashing electric currents into my veins. When he nips my lower lip and licks down my neck, liquid heat pools in my core. Dex gives each of my nipples a graze of his teeth. I arch for more and sigh with pleasure.
The contrast of his calloused palms and his lush mouth, his rough stubble and his coaxing tongue, his appetite and his skill—all of it overwhelms me in the best possible way. Underneath the passion, I feel his control. I’m desperate to surrender to it.
At the same time, imagining Dex with absolutely no control—wild and rough and potent—excites me.
Our mouths are fused, each taste intensifying my hunger.
I’ve never been kissed like this.
I bet a lot of women say that, my insecurity prods. I’ve witnessed firsthand the way women look at Dexter. The man’s sex appeal and gentlemanly ways have proven irresistible to many.
As his childhood friend, I thought I was immune. Not anymore.
“Sabrina,” he whispers in my ear as he gathers my hair in a fist. “Look at me.”
My eyes flick up. I see the unspoken plea. Even now, during the most mind blowing make out session of my life, Dex isn’t carried away. He paused because he wants me to be sure.
Suddenly, after a lifetime of friendship, I’ve never been more certain of a single fact: I’ll die if we stop. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but friendship is simply not enough.
At least not tonight.
“Don’t stop. I want you, Dex. Take me to bed. Please, don’t stop.”
I grind my center over his thigh, my lingerie bunched and crumpled between us. I want him to rip everything off. We need to be skin to skin. He hoists me up and wraps my legs around his burly hips.
Tasteful sconces light the room, emitting a glow on each side of the mattress. He lays me down and steps back, eyes roaming my body as he licks his lips.
“Fuck, Sabrina. Now that I know what you look like under your clothes, it’s gonna be impossible to keep my hands off you.”
“You don’t have to keep your hands off me tonight.”
I barely hear my own voice because there’s a gong where my heart should be.
The word lingers in the air between us.
Tonight.
We can contain this mistake to one night, can’t we?
His eyes narrow, assessing my expression. I watch his features morph from hungry to determined.
“Everything about you is beautiful. Look at your hair down your back and those breasts that belong in my mouth. Lie back and let me see the pussy I’ve been dreaming about.”
My breathing stutters. Where did this dirty-talking sex god come from?
It’s still Dexter before me, with his searing blue eyes and infinitely capable hands. But it’s as if he’s revealing another dimension of himself. I can’t tell if I’m nervous or eager to see more. Probably both.
I crawl to the center of the bed, though I refuse to lie back. My knees are tight together, calves tucked under one hip. In response to my reluctance, he raises one brow and shakes his head.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says gruffly and with a tinge of impatience. “You are going to lie down and open your thighs, nice and wide. Show me how much you want my mouth on your pussy. I like to appreciate my meal before I eat.”
