With a growl of frustration, I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing, as if that would absolve me of the memories from last night. But the scent did nothing to dissuade my throbbing cock, recalling the smell of it on Everly. Great. So now I was going to get hard every time I washed myself, like Pavlov’s fucking dog.
When Everly had dropped into my lap last night, smelling like me, wearing my clothes, and looking like a fucking wet dream, all bright eyes and pouty lips, it’d taken all I had to stay still. To not move a fucking inch. I hadn’t known what to do or how to respond—what was appropriate in that situation, ’cause I sure as fuck didn’t know. But then her uncertainty had taken the uncertainty out of it for me, because I’d be whatever she needed me to be—always had, always would. And at that point, she’d needed my comfort.
So I’d wrapped my arms around her and prayed she hadn’t noticed my cock growing harder with every second that passed. That had lasted all of three minutes before catastrophe struck.
One press of her lips against mine, and I was a changed man.
But still, I held back, refusing to cross that line after what she’d been through. She’d been scared and anxious and had probably still been in shock.
Never mind the timid little way her tongue had peeked out, swiping against my lip. Or how she’d squirmed in my lap, like she’d spread her legs and sit right on my cock if I guided her to.
I muttered a curse, forcing myself back to the present. Bracing my hands on the tile wall, I clenched my eyes shut as if that would be enough to will away the memory of her taste. As if I could force my cock to deflate simply by shoving those thoughts aside. But there was no erasing those memories, because no matter what I did, the image of her haunted me—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lips swollen from my kiss. From my teeth and my tongue.
I couldn’t deny anymore that I wanted to see my marks all over her. Wanted to bite and suck down the long column of her neck. Wanted to lick across her collarbones, suck those perfect tits into my mouth, and devour her pussy.
But it was wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking about my best friend that way. Shouldn’t be fantasizing about her in the shower with me, on her knees as she took me deep into her mouth, all the way to her throat, her eyes wide and innocent while she choked on my cock.
I shouldn’t be, but I was.
With a growl, I wrapped my hand around my shaft and gripped tightly. I swallowed a groan as I stroked up the length, imagining her hands, her mouth, her pussy on me. Imagining the two of us recreating Chapter Twenty-Two, her spread out on my bed, blindfolded and bound and begging for my cock. Then it switched to last week’s book—Chapter Seventeen—watching as Everly got herself off with a toy while I directed how fast and how hard and how much. Then it was Chapter Twelve of the first book we’d read together, bending her over a balcony above a busy street and fucking her where anyone could see.
My balls started to tingle, my impending orgasm breathing down my neck. I closed my eyes and groaned, hoping she didn’t hear me over the sound of the spray. Hoping she was still asleep and would never know anything about this. I could just pretend it never happened. Pretend I hadn’t tasted ambrosia on her tongue last night. Pretend it hadn’t felt like everything had slid into place when she’d straddled my lap and rocked against me, my name a breathy sigh on her lips. Pretend she hadn’t completely fucking changed me.
I had to. Because if I didn’t, there was only destruction ahead of us. Only heartbreak and a messy end to what we had. And I wasn’t ready to give her up. Not yet. Not ever.
As my orgasm pressed down on me, I tightened my grip around my cock, swiping my thumb across the head as I quickened my strokes and replayed that sweet little moan she’d breathed straight into my mouth. I imagined it was the heat of her pussy surrounding me instead of the poor substitute of my hand, and that was all it took. I groaned her name as I came, spilling over my fingers to thoughts of her coming around me.
A sharp gasp sounded in the room, and I snapped my eyes open, whipping my head toward the door even as shudders still racked my body. And there she stood, lip caught between her teeth and eyes wide as she drank me in from head to toe. The glass shower doors hid absolutely nothing from her, least of all my hand wrapped around my cock as I coaxed out the last ripple of my orgasm.
“Sunshine,” I choked out, bracing myself on the wall.
“Oh my God. Am I still dreaming?” she asked, her voice raspy.
“I—”
“’Cause I just had a dream about you.” She took another step closer, her eyes glued on my cock, and the greedy bastard was already kicking back to life at her attention. “But you didn’t look like that.”
I swallowed, sure I was going to regret asking this, but I couldn’t help myself. “How did I look?”
“Well, for starters”—she licked her lips—“you definitely weren’t that big.”
“Jesus, Everly,” I groaned. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re friends. You’re not supposed to— We’re not—”
“We did last night.”
“We shouldn’t have.”
Her eyes flashed up to mine, and she squared her shoulders, determination written in her gaze. “You didn’t like it?”
“Christ.” I squeezed my eyes shut, curling my hand into a fist as I braced it against the tile. “Of course I fucking liked it. You just watched me come all over my hand to memories of it.”
She breathed out a breathy little, “Oh,” as she licked her lips, her gaze darting between my eyes and where my cock jutted toward her. “That was to thoughts of me?”
The correct answer was no. It was what I should’ve said, and then I should’ve turned my back on her and shut down this thing we’d started before it could go too far. Before either of us got hurt. My mind warred with itself, half of it wanting nothing more than to tell her to get out so we could salvage this friendship that meant everything to me, while the other half was desperate to invite her in to join me.
