“The one that makes me wonder if we’re getting any sleep tonight.”
He’s definitely hitting on me, and for a brief second, I’m unsure how to respond. Do I want him? Oh, hell yes. But what if, after one taste, I want more? What if it becomes like it was with Jonathan—a whirlwind that leaves me craving something I can’t have?
Hayes shifts, his stomach muscles tightening as he pushes himself up to stand. My eyes follow the movement, shamelessly drinking in the sight of his body. I can’t tear my gaze away, and I swear the front of his shorts just grew tighter, doubling in size.
Well, hello there. Didn’t expect company.
“How pissed would you be if I said I really wanted to kiss you right now,” he says, stepping closer.
My gaze snaps up to meet his. Those gray eyes—so intense, framed by unfairly long lashes—have always had a way of making me lose common sense. “I think I’d be more pissed if you didn’t,” I reply, letting a slow smile curl my lips. “So, yeah, I really want you to kiss me too…”
“Is there a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?” he asks, pausing, uncertainty flickering in his expression.
“No,” I say, my voice firm, as I step forward. It’s just a kiss. I don’t want to think right now—I can’t think. I just want to feel. Iwant his lips on mine, his hands on my skin, his weight pressing me down. His cock pushing inside me.
“Are you sure?” Hayes asks, his voice low, almost a growl.
“Yes,” I breathe, the word barely more than a whisper.
He moves closer, his body heat wrapping around me, drawing me in. “You know I really respect you and our friendship,” he says, his voice rough and husky, each word sending a tremor of need over my skin.
“I know,” I reply, my stomach tightening with anticipation. The air between us feels electric, charged with something I’ve never felt before.
“That’s good,” he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear that his warm breath skims my skin. My eyes flutter shut as a shiver of pleasure ripples through me.
“Because for the rest of the night, it might not seem like it,” he warns, his voice a dark promise.
A sharp pulse of desire throbs between my thighs, and I squeeze my legs together, trying to ease the ache building inside me. I’m torn between wanting this and fearing the consequences. “I don’t want this to mess up our friendship, Hayes,” I manage to say, though my voice comes out higher than I intended, laced with a need I can’t hide.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, his finger slips under the waistband of my shorts, caressing the sensitive skin there, making my breath hitch. “The only thing that’s going to be messed up,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck, “is the way you walk tomorrow.”
I’ve heard lines like this from so many men before—false bravado, empty promises designed to get me into bed. And once I’m there, it’s always the same story: a few seconds of fumbling, four or five thrusts, and then it’s over. They roll off me with sheepish grins and whispered apologies, promising it’ll be better next time. I hope this is different. I want Hayes to be different.I want him to erase every disappointing memory of the men I’ve wasted my time on. I want him to wipe them clean from my memory. I want him to yank my hair in his fists and quell the throbbing ache between my legs. Fill the tender, sore emptiness in my chest.
I want to say all these thoughts out loud, see how he responds. But I look up and our eyes meet and all rational thought gets scrambled and lost in the gaze.
Hayes inches closer, leans in. The air between us feels thick with anticipation, so heavy and dense I want to rip a hole into it to get some relief.
Then his hand is on my neck, hot and firm, sending a jolt of electricity racing through my chest. His other hand lifts from my waistband and hovers near the corner of my lips, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He leans in even closer, almost imperceptibly, until our lips are just inches apart.
Everything around us blurs and fades away. Somewhere out in the hallway, there’s a faint thudding—muted footsteps that dissolve into the quiet hum of nothingness.
Time seems to stretch, each second an eternity as the ache between my legs builds to a nearly unbearable throb. His eyes stay locked on mine, both of us savoring the exquisite tension of this moment, knowing that this kiss—our first kiss—will be the point of no return. I suddenly have trouble swallowing.
His lips barely touch mine and my head tips back. It’s a brush of a kiss, a touch so soft and tentative I’m not even sure it’s real. A soft moan escapes though my lips. This tease of a kiss is killing me. I don’t want to beg for it—but he must feel it, my desperation—my aching need for his lips on mine, his hands on me. I don’t want to beg, but oh, God, please,pleaselet him kiss me.
Then his mouth collides with mine so hard, it sends shockwaves through my body, filling all my senses. I forget everything I was just pleading for as I feel the heat from his bodyengulf me. I almost drown in it. Time stops. My heart stutters to a stop. Hayes is kissing me. I’m kissing Hayes back. His mouth so foreign, yet so familiar.
I never want this kiss to stop.
His tongue brushes mine and heat blooms across my collarbone. He’s so fucking delicious. A small tease of whatever lewdly expensive liquor he’d been drinking at dinner.
My panties grow uncomfortably damp.
He tugs his mouth back, gazing down at me. Hands, rough and strong, slide down my neck, over my shoulders, down my arms, and settle on the bare skin of my waist.
I move forward, laying my hands on his bare chest and walk him backward until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sits down hard and tilts his head up to look at me. I want to climb on top of him, drive him crazy, but his hands grip the back of my legs, keeping me in place. He slides them slowly, all the way up my thighs, cupping both cheeks of my bottom hard. His touch is rough, firm, hard. I almost forget to breathe.
He pulls me closer and my hands fall to his shoulders. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the small slice of bare skin just under the hem of my shirt. Another small kiss. A lick.
