I blink, breathe deep, and will it to pass.
“Grey?” Sabrina whispers.
“You’re too fucking hot,” I force out, and as the words leave me, so do the impending dots in my vision.
“That’s why we can’t do it on the stove,” she says.
Know the last time I laughed while I was kissing a woman who was unbuttoning my shirt as I carried her across a kitchen to shove her against a fridge?
Never.
But I’m in.
Maybe it’s lack of sleep.
Maybe it’s lack of regular sex in the past two years.
Maybe it’s the constant visions of her pleasuring herself with a vibrator on the other side of my bedroom wall every time I accidentally hear her brushing her teeth.
Maybe it’s reminders of Hawaii.
Maybe it’s thatI like her.
She finishes with my buttons while still kissing me and shoves my shirt off my shoulders, then roams cool hands over my chest. “It’s so wrong that you’re this hot,” she breathes against my collarbone.
And then she bites it.
My dick strains harder. A tiny gasp slips from her mouth, and she rocks her hips against me once more.
I tug her shirt.
She reaches between us and pops the button on my pants, then dips her hand inside and brushes the tip of my dick.
I whimper.
Cannot help myself. “More.”
She rocks against my shaft and swirls her thumb around my head again.
My eyes cross.
My head falls to her shoulder.
I breathe in coffee and snow and warmth, her hair tickling my cheek, and thrust into her touch. “Why—you?”
“Life’s a bitch,” she replies.
And then she lurches away with a shriek.
No more Sabrina in my arms.
No more Sabrina’s thumb on my raging erection.
No more Sabrina’s legs wrapped around my hips.
Just Sabrina gripping my shirt while the whole damn refrigerator rolls backward.
“What—” I start, lunging for her.
