Friends sure as hell didn’t do what I was starting to do.
My hand moved down over my stomach before I could stop it, slipping under the elastic of my pajama pants and into my underwear. Fingers brushed against the soft hair there, then lower.
This was wrong. He was my odd, intense friend who happened to look too damn good, staring at me like I was the sun and moon and stars combined. No matter how he’d admitted he was flirting with me, I wasn’t supposed to fall for his charms.
But my body didn’t care about any of that.
I pictured his hands again. Those big, capable hands that cradled a wine glass like it was precious, that spread sunscreen from my shoulders down to the dip of my waist, thumbs pressing in just enough to make me shift.
My fingers reached my pussy then, parting the folds, and I swore under my breath at how slick everything already was. Wetness coated my fingertips as I slid them along the slit, the heat coming off my skin making my hand feel sticky.
In my head, those hands of his moved up my thighs, rough calluses scraping lightly against the inside, then gripping hard at the tops before pulling my legs apart. Wide open, knees bent and feet flat on the bed, exposing my pussy to him. I saw him there, a dark shape kneeling between my spread thighs, his breath warm against the sensitive skin.
Gods. I thought about his mouth, how he’d kiss me, deep and unhurried, tongue pushing in to taste every bit. Then trailing lower, lips brushing over my collarbone, down to my breasts, sucking on the nipples until they hardened and ached. How he’d kiss across my stomach, nipping at the skin, before he reached my mound. He’d press his mouth there first, nose nudging against the hair, inhaling the scent of my arousal. Then his tongue would flatten against my outer lips, licking up the wetness that leaked out, salty and sharp on his taste buds.Fuck.
My own fingers mimicked it, middle one dipping into my entrance, feeling my walls clench around it. It’s been so fucking long since I’d masturbated, my pussy had imaginary cobwebs by now. I pushed in deeper, knuckle by knuckle, the stretch making me gasp as I curled it upward to rub that spot inside. The other hand stayed outside, thumb circling my clit, swollen and slick, sending jolts through my hips with each pass.
I imagined him pulling back just enough to look at me, gray eyes locked on where his mouth worked, before diving in again, lips wrapping around my clit, sucking hard enough to pull a whine from my throat, teeth grazing the edge lightly. His tongue flicked fast, then slow laps that covered every inch, lapping up more of the juices that dripped down toward my ass.
My fingers sped up, two inside now, thrusting in and out with wet sounds that filled the room, the squelch loud in the silence. My back lifted off the mattress, sheets twisting under me as my heels dug into the bed. I bit down on my lower lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood where my teeth sank in too deep, but a low moan slipped out anyway, rough and needy.
Shit. The orgasm crashed over me in pulses, starting deep in my core and radiating out, muscles tightening around my fingers as wetness gushed, soaking my hand and the fabric beneath my ass. My toes curled hard into the sheets, pulling them taut, while my other hand gripped the blanket. My hips bucked up, grinding against my palm, chasing every last twitch.
“Caelan,” I gasped, the name tearing from my lips as the waves kept coming. “Oh god, Caelan...”
Then I lay there, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling and feeling guilty as hell.
This was not friend behavior. This was the kind of thing that would make everything weird if he ever found out.
But then again... he didn’t always act like just a friend, did he?
Shit. I was going insane. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what I wanted. No. That was a lie. I knew exactly what I wanted.
I wanted him in my bed and my life. I wanted to stop being afraid, comparing him to Damien. I wanted to trust that not every man who made me feel seen would eventually make me feel small.
I wanted to take a chance, even if it was stupid. And that was the most terrifying thought of all.
9
— • —
Caelan
Everything was going according to plan.
I replayed the morning in my mind as I walked toward Ink & Iron late in the evening: Riley’s face when she saw the signed book, the way her eyes went soft. The way she said “I love it” like she meant more than the words. The way she let me into her home, her space, her morning. Let me sit at her tiny table and eat pastries as she shared a small piece of herself.
Real, measurable progress. Thessa would be proud. She’d also mock me relentlessly, but she’d be proud underneath the mockery.
I’d done my research on this tattoo shop. Investigated all three of the men who worked there. Dom, the owner, ex-military, did two tours overseas before settling in Lysmont and opening the shop. Marco, his cousin, former construction worker, built like abear and covered in his own artwork. Vinnie, trained under Dom for five years, had a Pomeranian named Brutus and a weakness for poker.
More importantly: all three of them were protective of Riley. They watched out for her, kept an eye on her comings and goings, escorted her to her door when she needed it.
Despite my fucking jealousy, I approved.
I pushed open the door to the tattoo shop, the bell chiming overhead. Dom was behind the counter, reading on his phone. Marco was at a station, cleaning equipment with precision. Vinnie was sprawled on a leather couch, scrolling through his phone with his feet up.
“Help you?” Dom asked, sizing me up.
