All very good questions. And I immediately shove those very good questions directly out of my brain and relegate them tolater, because it’s six in the morning and the coffee is finished, and I have a very undercaffeinated best friend awake long before she should be, which is something that needs my immediate and undivided attention.
Sophie’s favorite mug is missing—probably currently in her room with her and full of subpar coffee—so I grab an oversize Renegades mug and fill it up, adding milk and the syrup Sophie likes before setting off in search of her, coffee in hand.
I head back up the stairs and pause in the hallway, listening for any sounds from inside her bedroom. I don’t hear anything and consider the possibility that maybe she went back to sleep. Not wanting to knock and wake her, I decide to go in and leave the coffee on her nightstand so she’ll have it when she wakes up.
I smile, thinking of the relieved, happy little hum she’ll make when she takes the first sip. The way her eyes will drop closed and then open again, the caffeine clearing the whiskey brown.
I really should get around to sorting through these feelings because I’m self-aware enough to know thinking of the sound Sophie makes when she drinks coffee and what her eyes look like in the morning does not exactly screamfriends only.
Later, though. Caffeinate Sophie first.
Reaching for the handle, I turn it slowly and push open the door. And in the space of one single heartbeat, every thought I’ve ever had empties from my brain, and all the blood in my body drains directly to my dick so fast I have to lock my knees to stay upright.
I assumed Sophie would be in bed, fast asleep. It was a poor assumption on my part, because she is very much not in bed and extremely not asleep.
Sophie is naked.
Holy fucking fuck, Sophie is naked.
Naked as in standing in the middle of her bedroom wearing no clothes at all, a towel pooled on the floor at her feet. Her damp curls drip onto her shoulders, drops of water that slide along her collarbone, over what are surely the most perfect tits ever to exist on this earth and dusky pink nipples that pebble under my gaze. The curve of her waist and flare of her hips and long legs and thighs that clench when my eyes land at their apex.
Fuck. Me.
Naked Sophie is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
I should stop looking. I should walk away. Somewhere in the back of my head is a red flag waving, an alarm blaring, warning me back from a line I shouldn’t cross. A bell I can’t unring.
But I ignore it.
I ignore it all.
I drink her in greedily, devouring her with my eyes, because Sophie is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, with miles of smooth skin I want to touch every inch of. Hair I want to tangle my hands in. Lips I want to consume.
Motherfucker, I want to kiss her.
She’s my best friend in the world, and I want to kiss her more than I want to take my next breath. I want to know what she tastes like and what sounds she makes and whether her creamy skin flushes pink when she comes. I want to hear her moan my name and know what it feels like when she moves under me. Over me. Everywhere.
So, look away? Not fucking likely.
The house could be on fire, and I would still be standing here, eyes glued to her, unable to move or think or fucking breathe because all of a sudden every single thought or feeling I’ve had in the last few weeks makes perfect sense, and I see it all with such startling, stunning clarity I don’t understanding how I haven’t realized it until now.
I want Sophie.
So fucking much.
I have feelings for Sophie that are big and important. Feelings that are full ofwhat ifsandpossibilityandwhat will happenwhenand are so much more than the fact that she’s gorgeous when she’s naked.
Even though,goddamn.
My gaze travels back up her body, and when our eyes lock and hold, hers are filled with questions and heat and a simmering intensity that has my stomach tightening with want.
My breath backs up in my lungs. I can’t tear my eyes away.
My heart slams against my ribs. My cock is hard as steel.
My feet are moving before my brain kicks in. One step. Then two. My arms aching to get around her. My fingers itching to touch her.
It’s the third step that flips the switch. I can see it happen in real time. Sophie blinks, as if coming out of a daze. The intensity in her eyes turns to panic, the breath gusting out of her lungs.
