And then — like an idiot — I madethatjoke.
Imagine what I could do with a bed.
Jesus.
I had never said something so obscene so casually. Never. Not to anyone. Not even to my fucking ex-husband. But with him, it just slipped out like breathing. Like Iwantedhim to take the hint. Like Iwantedhim to take me home.
Which… okay. I might have.
No, I didn’t. Nomore, June. Just friends.
Yuck.
But maybe… not yuck?
God. It had just felt… natural. Teasing him, egging him on,pleasinghim. I wanted to do it again.
My thighs clenched around his waist on instinct. I felt his hands tense again on my hips, and his groan waslow, wrecked, almost pained.
He was trying to be good. Which was adorable.
And kind of infuriating.
I leaned in, pressed my lips to the shell of his ear, just because I could. “I’ve never made one of myfriendscome in their pants before,” I whispered.
He made a sound that might have been a laugh. Or a plea for mercy. “I hate you,” he muttered.
I smiled. “Liar.”
God help me, I feltpowerful.
Ansel groaned something unintelligible and hid his face against my collarbone, still panting like I’d run him into the ground. I pressed a kiss to his temple — soft, absentminded.
He didn’t pull away.
Eventually, finally, I gave him a little squeeze with my knees and tipped my head toward the shallow steps. “We should probably make an exit before someone notices we’re plotting the destruction of friendship as we know it.”
“Too late,” he muttered, voice raw and broken somewhere in my shoulder. “I think the war crimes are already on record.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. But I still didn’t move.
Because Ilikedit — the way his arms still held me, even now. The heat between us. The feel of his pulse, hiscock, still stuttering, unsteady, where it thudded against my thigh.
I enjoyed knowing I’d done that.
I climbed off him slowly. Carefully. Like I hadn’t just used the man as my personal water slide.
My legs were jelly. My core felt molten. My ego was…screaming. Loudly. Proudly.
I had madeAnsel Barlowecome in his swim trunks. With mythighs. He hadn’t said much yet, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face again.
Instead, I grabbed a towel off the nearest lounger and draped it over my shoulders like a shield. “That wasn’t—” I paused. “I didn’t?—”
“No,” he said quickly, voice still wrecked and breathless. “It’s fine.”
I risked a glance.
He looked… not fine. Flushed and wide-eyed and utterly ruined. He looked like was stuck between panic and reverence. Like he didn’t know if he wanted to crawl out of his own skin or worship me.
