Page 76 of All Our Almosts

“Oh my god.” My fingers curve around him, palm tracing an exploring path over the fabric. “Andy—you’re so big.”

“Fuck, Sophie,” he breathes into the next kiss.

Then my hand is gone and we’re grinding against each other, the hardness of him pressing right between my legs, my hips bucking up to meet him because I need more. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in tighter, pressing him where I need him most. But then his hands are on my hips and he’s pushing away, creating distance where there should be none.

“Wait, Soph. Hold on. I don’t want to…” His head falls against my shoulder, his breathing heavy.

Already, the inch of space between our bodies is clearing my head. I’m disappointed, yes, but I get it. I hold his face gently to my shoulder as I say, “That’s okay. We don’t have to.”

His head snaps up, eyes finding mine. “No. Sophie. God—I want to. I really want to.” His lips meet mine with hunger again, and between fervent kisses he murmurs, “I meant I don’t want to come. Not yet.”

And good lord, knowing that what we’re doing has him that close is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Let’s go to your room,” I say, barely sane and not above begging. “Please.”

Andy lifts me straight up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his torso and he carries me towards his room, kicking open the door.

From the moment he places my feet on the floor by his bed, he’s already pulling at the buttons on his shirt. His hands are shaking, his motions stilted and frenzied. I don’t want him to be nervous, so I do the only thing I can think of: I pull my dress over my head and drop it on the floor. When he finally tosses his shirt to the ground and looks back up at me, I’m in nearly nothing—black lace underwear to match the black lace bra—and it’s like a hard reset. Time slows, and whatever nervous thoughts were swirling through Andy’s head before are forgotten.

“Sophie…” He stalks forward, nearly closing the distance between us but not quite. “You wore these for our date. For me.”

It’s not really a question, but I breathe out a “Yes.” I’ve never felt more exposed or more secure.

His hands wrap around my waist with urgent slowness, then guide me backwards onto the bed. I lie back, propped on my elbows as Andy’s body moves to cage mine. He pauses there, just looking at me, midnight whirlpools in his eyes. With the tips of two fingers, he traces the lightest path over my ribs, then my stomach. His touch is warm, and he lowers himself to kiss the plane of my stomach once. Twice. Then his gaze slides back up to mine.

“Show me,” he begs.

And I will do anything he asks.

Eyes never leaving his, I tuck one arm beneath myself, unfastening my bra and tossing it to the side. When my hands move to the fabric at my hips, Andy takes over, replacing my hands with his own. He slowly pulls the black lace over my thighs, then lower, until it's tossed aside.

Andy doesn’t touch me yet. He comes to kneel on the bed between my legs, gaze ravenous, flitting across me in a way that I know means he’s memorizing every inch. His hands hover between us, like they can’t quite decide where to go first. Slowly, his expression glazes over.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he says. “I’ve… tortured myself.”

His hands find my thighs, fingers kneading the flesh in a way that’s somehow too light for the intensity of his grip, the obvious tension of his muscles.

“Being so close to you, just on the other side of that wall. Imagining you, like this, with some other guy. Some stranger.”

His palms slide up to my hips, fingertips pressing ardently into the soft flesh as my body becomes his confessional, and I want to hear every sin.

“Even before that. Fucking other women with my eyes closed. Wishing they were you. And now…”

He moves reverently up my stomach, cupping my breasts, teasing each nipple with a thumb, and I’m losing my mind.

“Andy.” His eyes snap up to mine and he’s back, haze clearing from his expression. “Take off your pants.”

He obeys, pulling away to undo his belt buckle. What remains of his clothes falls to the floor and I stare unrepentantly. I feel like an animal—a biological need begging to have him inside me.

I realize we’re about to cross a line that can never be uncrossed. That we can never just be friends again after this.

I wouldn’t want to, anyway.

I drag my teeth across my bottom lip. “What are you waiting for?”

His responding smirk reminds me that this is still my best friend, and somehow that makes it even better. He chuckles as he crawls over me, every hard edge of his body finding its corresponding curve on mine. He centers himself between my legs and the sensation has me sighing, lifting my hips, grinding against him, showing him just how much I want this.

“Soph,” he pants, kissing behind my ear, “I swear I’m usually better at foreplay than this, but I just—”