Page 69 of Sterling Heat

She should never be someone’s side-piece. Enya is the full package. Looks. Brains. Motherhood. He’s the fucking idiot. But I’m thankful for his stupidity because I’m the lucky man standing in her kitchen, making her dinner.

I’m here.

“If you’re over him, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up.”

She shakes her head again, like she isn’t going to tell me, but I can be relentless when I want something. And I’ve made up my mind I want her. I don’t know where the future leads but that’s never been how I work. I react first. Ask questions later.

I turn off the stove and step closer to her. Her gaze remains pointed toward the floor, where she draws on the hardwood with her big toe. Her hands still clutch at the countertop behind her. Tugging on her chin with my finger and thumb, I prompt her to look up at me. “Talk to me.”

Her eyes narrow. “I went to the doctor today and I’m cleared for sex, but seeing him, seeing him move on, makes me feel like I never will. Not that I won’t move on from him. I am over him. But it’s the having sex part. Like I’m never going to have sex again. Have someone touch me. Someone taste—”

“Enya,” I growl, cutting her off because the images invading my head are too much. My fingers on her skin. My mouth on her pussy. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I drive into her.

Abruptly, her hand covers her mouth, and she mutters into her palm. “Oh God. I don’t know why I said all that to you.”

With our gazes locked on each other, I swallow hard. Further visions arise. Spreading her thighs and burying my head between them, getting drunk on her as she coats my tongue and eventually allows my dick inside her.

Fighting down the vivid fantasy, I say, “We’re friends. You can tell me anything.”

“Yes, well . . .” She shakes her head again, brushing loose hair over one ear as she avoids looking at me. “You’ve made it clear how little you’re interested in me other than friendship and I shouldn’t have—”

Sliding my hand into her hair, I fist the soft tresses at the back of her neck while I lean my lower body against hers pinning her against the countertop.

“You want to repeat that last part to me again.” My throat is as thick as the butter and cheese combo in the pot. I can’t believe what she just said.

“I shouldn’t have said all that to you?” Her voice lilts, choking on the higher octaves as she questions herself.

“No, the part before that.” My jaw clenches. My teeth grind. How does she not know how I feel about her? How hard I’ve been fighting myself?

“You’re not interested—"

“Do not complete that sentence.” I tighten my fingers in her hair, gently tugging so I have her attention. “What gave you the impression I’m not interested? I’m here every night.”

I’m sleeping beside her, torturing myself with how much I want her.

“Because we’re friends.” She clarifies with a dash of bitterness.

“It’s not because we’re friends.” My tone is too sharp, and her eyes widen, hurt filling them. “Fuck. We are friends, it’s just . . . you have no idea how much I want you. I want to touch you, and taste you, and—” Dammit, I want everything with her. More than tasting and touching. I want to breathe the air she breathes. Smell her scent on my clothes, my flesh. I want to hear her laugh and swallow her cries. I want to see her before bed and wake up with her in the morning.

And no other man is going to receive her laughter or soothe her tears, or her taste her lips.

“Sugar.” I tug at her hair and then lower my mouth to hers.

The second our lips connect I’m transported back to that first kiss. This is so much more. The warmth of her mouth. The scorch of her tongue. The flame of desire roars inside me. Being with her will burn me to the ground, but I’m willing to go up in the blaze because I can’t resist her anymore.

“Please don’t pity me,” she mumbles against my mouth before leaping into another kiss, tugging on my lips, and rushing her tongue to meet mine.

“Pity you?” I murmur against her mouth, swiping my tongue against hers before explaining. “I’m mesmerized by you. Enthralled by you.” I lean into her, kissing her harder, stroking over her tongue again. My dick strains behind my zipper, and I grind into her, emphasizing that pity is the last thing I feel for her. I’ve never been so hard, so hungry for someone in my life. She’s my new addiction.

“Let me touch you.” I press my forehead to hers with my desperate plea. My hands cup the sides of her neck while my breathing is ragged and rough. I need to be closer to her, to feel her around me.

Taking her hand, I step back, prepared to take her to her bedroom, and show her exactly how interested I am in her.

“Wait.”

“Why?” The greedy bastard in me doesn’t want to wait any longer. I can’t keep denying myself, stalling through friendship, and ignoring the attraction. Another man, any man, would be eager to step in and take my place. Be with Enya. Father Adara. And I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

I’m here. Call it fate or redemption or some mysterious being intervening in my life, but I’m making the choice. I want to try with her.