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If it sounds ridiculous, I don’t care.
With him, it’s true, and it’s a wonder I don’t start humping his leg like an animal driven by pure lust.
This is pure insanity.
I’ve only had sex a few times, but his all-consuming kiss and a teasing flick of his hand does more than full penetration with any of the guys I’ve slept with before.
They were puppies.
This man is a mature wolf, and I’m ready for him to feast, to pick me clean to the bone.
The kissing continues, slashing tongues growing wilder by the second, a quickening race to explore each other’s mouths until we break away for air.
Another minute in, and I’m gasping.
He’s breathing just as hard as we stand there, staring at each other with heaving chests.
With another soft growl, he shakes his head.
“The fuck’s going on, Shel?”
“I think it’s called kissing, West,” I reply teasingly.
He breaks into a sunrise grin. His hands are still firmly under my shirt, tugging the back of my bra strap.
“I know what it’s called, brat,” he says. “But this is us, dammit, and we’re ripping at each other like we’re damn well starved.”
I reach up, running my hands through his thick hair, loving how the evening light spills across it.
“Yeah, well...maybe we are,” I whisper.
“You’re Marty’s little sister. Fuck,” he grinds out. “If we don’t stop this, I’ll never live it down.”
“So don’t,” I say harshly, pushing my breasts against his wall of a chest. “I also know you’re my friend and if we both want this...where’s the harm?”
“You said it yourself. We’re friends,” he growls back, tensing when I peck and lick softly at his neck. “Friends don’t fuck each other’s brains out their ears, Shelly. They don’t make out like college kids after a fucking skin snack.”
“But we are,” I offer, loving the fraught heat of his breath on my cheek. “We’re also grown adults, Weston. Adults who have always liked each other. Adults who have a certain chemistry. Don’t you dare deny it when obviously we still do.” I trail a finger along the side of his face.
His eyes look like they want to burn me into ash.
“Don’t you agree? Don’t you want this?” I whisper.
“Damn you to hell,” he bites off, his eyes brilliant-blue cauldrons.
I’ve made it this far without sinking. Why stop now?
Kissing his chin, his neck, and running my finger along his jaw, I whisper in his ear, “There’s no problem unless we make one. Don’t you want me?”
I know I’ve lost it.
I should be committed to the Institute of People With Pathological Crushes.
But I also want this so bad I’m shaking as I reach down, running my fingers down his leg.
His hold on me tightens, and I inhale sharply when my fingers graze the bulge in his jeans.
Surprise, he’s huge.
