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Her laughter spurred his own as she lifted her head. She flicked her tongue over her kiss-swollen lips. “Yeah, I came. Twice. The second time when you slapped me.”
“Sorry about the slapping thing. I lost it.”
“Sorry?” She arched a brow. “Did you hear the part about how it made me come?” She toyed with his nipples and shifted just enough to make them both groan. “So, you know, feel free to make me come like that again anytime you want.”
“Duly noted. Assuming I can ever regenerate some damn brain cells enough to be able to actually think again.”
“Don’t think yet.” She laid her hand on his jaw. “And don’t go yet either,” she said, squeezing him in case he didn’t get her drift.
“Not going. Broken.”
Laughing softly, she laid a trail of kisses up his throat and over his chin, nipping his lower lip. “It was every bit as good as I always dreamed,” she murmured.
His throat tightened as he smoothed her waterfall of hair down her back. “So you’ve been doing that a lot about us? Dreaming?”
“Oh, since college or so. But they were only occasional dreams, when my latest boyfriend turned out to be a dud. I knew you wouldn’t be.” She looked up at him and gave him a secret smile. “Which is why I think I always saved myself for you, even though I couldn’t admit it. A couple of times I came close to having sex. Really close. But every time I backed out and ran home to the apartment to be with you and Matt.” She sighed. “I kept trying to do what I
thought I should. Find a decent guy— one decent guy—and maybe start to think about settling down someday.” Her lips twitched. “In five or ten years or so, after I’d conquered the world.”
“Yeah. We knew. We flipped out every damn time you got a new boyfriend, thinking he’d be it and you’d leave us.”
Cait scooted down to rest her head on his chest, her fingers sifting through the curly, dark hair on his pecs. “None of them ever measured up. Not emotionally or sexually, although it wasn’t just about that. None of them made me feel this way. The way I’ve always felt for you. The way I grew to feel about Matt. It took longer with him,” she acknowledged. “He was so hard to get to know at first, and he always had that sarcastic edge. But eventually I fell for him too. It scared me.” She let out a long breath. “I’ve been scared for a long time.”
“Yeah, I get that. Believe me. Going after what you want and facing losing everything if you fail is scary as fuck.” He shifted her until they were on their sides. Then he laid his hand against her cheek and kissed her gently, as gently as the love he was afraid to trust was blooming between them. “You were the second girl I ever fell hard for.”
“Who was the first?” She made a face before he could answer. “Not Stacy Harcourt.”
“Yeah. The older woman who broke my tender heart.” He grinned as he pushed aside her hair to nuzzle her neck.
“Older? Wasn’t she like twenty-one when you were eighteen?”
“Still counts.”
“Now she was a wanton woman,” she said, arching her neck to give him more access. “She had all the fun.”
“Sexually adventurous, she called it.” He laughed and cuddled her closer. God, he never wanted to let her go. “We should get you cleaned up,” he said after a few moments of companionable silence passed. “You have to be sore.”
“Only a little. And I like this particular soreness.” She licked her lips and teasingly wiggled her hips, rocking him inside her until he groaned. “Wanna try for round two?”
“You must really think I am a superhero.” With the way she made him feel—the way they both made him feel—she wasn’t too far off.
“I always have.” She tightened her arms around him. “Promise me something.”
The fragile peace between them felt so tenuous he hated to shatter it. But he wouldn’t lie to her unless he had no choice.
“What?” he asked, immediately on guard.
“That no matter what, we’ll always be friends. Nothing can change that, right? Because I honestly don’t think I could handle losing you.”
“You didn’t mention Matt,” he said, his voice strained.
How could she ask him to promise eternal friendship when he hadn’t even seen how this would play out? It was as if she wanted to have her cake, eat it too, and then force him to pretend to like that she’d scarfed the rest without sharing.
“I don’t have to worry about him.”
“He is your real best friend, isn’t he?”
“It’s just different,” she said dismissively, waving a hand. “He’s a survivor. He’ll deal with whatever happens. Now promise me.”
