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Because he comes even closer, crowding me against the bedpost, hardly leaving any space between us for me to put my arms up as defenses. And when I look into his eyes, swallowing and blushing, I find that he isn’t amused.
Like he usually is.
When I walk into one of his double entendres or dirty jokes.
His eyes are intense. Blazing.
They’re more red than brown as he rasps, “My turn, yeah?”
“T-turn for what?”
“To know.”
My breaths break. “There’s nothing to —”
“Have you?”
“Have I what?”
Instead of answering, he lowers his eyes and even though I’m still staring up at him, I know what he’s looking at. Iknowhe’s looking at them.
My tits, my nipples.
Because he’s making them hurt.
He’s making them burn even harder.
“Reign,” I whisper as a plea, asking him to stop.
Thankfully, he lifts his eyes. “Had them sucked.”
I can’t believe he’s asking me that.
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. This… This filthy, inappropriate conversation, and I breathe out a puff of air, my belly tightening, aching much like my tits. “That’s… That’s none of your business. I can’t… believe you’d ask me that.”
“I think it is.”
“It’s n-not. It’s…”
My words go poof in the face of what happens to his features next. His sharp features get even sharper, his jaw going tight and his cheekbones arching up. Even his flaming eyes sharpen.
They become… predatory.
Possessive.
It’s like a fire, that possessiveness.
Like a hot star between us.
Between our wildly breathing, closeknit bodies.
“You’re my best friend’s girl,” he rasps. “Aren’t you?”
I am.
Yes.
Although, I’m ashamed to admit that out of all the reasons I thought that this conversation is inappropriate, being his best friend’s girl wasn’t something that made it to my list.
