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But the real question was—did I want to kiss his best friend who I’d just met today?
I looked at Stefan and saw that he wasn’t smiling.
He seemed a little pissed off.
He’d asked me for a kiss, and I hadn’t given him one.
Yet.
We’d had a couple of drinks here, and I was definitely feeling loose.
But was I loose enough to kiss my boyfriend’s best friend?
In front of my boyfriend?
I set my hands on Stefan’s wide shoulders and pressed myself closer to him—staring into his eyes the whole time. He finally smiled and dropped his head down, touching his lips to mine.
I felt an instant zing flow through me, and my poor pussy began to throb even harder. “Mmm,” he groaned, pushing his tongue into my mouth, not exactly giving me any choice in the matter.
Not that I minded.
My tongue greeted his and we started what was possibly the most erotic kiss I’d ever had. His hands found my ass, and pulled my hips into his. I could feel his long, thick hardness against my belly.
The thin material of my dress left nothing to be imagined.
Our tongues dueled for control, and I loved every single minute of it. Stefan kissed me desperately—like I was essential for his next breath.
His hand dipped under my short skirt, and before I knew it, his fingers were on my bare ass cheek. He grabbed me tighter then, and moved his hips harder against mine.
If the dance floor wasn’t so packed, we’d be putting on quite the show for everyone.
But nobody noticed a thing.
Or, if they did, they watched and didn’t say a word.
After a few minutes, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Sure that Nick had had enough of watching me make-out with his best friend, I turned my head, stopping the kiss.
“We should get out of here before you two get any hotter,” he said with a loud laugh.
Stefan frowned, but agreed with Nick.
Nick took my hand in his and guided us off the dance floor.
That’s when I felt someone grab my other hand and hold it.
I spun my head to the side and saw it was Stefan.
Nick led us to one of the bars and in the blink of an eye, the bartender produced three shots. “One for the road,” he announced, handing us each a glass. “To old friends and new,” he said with a mischievous smile on his face. “And to new adventures.”
He winked at me as we clinked our shot glasses against each other’s.
The dark, amber liquid burned on its way down, making it difficult to breathe.
I coughed and swallowed a few more times, waiting for it to end.
We walked out of there and I officially felt tipsy again.
I wasn’t sure if it was from the drink or from the make-out session.
