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He bends, there’s pressure behind my legs, and my feet lift off the floor. I cling to his shoulders as he speeds through his condo. The tips of my fingers run over his trimmed beard. He grins. It’s more of a bad-boy smirk, but there’s a still a touch of a boy-next-door grin.
We’re doing this. I want to do this. But we can’t lose our friendship. We can’t lose touch with who we are to each other.
“I burn for you.” I wiggle my eyebrows, hoping he gets I’m joking. It’s an infamous line from a television show I forced him to watch.
He cracks up, bypassing the guest room, and I let out a snort of laughter. It’s not sexy at all, but it’s natural. And it’s important we don’t lose this, no matter how sexed up we get for this little window in time.
I half expect him to toss me on the mattress in his bedroom, but he lowers me with care, gently setting me back onto two stacked pillows.
The hallway laughter subsides. I suck in air as realization sets in that we are really about to do this. Ian Duke. And me.
“I want you to tell me what you like.”
He presses his lips to my knuckles.
“You don’t have to do—” He covers my lips with his, probably to shut me up. I’m not sure why the urge to tell him we can just do it quick and fast rose, but our open-mouthed kiss has a drugging effect causing an entirely different set of urges to course through me. The warmth of his fingers travels up my leg, over my knee, to my inner thigh. He palms my mound, and my hips roll into his touch.
“No panties. I wondered.”
“Panty lines always show—” I gasp as the cool skin of his finger slips inside my folds. His finger plunges deeper while he massages my clit, his gaze locked on me.
“Feel good?”
My hips fall into the rhythm set by his hand, and my eyelids flutter closed.
“Sunny?”
“Yes. Very good.”
He pulls his finger out, then sucks it clean.
“I knew you’d taste good.” He gathers the hem of my dress and lifts. When it reaches my shoulders, he says, “Lift your arms.”
I comply, and he tosses my dress over to a chair. The only piece of clothing remaining is a smooth bra picked for its discreet features beneath my dress.
I reach for the buttons on his shirt, and his arm disappears behind me. As I fumble with the series of buttons down his shirt, my bra unsnaps, and the straps loosen around my shoulders. The bra meets my dress in a pile on the chair.
“Fuck, you are beautiful.” His intense focus has me imagining he’s holding a camera, clicking away, photographing me. It’s sensual and intimate.
Heat blossoms along my cheeks. The lights are dim, but one thigh crosses over the other in a weak attempt to hide.
“Take off your clothes. Join the naked party.” It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but it’s a reference to our pajama parties of yore. By middle school, I no longer received invitations to join the boys, but they had them for years, a bunch of boys running roughshod over the house and pastures. The boyish smile playing out on Ian’s lips tells me he gets my reference.
He finishes my unbuttoning job with his gaze locked on me. His shirt sails to the chair. As he unzips his trousers, I pinch one of my nipples while my other hand drifts down my stomach. I press four fingers flat over my center, letting the heat of my hand warm my sensitive, needy core.
“Fuck,” he groans, pausing with one leg out of his slacks, watching me with an appraising, appreciative, and yeah, I’d say burning stare. “Damn.”
He kicks off the remaining pants leg and moves to the foot of the bed, watching me while stroking himself with a slow and steady motion, up and down his engorged flesh, from the base up to his tip.
I spread my legs and curl my index finger, motioning for him to come to me. Because, fuck, he’s long and thick, and I really want to feel his full length inside me.
The mattress dips with his weight as he climbs on, one knee at a time. His lips find my ankle and press against the hard bone.
“Talus.” He says and shifts forward. “Fibula,” he says, moving higher up my leg and pressing his thumb into muscle. His lips press flat against my knee cap. “Patella.” His eyebrows rise, and he smirks. “Breathe.” His command lurches my lungs into action. “Spread your thighs.”
I’m already open for him, but I comply, spreading farther, and he feathers soft kisses up the sensitive skin. The rough hairs of his jaw scrape, bending the line of pleasure.
“There are two hundred and six bones in the human body. Did you know that?”
