by Mika Jolie
“This isn’t a drunken mistake.” Her voice is subtly sensual and smooth, a velvety whisper. And then she licks her bottom lip.
A fresh bolt of desire thrums through my veins. I am consumed by desire to mark her as mine and possess her. A need I never knew I’d feel for a woman. A need that is so intense, it wrenches a deep, rough male groan from me as I pull her, caveman-style, into me.
Hungry for the connection, I slam my lips to hers. We are kissing again, so deep and hard that our lungs are breathing each other’s essence. And I can’t think, because Coriander is the most amazing kisser. Ever.
Sparks are flying all around me. I am still lost in the fabric of time, floating on waves of pleasure, when she places her palms on my chest and steps from my reach. Only then do I fully become aware of our surroundings. The sound of yellow taxicabs rattling over potholes and speed bumps. The happy, chattering crowd has long since dissipated.
“We should stop,” she says, voice wobbly. “Friends and all.”
She’s right, of course. Friends don’t kiss each other like we just did. And yet, I can’t help thinking, this is what it must feel like waking up on Christmas morning, running into the living room . . . and getting kicked in the balls by Santa Claus.
“I mean—” Cori’s gaze is searching mine, her face clouded with concern. “—we were curious and . . .”
“Now we know, it’s safe to say our curiosity has been satisfied.” I swallow the pang in my chest and smile at her in hope to ease some of her concern. She’s worried about any possible damage done to what we have. More so, Cori is looking for a commitment, someone to have two point five kids with. None of those things are in my horizon.
There’s an awkward silence while we stand there, staring at each other. A force greater than I’ve ever known can’t shake off what just happened. The ping of the crosswalk light saves us. On the almost-deserted sidewalk, I reach for her hand, thread our fingers together, and cross the street to the parking lot.
“Dean.” She says my name as I open the car door for her.
“Yeah.”
“Tonight. The kiss.”
“Stop worrying.” I give her another reassuring smile, even though I want nothing more right now than her lips on mine. I’ve kissed many women in my lifetime, and no one else has burned me alive. But ultimately, what is most important is our friendship. “Nothing will change between us,” I reassure her.
She lets out a long breath of relief. “Friends forever.”
“Until the end of time and after.”
AS SOON AS I ENTER my house, I strip off my clothes and head straight for the shower. My brain is filled with all sorts of dirty, wicked things I’d like to do to Cori. Blame the fucking kiss. The kiss she initiated and went with me again the second time around, until common sense kicked in. On her part.
Problem is, it ignited something inside me. Lust. Need. And something else I can’t explain. My mind is in shreds, a surging perplexity. The kiss. The sweetest, hottest fucking kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life. Now, I want to breach that invisible line long established between us and fuck her until neither of us can move.
Can’t think about it.
A nice shower should do the trick. Time to rinse this madness from my system. I step into the shower, toes flinching as they touch the chilled ceramic floor. I turn the metallic dial, releasing thousands of lukewarm drops to wet my hair and trickle down my back.
Images of Cori and I kissing continue to flood my mind. My senses are overpowered by how perfect she felt in my arms, the sweetness of her lips against mine.
One hour later, I can still feel the imprint of her lips—soft and warm—against mine as we explore each other, the butterflies coming alive in the pit of my stomach. And that thing my heart did—the way it slowed down and skipped at the same time.
For fuck’s sake, I’m still turned on. If Cori were here, I’d bend her over and do her right here, with the warm water raining down our bodies.
A crazy thought of course. Because . . . well, she’s on the do-not-touch list.
I grab the soap, scrub my neck, my chest, and drag it over my body. The action soothes my skin, but fails to alleviate my desire or aching bulge. Instead, I’m transported back into HornyTown, USA, with Cori’s lips running along my torso.
My right hand palms my throbbing dick.
A wave of guilt washes over me. Can’t whack one off to Cori.
Can’t go there. I have no business wanting her. She’s my best friend. That makes her forbidden.
I’m also a fan of casual sex, no strings attached. My definition of dating is going to a girl’s house, banging her, then going home. Cori loves romance. She deserves the two point five kids, a loving husband, a dog named Fido, and the picket fence.
We’d never work. In the far back recesses of my mind, I acknowledge the danger and dreadfulness of lusting after her.
But that kiss . . . the blast of passion and heat it revved up inside me. Who knew a kiss could make a grown man feel so much? And now, I want to do wicked things to her sweet little body that I have no business wanting. Things that can only lead to a tangled mess.
And yet, need and hunger continues to roll through me. Desperate to numb everything inside, I turn the knob, setting the temperature as warm as my body can handle, and hiss.
The raging hard-on I’ve been sporting should go down any minute. Clenching my jaw, I release my dick and reach for the shampoo, wash my hair, and rinse off the suds. The ache continues to claw at my limbs, making my muscles tight with desire. This is what I call la douleur exquise—a heart wrenching pain of wanting someone who is unattainable
Mind over matter, I repeat in my head over and over.
I can do this. But I feel myself slipping. I’m losing this battle. Moving on its own accord, my hand clasps around my dick again. My eyes drift shut, and I give into the temptation of fucking my best friend.
She’s on her knees in front of me, wearing nothing but a lace black thong, tits jiggling while she works my dick in her mouth from the base to the tip.
She looks so fucking hot.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Goosebumps slither up my arms and legs. The slow burn of desire crackles. My dick throbs in my palm. Grunting, I squeeze my shaft, then continue the slow and steady motion, sliding up and down.
I want Cori, I’m hungry for her. The realization makes my head spin and scorches my body from the inside out. My heart beats faster, blood rushes to my face.
She’s now on her back. Spreading her thighs open, I step into the vee of her legs and fill her to capacity in one, long stroke.
My eyes drift shut.
My head falls back.
My hand moves faster around my dick.
I am thrusting inside her, deep and borderline rough. With each stroke, I imagine the walls of her body crushing down, until she’s able to accommodate every inch of my cock.
I groan with pleasure.
My gut constricts. My balls tighten.
My breath hitches.
Pressure builds, rising higher and higher. Electricity shoots down my legs, feet, all over my body.
“Fuck.” I grunt, pumping faster as pleasure wracks my body in thick, ropy, satisfying spurts.
I draw a shaky breath as a shudder races through me. For a long minute, I stand in the shower, hands flat on the tile wall in front of me, my head bent low, so that the hot water beats down my shoulders.
I’m so screwed.
“A strong friendship doesn’t need daily conversations . . .”
“YOU SHOULD DATE CORIANDER,” I say to Lucas. We are in the boardroom for our monthly pow wow with the big guys, AKA our dads. We’re the first ones to arrive. Good timing. It gives me a chance to convince one of my best friends to date another close friend—the one I’ve jacked off to all weekend.
Fucking pathetic.
Lucas sorts through some meeting materials. His brows are furrowed as his fingers slide over one smooth sheet of paper
. Then he lifts his gaze and meets mine. “You’re asking me to date Cori.”
I nod and glance over the cream walls decorated with pictures of our staff, logos, awards, plaques, and other markers of company pride and prosperity. A blue folder, a pen, and a glass sits in front of each chair, perfectly square and spaced—a sure sign that Nora’s OCD-like tendencies were in full force when she set up the room.
A powerful jolt of pride surges through me. This is our company—Cam, Lucas, me. Our fathers created it, but we’re prepared to carry on the legacy whenever they’re ready to pass the baton.
Lucas walks around the oblong table and plops his weight on one of the comfortable black leather chairs. “Why?”
Adjusting my gray tie, I turn to the window. Outside is a perfect winter day. Sunny and clear. The two inches of snow from the other night has since melted. The glare of the morning sun shines straight into my eyes. I squint and focus on the pretty blonde in black yoga tights and a waist length brown jacket as she takes a sip of her coffee.
“You’re not answering,” Lucas says smoothly. “So, either you’ve gone off the deep end, or something happened between you and Cori. I’m going with the latter.”
I turn to face him. “Or maybe I just think you can make her happy.” By the way, I can see the expression on your face. No, I’m not an idiot. My gut pinches at the thought of sweet, beautiful Cori dating one of my closest friends. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Set her up with Lucas and that will put a lid on my desire for my best friend.
Lucas’ dark eyes linger on me for a long minute. Then the fucker laughs so hard he can’t stop. To make things worse, he’s laughing at me, not with me. I lean on the wall, hands in my pants pockets, eyebrows lifted, waiting.
He waves his hands in the air, his flag of apology. But the waves of laughter keep coming. “You slept with her, didn’t you?” Lucas asks when he finally regains his composure.
A second passes, I say nothing.
“Shit, you kissed her,” Lucas says. Captain Obvious.
Technically, Cori kissed me first. She started the whole thing. I simply took over. But no need for minute details.
“Why won’t you date her?” I dodge his question with my own.
“You’ve kissed her, and now you want to be a real boyfriend,” he says, air quoting the word boyfriend.
“No,” I reply, mostly to myself. The truth is, after one kiss, I am totally hooked. Addicted. Desperate for another hit. That realization has my world spinning, throwing me off my axis. “I want Cori to be happy.” That’s partially true. I also want her under me, on top of me.
Lucas takes a sip of the water in front of him, then swivels his chair in my direction, face serious. Dark eyes assess me. “You can make her happy.”
“Sounds like I’m missing some fun.” Cam casually strolls into the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He examines my face for a long moment, then sits next to Lucas. “What the hell happened to him?” he asks, pointing his coffee cup in my direction.
“He kissed Cori,” Lucas volunteers.
Cam arches a brow, the equivalent of a question, but says nothing.
“And now our crazy friend thinks I should date her.” Lucas swivels his chair to face Cam. “What do you think? Should I take her out?”
Cam strokes his chin, seeming to give Lucas’ question serious thought. “Yeah, I think you should definitely take her on a date.”
“Both of you are assholes,” I mutter.
Lucas shrugs. “Your idea.”
Cam laughs. “I thought Cori was in the market for a husband,” Cam says. “This guy here” –he tilts his chin in Lucas’ direction— “is never gonna marry again.”
“It’s true,” Lucas agrees.
“I’m a little insulted you didn’t ask me.” For a fraction of a second, the corners of Cam’s mouth twitch upwards. “I mean, I’m a good-looking guy.” He flexes his former wide-receiver college football biceps. “Body of a Greek god.”
“You’re also a dog,” I remind Cam.
“The pot calling the kettle black,” Cam says with no hint of being insulted.
Lucas coughs. “Are you implying my days as a beast are over?”
“You have a daughter.” I’m reaching low here, but the level of a man’s desperation can drive him to many things. “Figure eventually, you’ll realize there’s something called Karma.”
“Ouch.” Lucas takes a long sip of his coffee, studies the cup for a moment before looking back at me. “While I’m flattered by this proposal, the truth is, you already know why I’ve never thought of Cori as more than a friend. And it’s not because I don’t think she has a hot little body on her. Because I do. So does Cam.” He smiles.
I shift my weight to my right leg, not liking the fact that they’ve checked out Cori’s anything.
“Perhaps,” Lucas continues, his voice calm and controlled. “It’s time you start thinking about why the idea of us jerking off to Cori bothers you.”
Oh, God. My friends whacking one off. To Cori. Shit, I thought they meant they checked out her ass or something. And I get my first real sense of doom. It starts deep in my gut and ends up dead center between my eyes as a tension headache. “You went too far.”
“Man to man, that’s the only way we understand each other,” Lucas says, showing no sign of remorse for the unnecessary mental image. “For the record, I don’t jerk off to Cori.”
But I have. Now that I’ve mentally fucked Cori, I can’t stop. Even squeezed one in before coming to work this morning.
“But you have to admit, she’s a walking boner,” Cam chimes in.
My jaw clenches. Not feeling at all steady, or calm, for that matter, I tilt my head to one side and study the expression on Cam’s face. He raises his hand in that ‘hey, chill dude’ manner. Relief floods through me, good to know Cori isn’t a regular player in their wet dreams. Just mine.
“Have you talked to her since the kiss?” Lucas asks.
“Better yet, how was it?” Cam probes.
Sighing, I rake a hand through my hair. Yes, men are pigs. However, there’s one thing men and women have in common. We both love to provide graphic details about our sexual experiences, but we never share information when we care about the other person.
“We haven’t talked,” I finally answer. It’s been two days, nothing unusual, yet I’m aching to spend more time with her. “We texted briefly about an art event, but that was it.” I cast my eyes on Cam and flip him the bird. “You’re scum.”
“Hey, the inquiring mind wants to know.” Cam stands up, fixes the cuffs of his blue-striped shirt. “Two things.” He pauses, takes another sip of his coffee. “During this exchange, did you happen to mention you’re bringing a woman with you to New Hampshire?”
Fuck. I’ve completely forgotten about Red. A sick feeling washes over me. “I’m going to tell her.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to come forward. Chicken shit, I’m officially a chicken shit.
“What happens now?” Cam continues, his tone serious.
“Nothing,” I answer way too quickly, just as my father and the other fathers enter the room. Being the three good sons that we are, we head over to our dads. Handshakes and man-to-man hugs are exchanged. “What’s going on, old man?” I say to my dad. By the way, if you want to know what I’m going to look like when I’m in my fifties, take a gander at this guy. Tall. Lean. Square jaw. Clean shaven. Strong shoulders. Stomach flat from all the yoga that he does. I even inherited his chin dimple. My dad is not only handsome as fuck, he also projects a level of confidence and easy manner. Our staff loves him.
“Your mom wants grandbabies.”
“Apparently, so do you.”
My dad laughs. “It’s true. We’re hoping they’re with Cori.”
I groan. “Cori and I are friends.”
“Yeah, well, you know your mom and I started out as friends.”
I nod. I’ve heard the story a million times. Friends to lov
ers.
“And then, one day, we kissed,” my dad continues.
My heart trips so hard, I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I know the story, Dad.”
“Of course you do. But it’s a great story, worth retelling.” He claps me on the shoulder, just as the blonde I spotted outside enters the boardroom with the rest of the staff. Our eyes meet. Her lips curve into a small smile as she removes her coat.
“Who’s that?” I ask my dad.
“That’s Lorraine, she’s a yoga instructor.”
I cross my hands over my chest. Shit, had I known my dad’s yoga instructor was this hot, I would have taken him up on his offer a long time ago. “A yoga instructor at our board meeting?”
“Yoga is a great way to meditate. I asked Lorraine to do some breathing techniques with us.”
I look her over, full lips, bright green eyes, perky tits, sweet round ass. Nice. “Um, yeah, of course.” With that I walk over to my chair and busy myself with some notes, giving my dad and his partners a chance for their usual rounds. After a few handshakes and cordial conversation, the meeting starts.
“Everyone, this is Lorraine, my yoga instructor. I’d like to start this meeting with some breathing techniques and sequences.”
My gaze follows Lorraine as she saunters over to the head of the table. For a nanosecond we make eye contact. When she smiles, I smile back. This is too easy.
“Pranayama is the formal practice of controlling the breath, which is the source of our prana, or vital life force,” she says in a Zen-like voice. For the next fifteen minutes, we practice breathing techniques, before switching into a brainstorming session.
When the meeting ends, I head to my office, three doors down the hall, with Lorraine’s phone number tucked into my pocket. Once there, I unlock my laptop and focus on my work. Immediately, thoughts of Cori’s lips on mine resurfaces. The truth is, they were poking around during the whole meeting, but I managed to keep them under control, for the most part. Who wants an inconvenient boner during a staff meeting?
Anyway, I click the mouse to a report. It takes all of my willpower to focus, but I manage to shut down the part of my brain that keeps thinking of my lips trailing along Cori’s neck, sucking on her breasts, kissing across her belly.