by Emma Hart
“Before. I seem to remember your aunts clipping them both around the back of the head for being so disrespectful.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “I think your Aunt Ana told Eduardo that if he dared fight over a woman like a stray dog over a raw piece of steak again, she’d beat respect into his ass.”
I nodded slowly. “I think she did that later that night when he hit on Blaire. Except Blaire punched him.”
“Probably,” Aspen agreed. “Blaire is quite violent if you piss her off.”
“No kidding,” I replied. “I do actually have a scar on my foot from where she stomped on it when she thought I was hitting on her sister.”
She rolled her eyes and met my gaze. “You were hitting on her sister.”
“I touched her tit by accident. She moved, I moved, the flirting went wrong…” I shrugged. “I’m not exactly James Bond.”
“I know that. Daniel Craig is way hotter than you for an old guy.”
“Are you seriously telling me that some blonde, British dude who’s about fifty years old is hotter than me? Half Mexican, dark, mysterious—”
She almost spilled her wine as she snorted. “Mysterious? You’re mysterious? You’re not Superman!”
“I’m totally mysterious. I’m the tall, dark, handsome guy women fawn over in romance books. I have the hair, the eyes, the abs…”
“Complete with a crazy ass grandma who’d scare any half-sensible woman off,” she continued, speaking slowly like I was stupid. “Pretty sure any future wife of yours will have to be a superhero in her own right.”
“You can tutor them in managing my family.” I grinned.
“Uh… No. Nobody taught me. If I’ve lasted twenty years, so can some other poor asshole.”
“I resent you referring to my future wife as an asshole.”
“Let’s face it.” She rested on the arm of the sofa, twirling her wine glass, and raised her eyebrows. “Anyone who puts up with you has to be a little bit of an asshole.”
“Are you calling me an asshole?”
“You need a special touch. A little je ne sais quoi.”
“A little something you don’t know?”
“It sounds better in French.” She laughed, covering the lower part of her face with her hand.
She was fucking pretty when she laughed. Her eyes lit up, and she had this stupid little dimple on her right cheek I’d never really cared about until now.
No wonder Eduardo and Javier had fought over her. I might have, had I been the given the option.
“I’m just saying that you’re a little bit of a handful. With your family and the food and your proclivity for getting naked…” Her eyes sparkled. “You need a wife with a firm touch.”
“I need a wife who can cook and withhold tequila.”
“Damn it, that puts me out of the running.”
“You can cook.”
“Yeah, but I’m bad at withholding alcohol.” She held up her glass to punctuate her point. “But, for the record, I can’t wait for you to get married. I might get to keep food in my fridge longer than twenty-four hours.”
“Like I told you, stop going to the grocery store.”
“I can’t. If I stop going, you’ll eat what little food I do have anyway.” She tilted the glass in my direction. “Don’t you have to be up early for work tomorrow instead of ruining my nice quiet night?”
I ran my hand through my hair. “I do, but I’m pretty invested in this restaurant now.”
“You haven’t watched half of it.”
“So rewind it so I can. It’s not my fault you keep talking at me.”
Aspen sighed and got up, grabbing the controller. She paused for a second, then doubled back to the kitchen. She grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge and brought it over to the sofa. “Here. It’s recorded.”
I took the remote. “You record this?”
“Every night. You got a problem with that?”
“No,” I said, hitting the button to start it from the beginning. “But you’re not exactly giving me a reason to stop eating your food.”
She side-eyed me and snatched the remote, but her lips were twitching to one side. “Like that could ever happen.”
I nudged her with my elbow and winked. “True story.”
CHAPTER SEVEN – ASPEN
I Didn’t Sign Up For This
I didn’t understand how this was happening.
It felt like just thirty seconds ago I wished Luke goodnight in the living room with the sofa as his makeshift bed.
Now, here he was.
In my bed.
With his face between my legs.
Yup. I was lying on my back, legs wide open, with my best friend’s face buried between them.
And I was enjoying it.
Holy shit, I was. I didn’t have time to think about how the hell we’d ended up in this situation, because all I could focus on was how he moved his tongue.
He flicked it over my clit, teasing me as my muscles twitched. My back arched, and he gripped my hips with his large hands, holding me in place against him. Pleasure darted through me, and my fingers wound themselves in the sheet beneath me.
Holy hell.
He toyed with me with his tongue—bringing me to the brink of orgasm before he kissed the inside of my thigh. I moaned as he left me there, hovering on the edge, staring into the oblivion with the sick knowledge that I’d have to wait for the release I so desperately wanted.
Luke kissed his way up my body, his naked one covering mine. His hands explored my curves, leaving no inch of me uncovered. He circled his lips over my nipples, flicking his tongue over them the way he just had my clit.
I ran my hands up his back and into his thick, dark hair. His lips found mine with a breathy exhale. Our bodies melded together like they were supposed to, and desire burst through my veins with a red-hot flush that made goosebumps dance across my skin.
I wanted him. I wanted to feel him for real. I knew that night was a bad fluke and that this would be better.
I needed the closure that would come from this.
I needed this so we could move on with our friendship.
We kissed deeper, our tongues battling. The taste of me lingered on his lips, but I kept kissing him, lifting my legs and winding them around his waist. It was a silent plea for him to move inside me.
His cock was hard and pressed against my pussy, brushing just against my clit in the most tempting way.
“Luke,” I whispered against his lips. “Please.”
He laughed softly, cupping the back of my neck. “Are you actually begging me?”
“Yes,” I moaned, trying to reach down between us to grab his cock.
He beat me to it. He adjusted his hips so he could position himself correctly and sat up, looking down between us as the tip of his cock brushed against my clit.
I tilted my hips up to make it easier for him. Slowly, he guided his cock to the opening of my pussy and gently pushed himself into me. Inch by inch, my wet pussy clenched around him, and I drew in a deep breath.
He paused when he was inside me, his eyes firmly fixated on mine. Leaning forward, he cupped the side of my face and kissed me again.
Then he moved.
Slowly.
In and out, a rhythmic motion that felt so damn good I could barely stand it.
My fingers slipped back into his hair, curling around his thick locks. Our bodies moved together like magic. Pleasure came at me in waves that I couldn’t control.
I just wanted the release.
I wanted to come, to finally feel what it was like to—
The jolt was sharp and unwelcome.
I blinked, sleep making my lashes feel thick and heavy. My room was pitch black, and not only was I alone, but the covers felt like they weighed about a hundred pounds.
And they were hot.
Just like I was.
I peeled the covers off my sweaty body and rolled to the side. I was sticking to the sheet, so I had no choice but
to haul my sleepy ass out of bed and crack open my bedroom window.
I pulled open one curtain, opened the window, and leaned against the windowsill.
What the hell had just happened?
Had I just had a very real, very dirty dream about Luke? Who was sleeping on my sofa in the next room?
Shit, I had.
And I’d liked it. My clit was throbbing, and my heart was racing. I swear I was seconds from actually having an orgasm in my sleep.
Oh god, I’d sleep-fucked Luke.
And it’d been more satisfying than the real time we’d done it.
Why’d I have to wake up? It was going well until that point. Really, really well, actually. That was why I was in a hot little tizzy over it.
The gentle breeze that crept through my cracked window was more warm and sticky than it was soothing, so I shut the door and moved to sit back on my bed, leaving the curtain open. A faint orange glow from the lights on the street below my building shone through the window, illuminating the corner of my room with a gauzy haze.
I ran my fingers through my hair and looked out of the window. I couldn’t see much thanks to the fog that had rolled in off the beach, but looking at nothing was better than thinking about what I’d just dreamed about.
Jesus, what if I’d made noises? Had I? What if Luke had heard? He was sleeping on my couch after all. How the hell was I supposed to face him in a few hours knowing what I’d been dreaming about?
How was I supposed to go back to sleep? What if my mind took me back to that dream? I couldn’t see out the end of that. There was no way—did you moan if you came in your sleep? Was it loud like normal?
I didn’t know. I’d never had a sleep-orgasm before. I’d never had a dirty dream in my life.
Until tonight.
Was there an etiquette for this? Did I go back to sleep? Did I lie and stare at the ceiling for hours? Did I go on Buzzfeed and find out what kind of cheese I was?
I sighed, cupping the back of my neck and linking my fingers.
This was a disaster. What if I accidentally mentioned this to him?
Why did we have to have bad sex? If we’d never done that, if we’d just passed out, fully clothed, on my bed, the way we always did, none of this would have happened.
Why that night? Why now? Why, why, why?
I stood up and quietly made my way to my door. Thankfully, it wasn’t creaky, and I was able to open it without making any noise. I paused, peering over at the sofa to make sure Luke was asleep.
He was. He was lying flat on it, one arm slung over the top of his head, and his feet were dangling off the end of the end of it. His clothes were in a pile on the floor next to the sofa, and the blanket I’d tossed his way before bed was only covering his legs.
I tried not to look at his sculpted, toned stomach as I tiptoed my way to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. The fridge squeaked as I opened the door, and the light from the inside cast a dim glow over the living room.
I winced, pulling the bottle from the door and closing the fridge quickly.
“Aspen?”
I stepped back, hugging the water as Luke sat up on the sofa, using the back of it to haul himself up. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I needed some water. I tried not to wake you.”
He waved his hand. “You all right?”
“Yeah—uh, bad dream.”
He frowned, pushing his fingers through his hair. “You get chased by a giant penguin again?”
I bit the inside of my cheek so he didn’t catch me laughing. “Yep. Razor-teeth and everything this time.”
Luke moved so he was sitting up fully. “Can you grab me a bottle of water?”
“Sure.” I pulled a bottle from the fridge and took it over to him, then perched on the arm of the sofa he’d just moved his feet from.
“Thanks. You feel okay?”
I nodded and shook my water, deliberately not making eye contact with him. I didn’t think I could do that right now. “Sorry I woke you.”
He took a long drink from the bottle and waved me away again. “Don’t worry about it. Your sofa isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world.”
“Sorry. You wanna swap?”
“I’m not making you sleep on your sofa. What time is it?”
“Like two or something.” I yawned, covering my mouth with my hand. “I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s good. I’ll come sleep with you.”
My eyes widened. No, no, no. That wasn’t good. I couldn’t have him in my bed. No way. There was no chance I’d get back to sleep if we were in the same bed.
He quirked a brow at me. “What’s that look for? You want me to put pants on?”
“Are you naked under there?”
“No. I have my boxers on.” He paused. “You sure you’re all right, Asp? It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed. You’re acting weird.”
Crap.
“Um, no, it’s fine. Sorry. I’m still half-asleep. Come on.” I got up and hurried into my room before I had to see him practically naked.
By the time he joined me, I’d closed my curtains and climbed into bed with my back to the door—and him.
The click of my door shutting told me he was in the room, and the clunk of his water bottle on the nightstand preceded the huge dip in the mattress as he joined me in bed.
I wriggled over a little further, tucking the sheets around me as much as I could.
“You’re moving like I’ve got a deadly disease,” Luke muttered, making the mattress bounce as he got comfortable.
“You snore,” I muttered right back. “And you’ll end up taking up most of the bed anyway, so I’m saving myself the pain of having your elbow in my spine in an hour.”
He chuckled. “If you say so. You’re the wriggler.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re still acting weird.” He reached over and poked me.
“It’s two in the morning, and there’s a strange man in my bed. Shut up.”
“I’m not a stranger.”
“I didn’t say you were a stranger. I said you were a strange man, and you are.” I tugged the covers in a little tighter to me. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”
He laughed quietly, rolling onto his back. “Night, Aspen.”
“Night.”
That was the last time we binged Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares.
***
Thankfully, any naughty dreams stayed well away from my mind for the remainder of the night.
I’d never been so happy about anything. The last thing I wanted was to have to explain to Luke why the hell I was having sleep orgasms while in bed next to him.
I also didn’t want to have to admit that I hadn’t had a bad dream, either.
Overgrown penguins aside, he was up and stealing my hot water before I’d even opened my eyes. I rubbed my face, removing the sleep from my eyes, and got up to the tune of my shower battering against the tiles.
It wasn’t the best alarm in the world, considering I really wasn’t a morning person. I worked at a bar for a reason. The earliest I ever had to go into work was two p.m., and that was often the time I clocked off.
I liked it that way.
If I’d been born in October instead of July, I was pretty sure I’d have been born a witch.
I grabbed some clean clothes and quickly changed, almost falling over in my race to get my clean panties on. Luckily for me, I managed it, and I was just pulling my ‘what the cluck’ shirt over my head when the water stopped running in the bathroom.
The bedroom door creaked open until I could see one of his eyes peeking through. “Are you awake? I left my clothes in here.”
Laughing, I nodded. “I’m awake, and I’m changed. Don’t worry.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I saw you naked,” he muttered.
I blushed. “Being nine in the swimming pool doesn’t count.”
He rolled his eyes and walked into the room.
I could do nothing but burst
into laughter.
Luke stopped, then looked down at the pink towel with white flowers all over it that was wrapped around his waist. He shrugged. “I’m comfortable with my masculinity. Laugh all you like—I look good in any kind of towel.”
“Wow, okay, Mr. Ego. Calm down. You do need to leave this apartment to go to work, and you keep on like that, you won’t be able to get your head through this door,” I said, injecting a final burst of sarcasm into the last few words as I left him and his stupidly hot body in my bedroom and my girly towel.
Seriously. I’d laughed at the towel, but there was no laughing at—
The man who’d followed me into the kitchen.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching around me to get the steaming mug of coffee from the machine. “I made it before I got in the shower.”
“And here I thought you’d made me a coffee to say thank you for not complaining that you had your elbow in my back for an hour last night.” It wasn’t the only thing I think he’d had near my back, but I wasn’t going to bring that up right now.
Plus, I wasn’t sure. It could have been his finger. That was a long shot, but I was going with finger.
“You want it?” His dark hair flopped down over his forehead, dripping water down his face. “You can have it. I’ll make another.”
I blinked at him. “Uh, sure.”
“You don’t want it?”
“I want it.” I slid the cup toward me before he could decide I didn’t. “I just wasn’t expecting you to give it to me.”
“Well, you’re right—I did sleep with my elbow in your back for a while last night until you smacked me in the face with your pillow.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Giving you my coffee is the least I can do for poking you half the night.”
Oh man, he poked me a hell of a lot more last night than he knew.
I dipped my head before he could see me blush. The memory of that dream, combined with him standing in front of me with his tanned body still wet, with water droplets dancing down across his abs and disappearing into the…pink towel.
Wow. The pink towel really ruined that fantasy, didn’t it?
I shook my head as I grabbed the milk from the fridge for my coffee. Fantasy ruiner or not, all you had to do was look above the pink towel to know exactly why him half-naked plus the memory of the dream was dangerous.