by Rachel Jonas
“You’re leaving?”
Shit. That sounded desperate. Needy.
When his brow quirks with surprise, I realize he wasn’t expecting it either. Right away, insecurity sets in and I know I’m breaking the rules. Granted, they’re rules I put in place, but he agreed to them.
“I’m gonna hit the shower, but… I can come back after,” he says.
At first, I’m confused. He’s already clean. The hints of his body wash and shampoo mingling with the scent of my lavender candle are proof of that. But then, when I glance down to where he’s just re-secured his towel, to his still-hard cock, I understand.
He needs to finish.
Not that he’s complained, but this agreement of ours shouldn’t just be for my benefit. Knowing I’ve left him hanging twice now—three times if you count the night we made out—I feel guilty. Maybe even a little selfish.
The words I’m thinking get caught in my throat, but I force them when Dane turns to leave.
“Or… I can do something.”
My heart’s racing and I’m not even sure he knows what I’m trying to say—that I’m willing to step outside my comfort zone for him. That I’m curious what it’d be like to touch him like he touches me.
One dark brow shoots up when he smirks. “You know you don’t have to do that, right? I’m fine just—”
“No, I want to,” I cut in, hearing the shakiness in my voice.
He hesitates, standing beside my bed with a massive hard-on that neither of us can ignore, then he agrees to this, nodding before he drops down onto the mattress. He’s close. So close that his right side is pressed against me, his bicep brushing against my breast.
I’m still completely naked, but when I smooth my quivering hand down his abdomen and undo his towel again, so is he.
He is… fucking splendid in the nude—not a single thing lacking, completely devoid of flaws. There’s only total perfection from every angle.
I’ve never done this before, touched a guy like I’m about to touch him, but I’ve watched enough porn to know the basics of giving a hand job. Still, it’s different when you’re the one giving it, and the one receiving is someone you’ve friend-zoned for the past seven years.
“Can you pass me that?” When I ask, his gaze follows mine to the bottle of lightly scented oil I left on the nightstand after my shower.
The thick muscle that pads his ribs flexes when he reaches for it and then hands it over. I’m trying not to be so deep in my head as I drizzle a little into my palm.
You can do this.
You want to do this.
I breathe in, then exhale as I take him into my hand, surprised by the density of his cock. And it’s warm, like wrapping my fingers around a steaming-hot pipe.
A surge of air fills his lungs, and his head falls back against the headboard. I begin to stroke his length, slowly lowering my fist to the base, and then sliding up until the edge of my finger caresses the crown.
He hisses a breath between clenched teeth, which I take to mean he liked that. So, I do it again, only a little faster, matching how quickly he draws in air and releases it again. I watch him, not wanting to miss a single reaction as his pulse throbs at the base of his throat. In this moment, I’m obsessed with the thought of being the one pleasuring him, the reason his teeth just sank into his bottom lip. Completely turned on, my nipples harden, and I squeeze him tighter.
My gaze flits to where I have him locked in my grip, his length glistening with oil in the faint glow of candlelight. I smooth my thumb over the small slit on the tip and it draws a groan from him that excites me even more.
I squeeze a little tighter, stroke him faster.
My attention’s averted from his cock to his sex-drunk gaze when he takes me by my chin, half a second before I’m kissed so hard and deep it draws a gasp from me. His tongue glides over mine and I taste lingering hints of my own arousal. He breathes into our kiss and I pump my fist faster, until his mouth goes still, and he’s been reduced to breathing erratically against my lips. Long fingers slip to the back of my neck and his forehead presses to mine.
“Fuck.”
The word leaves his mouth in a strained grunt, cascading off his lips when he breathes. He tenses all over, then with a deep groan that is now, hands down, my new favorite sound, he finishes, releasing his load in one powerful burst. Something about having his warm cum spilling over the back of my hand, down my fingers, has that feeling of possessiveness transferring to me. Like, no one on the entire planet should be allowed to experience him like this.
He’s panting against my cheek and I don’t stop until I’m positive he’s just as satisfied as he left me. Then, I let go.
His back falls to the headboard again. I’m still transfixed on him, shocked by the overwhelming pleasure I got from tending to his needs. And… maybe a little terrified by it.
An exhausted grin brings life to his expression. Then, the next second, he takes my hand and wipes it clean with his towel before cleaning himself off, too.
My eyes are glued to his perfect ass when he stands and leaves without a word. I can only guess the confusion that crosses my face because… what the actual fuck?
Isn’t there some kind of handbook that makes it clear how a guy shouldn’t just walk out on a girl after what we just did? Only, I barely have time to get worked up, and I also barely have time to slip into my underwear, when his tall frame darkens my doorway again.
I smile, but hold back a little, taking in the sight of him standing there with his pillow tucked beneath his arm, wearing a pair of boxer-briefs that hug his muscular thighs.
I grab a t-shirt from the laundry basket beside my bed and slip it over my head while he stares. He steps into the room, not bothering to tear his eyes away from my breasts.
“I… thought you were leaving me for the night,” I admit, knowing he hears the relief in my voice now that he’s returned.
His brow quirks with a look that screams ‘I’d never leave you’ and it has my stomach twisting in knots.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think to tell you I was just grabbing my things. Figured I’d hang out in here for the night. That is, if you’re cool with it.”
Hang out in here for the night? As in… sleep in my bed?
My expression must give everything away, because he backtracks the next second.
“I know we have rules, so if you want me to drag the armchair in and sleep there, I can,” he offers. “I just don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
There’s a level of innocence and sincerity in his eyes that hits me square in the chest.
He didn’t want me to be alone after everything.
Because it’s like he once said, I’m not just some girl to him. I mean something.
I exhale and take in the sight of him, knowing what my answer should be, but instead of saying those words, I pull back the cover, inviting him in.
He stops at the dresser to blow out the candles, then his heat warms my back when he fits against me like the missing piece of a puzzle. His arm falls over my waist easy, like we’ve done this a thousand times before. And in similar fashion, my hand goes to where his now rests against my stomach and our fingers lace together.
I’m not sure if best friends spoon and fall asleep in one another’s arms, but apparently these best friends do. As my lids fall closed and a slow, steady rain begins to pelt the steel frame of my window, I can’t find any reason to fight what I feel happening between us. And while I should be reveling in what I know to be the beginning of something I swore would never happen, instead, it scares the hell out of me.
History often repeats itself. So, here’s hoping Dane and I somehow manage to avoid the pitfalls that ruined my parents.
Because as much as I sometimes wish it weren’t true… I need him.
22
Joss
A smile touches my lips as the little girl in the next car holds her doll up to the window for me to see. I wave, then the light turns gree
n, and we take off. For some reason, her sweet, cheerful face reminds me what a good day it’s been.
An oddly smooth day.
At random, I’ve drifted in and out of memory lapses from last night—feeling Dane’s touch, feeling his skin against my own hands. Being involved with him in this way, it isn’t for the faint of heart, that’s for sure. He has this way of getting to you, getting so deep inside your head, under your skin, it makes me wonder if there will be any turning back after this, any going back to who we were once this experiment is all over.
Waking up with my cheek pressed to his chest, his hand against my back, I also wondered if it had been wise to let him spend the night in my bed. But the gesture hit me right in the heart. Any girl in her right mind would’ve told him yes.
Surprisingly enough, there was very little awkwardness once we got out of bed and made our way to the kitchen for breakfast—eggs and toast that he cooked. Well, maybe it started off awkward, but Dane burned all that away. Seeing that nothing had changed with him, seeing he’s still the same chill person he was even before all this started, I relaxed, and we fell into just being us.
Easy.
Normal.
The breeze wafting in through the open window snaps me out of the daze, as does the biting sting at the top of my ear. The piercing wasn’t nearly as painful as it was half an hour ago, though. Dane was right—getting high first helped. Plus, we killed two birds with one stone—getting my cartilage pierced and me smoking my first joint—which is why neither of us was in any shape to drive. Instead, we opted for the Uber currently maneuvering us through traffic.
In my head, I visualize the lined notebook paper with my list written in purple marker, then I cross off the three items Dane selected. I got my tattoo, I got high, and I got pierced. Now, the only thing left is number eleven. I’ve admittedly thought about losing my virginity more in the past few days than I’ve thought about it my entire life.
Why?
Asking myself that question, my head swivels left, toward the green-eyed tempter sharing the backseat with me. He’s slouched toward me with his shoulder pressed to mine, scrolling through his phone. Even when he isn’t trying, he’s sexy. From the way his free hand aimlessly rakes through his dark, glossy hair after the wind tousles it. To the way his teeth drag across his lip while he concentrates. Then, sunlight filters in, outlining his perfect features in shimmering, gold light and, best friend or not, I kind of want to kiss him right now.
“Our video’s blowing up.”
I force my eyes away from him when he speaks, pretending my thoughts hadn’t been on him a second ago.
“You mean the video you shared without my permission?” I ask, arching a brow before a smile breaks free.
“Come on. You know my followers love when I post shit about us,” he reasons with a smirk.
“Maybe, but will Rose love it?”
Right away, I regret letting that slip. I haven’t so much as hinted that there’s any kind of tension between she and I. But with Dane’s silence, I know the comment didn’t go over his head.
“Did she say something to you?”
He’s on the defense. The sharp edges of his words make that abundantly clear. I’m reminded of that day in Mrs. Kent’s homeroom when he taught Alex a lesson. One I’m certain the guy has never forgotten.
“Not really. It was more or less… a vibe.”
That word fits best, so I leave it at that.
I glance his way, finding him deep in thought, and maybe even a little angry, which wasn’t my intention at all.
“Honestly, I probably read too much into things,” I say. “At the most, she might’ve made me feel a little uncomfortable.”
When his eyes flicker toward mine, I believe he sees right through the lie. Even though I only told it to protect him. He shouldn’t feel obligated to defend me, obligated to choose.
“Why am I just now hearing about this?” His voice is quiet and reflective, but still holds a flare of anger.
“Because it really wasn’t that big a deal to me.”
“Well, you being disrespected is a big fucking deal to me,” he snaps.
The venom in his tone is only meant for Rose.
He seems to become aware of the spike in anger, then relaxes into his seat a bit, averting his eyes out the window.
“She called the night of the shoot,” he reveals. “Your name came up and I checked that shit right away, so she shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”
My brow ticks a bit. I guess his response to Rose prying into his personal life is a little surprising. I mean, I know Dane cares for me, but I also know how hard he’s worked to lay the foundation for the empire he hopes to build. Rose is a key part of that right now. From what I’m hearing, though, he risked there being bad blood between them to speak up on my behalf.
“I didn’t know she mentioned me to you,” I say quietly, wondering about the specifics of what was said, but not having the courage to ask.
“Just know it was a very short, very cut-and-dry conversation,” he says. “I’d never let anyone trash you. I don’t give a fuck who they are.”
All these years later, he still hasn’t changed. Of all the people who’ve ever had my back, most have also failed me at some point, but not Dane. He’s been my one constant.
When his gaze flickers toward me, I’m caught staring this time. The tip of his tongue separates his lips when he wets them, and I draw in a breath, remembering all too clearly how they taste.
“But Rose’s bullshit aside, I have an idea,” he rasps, grinning a little. “We should do another movie night tonight, and you have my word that I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”
The quiet laugh he lets out after speaking makes this promise very hard to believe.
His hand settles on my thigh then, and my gaze lowers, focusing on the black, beaded bracelet around his wrist.
“You’ll keep your hands to yourself?”
I peer up and he’s still smirking. “Well, maybe I should’ve said I’ll try.”
With us both sort of leaning into each other, he’s already close. Close enough that, if I were brave, I could kiss him. My eyes lower to his mouth and a breath leaves me. I’m aware of how the space between us has narrowed but I don’t fight it. Actually, I lean in, meeting him halfway.
His hand slips up my thigh another inch and my heart’s racing so fast my pulse vibrates in my throat. The noise of the city fades until I can’t hear it at all, until it’s swallowed up by the haze of need thickening around us.
We’ve kissed before, a few times now, but none felt like this. Our lips have become so familiar with one another’s—mine anticipating how his will move, knowing when to part for his tongue. There’s a rhythmic ebb and flow that draws me right into him.
His hand slips free when he shifts in the seat, facing me as the kiss deepens. I breathe him in and welcome his taste inside my mouth. He grips my waist, burning my skin with his heat where he holds me tight.
My soul chases after his when he pulls back, but I’m too proud to ask for more. I will my eyes to open and only then does Dane’s hand fall away from my skin.
“Had to get that out of my system before tonight. Otherwise, I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t go back on my word.”
I hardly hear what he’s said despite my eyes being glued to his mouth. With the energy that surges between us, there’s no doubt that a traditional movie night would be difficult, if not impossible, for us to pull off.
This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t supposed to get to the point that I swoon after kissing him. Our arrangement was supposed to be physical only. Not… this. Not my heart fluttering because he’s tracing a figure-eight on my knee with the tip of his finger. Not me thinking I want him in my bed again.
I’m breaking the rules, getting too comfortable.
Shit.
A sharp rush of air fills my lungs when he gets a notification and I’m jarred back to reality. I’m not trying to read the message, but
it’s kind of hard not to with how close we’re sitting.
It’s Rose and my stomach turns a bit.
Rose: I lucked up on tickets to the Arland-Danston Modeling Agency’s meet-up. They’re hosting it downtown at the art gallery! This is huge!
Dane: Sweet. When?
Rose: Tonight. I’ve been trying to get these since last month, when I first heard they’d be in Cypress Pointe. A friend with tickets fell ill and offered me hers. My assistant will be bringing a tux to your door in thirty minutes, after she checks on Shawna at the salon. Then, I have cars picking you both up at 6.
Dane: Tonight’s kind of short notice, isn’t it?
Rose: Short notice, yes, but this isn’t just any event, Dane. Whatever you have going on can be postponed, I’m sure. Don’t let me down.
The rims of my nostrils flare with frustration. It’s not one particular thing that rubs me the wrong way, but the whole exchange. Rose herself, how pushy she is with Dane, and her mentioning Shawna.
Mostly her mentioning Shawna.
Dane’s fingers move across the screen and, again, I glance down at the message. He’s halfway into a response, turning down Rose’s offer when words fly from my mouth.
“You should go.”
Not only do I hear the silence, I feel it. All around me as Dane’s confusion mounts.
“But we just made plans,” he says flatly. “Rose doesn’t get to alter my life with a last-minute text.”
I understand and appreciate what he’s doing, honoring our movie date, but I can’t help but to see this as a sign. We’ve been moving so fast—maybe even too fast—and some time apart might be good for us, might lessen the pull, might extinguish some of the heat.
Hopefully.
But I don’t miss the frustration that marks Dane’s expression as he keeps his eyes trained on me.
“You really want me to say yes to this? A night out with Shawna?” he asks.
My heart thunders against my ribs, the two responses inside my brain struggling against each other. That is, until one wins and I rush to speak.