Page 35 of Hold Me Today

At, specifically, the tent in my pants that shows no signs of going away anytime soon.

Gamóto.

Shit.

Dammit.

I clear my throat. “I brought you the coffee.”

She hasn’t looked away from my dick. In the dim lighting of the room, it’s tough to tell if her cheeks are still pink but one thing’s for sure: there’snodenying the way she licks her lips.

Her throat is dry,maláka. Give her the coffee!

“Here,” I grunt, because it’s either that or ask for the little details I’m dying to know. All details that pertain to her ass and that tattoo. Now that she’s on her side, butt facing the wall, I’ve got no chance of satisfying my . . . curiosity.

For my little sister’s best friend.

I’m going straight to hell for this one—a one-way ticket for Saint Nick who isn’t feeling saintly at all right now.

I set the mug down on the nightstand with a heavy clunk. “I’ve got to go.”

“That wouldn’t fit in my bikini bottoms anymore.”

Obviously, she’s delirious. Obviously, she’s probably drugged up on over-the-counter medicine to counterattack her migraine. Obviously, I shouldn’t say, “It barely fit when I was sixteen either.”

But I do say it. Oh, fuck, do I.

The mattress creaks beneath her weight, her hand squishing the pillow as she leverages herself up onto her knees. She’s eye level with my hard-on now, her mouth inches away from delivering me straight to perdition.

“Am I dreaming?”

Finally, she looks up at me with glassy eyes. “Nope,” I croak out, “completely lucid.”

Completely. Fucking. Lucid.

I want to sink my hand into that messy hair of hers and tug her close, until her lips are pressed to the zipper of my jeans. Until her fingers are popping open the brass button and my legs are threatening to mutiny and give out beneath me.

Until I’m so lost in her, that everything else fades to black.

The bed whines again beneath her, and I’m aware of her flopping back onto her ass, her knees bent and spread open wide as she blinks up at me, a crooked, medication-induced smile on her face. That thong . . . Jesus, it’s barely a scrap of cloth, covering close to nothing, and I do what I should have done when I first walked in and saw her almost naked: I yank on her T-shirt and cover up the goods.

She swats at my hands, batting me away, laughing as if it’s all a game.

“I remember when I saw you naked, your . . .tsutsuli”—here she waves at my dick, just shy of pointing—“when you wereten.”

I choke on air, my lungs threatening to burst wide open. In my sternest voice, I warn, “Mina.”

She only sways, wrapping her fingers up in the T-shirt’s fabric, and stares at my erection that willnotget the hint and go the fuck down. It perks up under her avid stare.Jesus, take the wheel.

“It was small then,” she says, words slurring over each other. Whatever medication she took must be pulling its weight because she giggles and slaps her hand over her open mouth. “Oops! I’m not supposed to say that.”

Someone kill me.

Voice pitched low, I mutter, “I can promise that all parts of me have grown proportionally.”

As though the heavens have parted to shine down on me, I watch as her naturally olive cheeks flush with color. Her wide-eyed stare flicks from my face to my crotch and then back again. “You’renot supposed to say that.”

No, I’m not. But neither am I supposed to gethardwhen it comes to her: Mina, Effie’s best friend, a girl I’ve known since I was eight. There are so many things wrong with this picture, starting with the fact that I need to get the hell out of here.

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