Page 9 of Claimed By my Best Friend

I nearly scrap my skin raw, but the sensation stays. I can still feel his touch on my body when I step out of the shower. The memory of his mouth exploring my most intimate places causes my sex to clench needily.

Christ, how the hell am I to forget what happened if the memory of it has this effect on me? With a sigh, I slip into my robe, drying my hair with a towel as I prepare for bed. And that’s when I hear it.

My heart jumps to my throat when the sound of a knock breaks through the silence of the apartment. It’s firm and loud. Perhaps even louder than my thumping heart, and I’m frozen to the floor, afraid to walk to the door and see who it is.

Maybe it’s my neighbor or…the landlady, Evelyne, a sweet lady who lives downstairs. She stops by sometimes to check in on me. It could be her. I hope it’s her.

I jump when the knock comes again, dropping the towel from my shaky hands. I tighten the robe’s belt around my waist and slowly walk to the front door. I lean in and peek through the peephole, making out the large form of my best friend. The same friend who recently had his tongue buried in my sex and that hot mouth wrapped around my nipples.

I push back from the door, flinching when the knock comes again.

I can’t believe he’s here, though I suppose I should have expected it. I could ignore him. Go back to my room and pretend I’m asleep. Let him leave on his own when he figures I’m not going to answer.

“Please leave,” I beg under my breath, sliding down the wall to a crouch. “Please go away.”

The knock comes again, and a part of me wants to punish him for not wanting me, but it’s not fair. Not to him, it’s not. Darrell has been the closest thing to a perfect friend I’ve ever had. When I moved to Valor Springs two years ago, I knew no one outside of my extended family.

And then I met Darrell.

It’s my own fault for falling in love with him. For ruining a perfect friendship with my stupid need to own every part of the man.

“Paula, it’s me!” comes his muffled voice, followed by another knock. “Paula!”

Ignore him. He broke your heart. Let him knock until his wrist is sore, all night if that’s how long it takes.

God, the thought of punishing the man in such a cruel manner makes my heart wrench painfully, and before I know it, I’m climbing back to my feet to unlock the door. He seems surprised when I open it, but it quickly fades into something else when his eyes drop down. I follow his gaze and realize the robe has parted, exposing my naked breasts to the man.

“Oh!” I cry out, scrambling to fasten the robe around my waist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice…” I’m flustered. Does he think I did it on purpose? I can’t look at him right now. “What are you doing here, Darrell?”

He takes a moment to respond, but I don’t dare look up to meet his gaze. “I came to talk.” His voice sounds strangled, and it’s tempting to shut the door in his face and bury myself in my apartment for an eternity.

“We can talk tomorrow,” I say, pushing the door closed, but he grabs it before it can close.

“Tonight, Paula.” His voice is rough when he speaks. “I want to clear this up tonight. Let me explain what happened back there, angel.”

There it is again, his nickname for me in that tone I have longed to hear from his lips for so long. Why would he do this to me now? When the wound he left earlier hasn’t even scarred yet. “I can’t do this tonight,” I say weakly. “Can we talk tomorrow, please?” Or next week or maybe in a year or five. However long it will take for me to forget and get to a point where I can have a conversation with the man without feeling like my heart is about to burst out of my chest.

“Okay,” he says, and I let out a relieved sigh. “But first…”

“Darrell!”

“I have something to show you, and then I’ll go. I promise.”

Resigned, I push away from the entrance to let him in, conscious to keep a little distance between us. He changed from the clothes he had on earlier into gray sweats and a black hoodie, which for some reason has my body heating up with need.

Get a hold of yourself, Paula. He’s only here for a few minutes, and then he’ll leave.

Darrell walks in, and I turn around to shut the door. I force in deep breaths to rein in my desire before turning around to face him, and for the third time in one night, my heart nearly pumps its way out of my chest.

“W-what are you doing?” I cry out as he starts to pull off his hoodie. I close my eyes and cover them with my palms for good measure. “What the heck, Darrell?”

“I want to show you something; open your eyes.”

“No, thank you, I don’t want to see you naked.” I mean I do, but for my own sanity, I know I shouldn’t.

Darrell grabs my hands to pull them from my face, and my gaze snaps to his naked chest. It’s firm and well-defined with delicious muscles that are covered with tattoos. He has so many of them, and I fight the urge to touch them, to trace them with my tongue. Would that make me weird if I did it? Kissed his firm pecs and down that rippled stomach to the V-line that disappears into the waistband of his sweats.

“You are not looking,” he says, humor in his voice, and I force my gaze from well-defined muscles to his eyes.

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