Page 93 of The Good Boys Club

Cian slammed the heel of his palm into my shoulder and pushed me, but he left his hand there. Let it linger.

A few moments passed. Neither of us said anything; we simply observed each other. He didn’t have his wolf ears and tail, and the moonlight drained his already pale complexion.

“So . . .” His hand moved from my shoulder, down my arm to lift my hand and hold my fingers. I got the distinct impression he was breaking up with me . . . again. It was a move I’d used on countless women before.

“So . . . this was fun,”or,“So . . . it’s not you, it’s me,”or,“So . . . it’s been nice knowing you.”

“You’ve thought about me and you together . . . doing stuff?” he said instead.

I cringed. “You could pretend you never heard any of that. We could just go back to how things were.” I really, really did not want to ruin our final few weeks. When Cian and I eventually headed back to Remy, it would be to pack up my shit and bid goodbye to the city forever.

“Kissing?” he asked.

I nodded slowly.

“More than kissing?”

I buried my eyes behind my fingertips.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because . . . I would lose you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you—you, Cian, my best fucking friend—becoming another notch on my bedpost. Another person I vaguely remember.”

“You’d never lose me.” He crushed my hand within his. “Even after I go back to Remy. Even if I am simply a curiosity itch thatyou need to scratch, you’ll never lose me. I’m always going to be there for you. In fact, it’s best to try out new stuff with me because one, who knows you better than me? And two, I won’t become overly attached and unnecessarily clingy, because I’m already those things.”

I laughed because the opposite was true. It had always been me clinging to Cian, following him about like a lost puppy.

Ugh, it all made so much sense now.

“You’re saying . . .” I began. “I could scratch my itch . . . on your post?”

He snorted, his laughter lighting up his face.

“And I wouldn’t lose you as a friend?”

His smile dropped, his expression sobering in an instant. “Never,” he whispered. His eyes were fixed on mine.

I didn’t know if he kissed me, or if I kissed him, or if we met in the middle, but his lips were brushing mine. My hands already threading into his hair. My tongue already seeking out the familiarity of his mouth.

The last time we properly kissed was ten years ago, but my body remembered everything about his. It would never forget the way he tasted—just like he smelled. I was sure Cian himself would be able to describe it in non-abstract ways, but the only words that came to my mind were love, friendship, belonging.

He tasted like I knew every moment from his past and his future. He tasted like he was meant for me, and me alone. And I knew it was stupid to think like that, but I couldn’t help it.

I was sure if I asked Ci what our kiss tasted like, he’d say something sensible and definable, like cola, or barbecued ribs, or weed, or whatever we ate or drank last. Not sunshine and rainbows and moonbeams.

But that’s what it felt like. Like respite, like a break from all my problems, like I didn’t have to worry about anything, at leastfor a little while, because he was here with me. Steadfast, and reliable, and mine.

I paused the kiss, held his face between my hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just need to be closer to you,” I said. I swung my leg over the trunk and pulled him into the gap between my thighs, his legs now hung over my legs, and I brought our mouths together again.

My wolf purred in my chest. Cian made the most achingly beautiful whimpers. His hands travelled over every inch of me he could reach without breaking the kiss.

We kissed for so long. Until the birds stopped their daily chatter and went to bed. Until the moons were overhead. Until my face was raw from the scratch of Ci’s stubble against my chin. I had no control over my hips. They rolled upwards, rubbing the head of my cock against the fly of Ci’s cords, trying to steal an ounce of friction. I was so painfully hard. It felt like I was a teenager again, like this was all the first time.

We broke apart to catch our breaths. Our foreheads butted together, and we panted into each other’s mouths, chests heaving. I wanted to fuck him. Or let him fuck me. Or just touch him. But I was already teetering dangerously close to the edge, and I couldn’t stand the idea of my first time with Cian being over in a nanosecond.

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