Page 152 of We Can't Be Friends

I take a step closer to the counter, putting myself between her legs. Her toes run up my calf.

“I like your shirt tonight.” I read the sentence aloud. “But the blue lingerie looks better in the kitchen.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” I lean forward, my mouth coming to her ear. My hat taps the cabinet behind her. “I know you put it on when you went upstairs. Take your shirt off.”

Chloe leans back on her elbows. “I did not.”

“I can see the strap.” I take that moment to run my hand under the collar of her shirt, snapping the strap with delicate flowers on it. Rubbing the skin after. “Take it off.”

I use the hand remaining on her thigh to bunch up the fabric to her waist.

Chloe’s breath hitches, face flushing, and I know she’s turned on.

“Make me.”

“Arms up.” I drop her shirt, pinning her wrists above her head against the cabinets with one hand. The other slips back to the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and over her arms.

In front of my face, nowhere else to look, are her full tits covered in baby blue mesh. Through the material, I can see her brown nipples.

Her head is tilted down at me, tracking my every move.

“You can touch,” she gives me permission.

Before I do, I tilt my head up to hers, wanting to see how her eye color fluctuates when I tell her what I need to tell her. I take my hat off, turning it backward before putting it back on.

I kiss her once.

“Patience is a virtue, but I’m done being patient, Chloe. I want you. All of you. If I touch you tonight, I won’t be able to stop. I already crave you and I don’t even know what you taste like.”

She tries to be a smart aleck. “You’ve kissed me.”

“Right. But I haven’t tasted this.” I take the strap of her underwear, pulling it tight against her. A small gasp comes out of her, lips parted again. I pull it tighter, knowing the fabric is putting tension on her clit. She tries to speak, but I cut her off. “Say something else and I’ll put that bratty mouth to better use.” I run my thumb along her bottom lip. “Do you understand me?”

Chloe’s throat bobs around a swallow, nodding her head.

“I need to hear you, Dais.”

“Yes, I understand,” she says, staring into my eyes.

“Good. Now, do I have permission to taste you?”

“Please,” she groans as I tighten my grasp on her underwear.

I drop my hold, tugging her to the edge of the counter. “Good girl,” I say before our mouths collide.

My hand goes to the back of her head, taking out her hair clip to let her dark hair fall to her shoulders. I run my hand through it, tugging on strands at different intensities to learn what she can withstand and likes. It tilts her head up more toward me, deepening this maddening kiss, exposing the slender column of her neck.

Her lips, her kiss, her taste are being branded into me. A permanent mark that I’ve had Chloe Henry, and she’s had me.

She bites my bottom lip, and a whimper comes out of me. Her tongue runs over where she bites me, only to do it again. “Chloe.”

“Say my name again,” she says against my lips. “I like itwhenyousay my name.”

“Chloe,” I moan out again.

My other hand runs up the side of her torso to the underside of her breasts. I pinch her nipple through the material and her back arches.

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