Page 23 of Friends Who Fake It

Her…what the hell had just happened?

Like a mirror that had been fragmented into a thousand pieces, memories of what they’d just done seemed to fall apart then come back together, creating a strange distortion. Or rather, a recollection, that made very little sense. Because he was her friend. And this was…a complication neither of them would want.

But he was grinning that sexy AF grin of his, looking up at her, as if he had zero problem with this whatsoever, and she didn’t know if that was reassuring or annoying.

He lifted a hand then, cupping her cheek, before moving a finger to her lips. “Don’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve just robbed a school bus.”

She pulled a face.

“Don’t look like you’ve just made a mistake,” he said, more seriously, eyes scanning hers. “There’s nothing wrong with what just happened.”

“You’re my friend, Francesco. Myfriend.”

“Yes, I am.”

“But this is,” she gestured from her chest to his, shaking her head. “I mean…it’s…”

“It’s sex,” he said, simply, eyes boring into hers.

“Right, sex.” She tried to put that spin on it. “Just sex.”

“Yes.”

“Because you know how I feel about Tom,” she said, moving her hand to his shoulder and pressing it there.

Francesco’s expression didn’t change but his eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes, but I’d prefer not to discuss that while I’m still inside you.”

Heat flushed her body. “I just meant…”

“Willow, how well do you know me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you even need to ask?”

“Do you think I’m going to be making wedding plans around the fact we just had sex—albeit mind-blowingly good sex—in my car?”

She almost laughed at the idea of Francesco doing any such thing.

“No,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Good. So don’t overthink this. It’s not a big deal.” Then, he caught her face in both his hands and pulled her towards him. “But don’t even think about saying it won’t happen again.”

“But we’re—,” Was all she managed to say, before he was kissing her, in that insanely possessive, demanding way he had, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, taking over her breathing, her senses, making her see unicorns and rainbows and everything that was holy. Making her body tremble and weaken, crushing against his. His hand came between her legs, finding the spot he’d conquered before and rubbing her there, not gently, but hard, in time with his kiss, so her already over-sensitive nerves went into a spasm, and she was falling apart all over again.

“Francesco,” she groaned into his mouth, but he was kissing her still, swallowing the words, and she was on some kind of cloud nine thousand, floating above them, floating above anything but this.

It was Francesco who broke the kiss, so he could look at her as he said, “I plan on making you come a lot this weekend, so get used to it.”

Her eyes widened. Her heart raced. Her stomach squeezed and swooshed, and butterflies seemed to explode in her belly.

“But—,”

“No buts. This is just sex. It means nothing,cara.It changes nothing. At the end of the weekend, we’ll walk away and go back to our normal lives, our normal friendship.”

“Because I have Tom, and you have whatever woman you click your fingers at,” she said, wondering why she couldn’t even conjure a mental image of Tom in that moment.

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