Page 41 of Friends Don't Kiss

Maya’s eyes round a bit, but she keeps control. She always seems to have control.

She takes us in, the image of a couple in love caught in a moment of intimacy, and envy colors her features. This is her engagement, yet still she wants what she thinks I have.

We must play our part really well, because her nostrils flare as she narrows her gaze on the shape of Colton’s hand under my pajamas.

His thumb splays out, reaching the lower swell of my breast. “Hey, Maya. Whassup?”

As she bites the inside of her lip, I straighten to break the contact, but he growls and fully cups my breast. “You coming back to bed, baby?” he says to me, not waiting for an answer.

Maya clears her throat but still can’t seem to bring her eyes up to mine.

I grip the door harder, because my knees are becoming less and less dependable. “What’s up?” I repeat Colton’s question, trying to keep the quiver off my voice. As if Colton fondling me in public is perfectly normal. As if his calloused hands gently stroking my most sensitive parts was something so ordinary I don’t even notice it anymore.

Her gaze lifts to my face but never quite makes it to my eyes. “Brunch is in thirty minutes,” she answers crisply. “You never RSVP’d to it, but since you’re here…” she trails off, her gaze dropping back to the outline of Colton’s knuckles.

I’m really not in a position to make any decisions right now. I’m fighting an orgasm by nipple stroke—not something I knew could occur. I’m wondering what’s going to happen when this door closes, brunch or no brunch. “Um…” Taking a page from Colton’s book, I improvise. “You wanna go to brunch, Romeolicious?” I turn my face to him. Seizing the opportunity, I stroke his forehead, scooping the hair out of the way, getting a good feel for it in the process.

I expect a chuckle at the nickname, a lift of the lips, maybe even a what-the-fuck that will expose our charade. I get none of that. Instead, I’m thrown off-kilter by the look he gives me. By the way our gazes lock for a split second.

Maya sighs. “It’s not really optional,” she clips. Her tone hits something deep in me, something primal. It’s the tone she uses to lecture me. Judge me. Put me down. I know that tone. I don’t need to hear whatever’s coming next from her to feel defeated already—not good enough.

I turn back to tell her we’re coming—anything to make her go away, really—but Colton beats me to it. “Tell you what,” he says, still possessively cupping my breast, his front intimately pressed against my back.

There’s no way I can ignore the hard beating against my upper hip. I lay the hand that’s not gripping the door on Colton’s arm, maybe in an attempt to stop him fondling me, or maybe to say this is totally cool. In all honesty, I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore, much less what I’m doing.

“I never heard of an engagement party to begin with,” he says. “I’m ready to puke just thinking about you guys’s wedding. Your sister called out of work to be here, looking fucking gorgeous which in turn makes you look good. This is the first we hear about your fucking brunch, so you’re going to give her all the time she needs to get ready, and if that includes me giving her an orgasm to undo all the stress you’re giving her, then so be it. We clear?”

Maya swallows visibly, the red on her cheeks almost as deep as the dress I wore last night. Without a word, she dips her head down and scampers away.

My head falls back against Colton’s chest as I stroke his arm still wrapped around me.

He shuts the door softly, pulling me closer into him as he does so, his erection beating against me. We stay like that a few moments that feel like forever, then he says, “You okay?” while the hand he still has under my jammies starts making slow circles on my breast.

I clear my throat, but no sound comes out and no coherent thought forms in my mind. All I can focus on is how good he smells and how warm he is and how strongly he’s holding me up, when in normal circumstances all I’d want to do would be to pack my stuff and run away and regret coming here.

I don’t regret coming here with Colton.

I don’t regret sharing a room with Colton.

I do, however, regret having to tell him what follows.

Letting my head fall forward, I run my fingers down his veined forearm. “You can let go, now, Colt.” My voice comes out husky—not the intended effect. It seems even my vocal chords are affected by what Colton’s doing to me.

He whispers in my ear, “Do you want me to let go?” My whole spine shivers as he punctuates his words with his lips trailing down to where my neck meets my shoulder.

“I think you should.”

“You’re so tense, though.” He brings the hand that was on the door to my hip, then teases the pants’ waistband open with the tip of his fingers. “I wasn’t kidding. You need an orgasm.”

Fuck yeah. I do.

“Colt…” My voice comes out a low rasp. Nothing in it indicates I’m not agreeing. I clutch his arm closer to me while my head rolls back on his torso again.

His dick beats against my back, and reality hits me. I can’t let this happen. “We can’t.”

“Who says anything about me?” he murmurs. “I’m just a friend doing you a favor. Let yourself go. Come on my fingers, grasshopper. You know you need it. Ignore my morning wood.”

My hips move forward and he takes it for what it is—yes.

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