Page 42 of Friends Don't Kiss

“You’re not coming in front of the door,” he says, scooping me up and setting me on the bed.

I make quick work of my pajamas. Colton’s hard-on, even if he called it morning wood, boosts my confidence a little. I can’t look that bad to him, especially if the way he’s looking at me is anything to go by.

Swallowing hard, he licks his lips and rakes his gaze over me. Is he going to change his mind? I trail my fingers between my thighs. I do need this orgasm. His eyelids get heavy, and he drops to his knees, hooking my legs to pull me to him. Then he gently removes my hand from my center and dips his mouth to my folds.

In the milky light bathing the room, I wonder if maybe I’m dreaming. I run my fingers in his hair (it’s thick and soft) and cling to it as he runs his tongue around my clit. The tease is unbearable. “A little more to the right,” I finally whisper.

He lifts his head and looks at me, a smile lifting his mouth to one side. Brushing up the insides of my thighs, he says, “You think I don’t know where your clit is, Sweetness?” at the same time the pad of his thumb rubs me right in the center, making me arch and cry out. The sensation is more than electric, the orgasm building up but not quite there.

“There,” I sigh.

But he removes his hand, bringing it back to my thigh. “Not yet,” he growls as he lowers his face between my legs.

“The fingers… the fingers were fine,” I say.

“I thought you wanted an orgasm.” He peppers kisses on the insides of my thighs.

“I do. Please. You said-you said…”

“I said I’d give you an orgasm.”

“But you said I’d come on your fingers,” I whine. This teasing is really torture.

He looks up again, smiling like I’ve never seen him smile. He’s soft yet arrogant, dominant yet on his knees. His dark hands on my body are strong enough to snap me in half, yet he’s taking all my strength away just by the power of his tongue. “I changed my mind,” he says as he dips back down between my legs.

His tongue draws lazy circles on the outside of my labia now.

“This is not… this is not…” I sigh in exasperation, trying to bring his head back where I want it.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he says, the rumbling of his voice making my center clench. He breathes softly into my folds, an exhale that’s both admiration and want.

Ohgodohgod, he’s going to want to go all the way with me. Panic seizes me, then relief. Then worry. This is exactly what I didn’t want.

“Get out of your own head, Sweetness,” he says.

I snap my gaze down to him. His hair is covering part of his eyes, his hands are cupped around my hips, thumbs stroking me gently. The strong ridge of his nose is a stark contrast to his full lips hovering over me. “Never tasted anything so good. Now show me how you sound when you come on my face.” He dips back down, sucking and teasing and growling, then narrows down on my clit, getting what he wants.

The sensation is like nothing I’ve ever had, from my curling toes, to the electricity coursing through my entire body, and the shock waves that shake me. I hold his head down, committing everything to memory—the sight of him, his shoulders rolling as he strokes my thighs, the smell of my sex mixed with his fresh sweat, his palms cradling me as if to worship me.

When I come down from my high, I spread my legs wider to welcome him and open my mouth to say something.

But then he stands, his dick straining his briefs, takes quick strides to the bathroom and locks himself in.

The shower starts running, and I’m left wondering. My body is spent in the most delicious way. I try to sit up, but my legs barely cooperate, so I plop back flat on my back, one hand on my belly, listening to his sounds behind the closed door, feeling the deep relaxation that’s spread to every one of my bones.

When he comes back out, wrapped in a towel, he doesn’t look at me right away. His hair is a mess I’d like to untangle now, but I’m not sure where this leaves us.

There’s no going back, though.

His lips tilt up. “Feel better?” he asks with humor in his voice.

“What just happened?”

“I gave you what you needed.” He drops the towel, giving me a first-row view to his muscled ass as he steps into a fresh pair of briefs. “Ready to tackle Cruella and the gang?”

I sit up, and suddenly self-conscious of my nudity, cover myself with the sheet. “I mean,” I start, then hesitate, lick my lips, and add, “where does that leave us?”

He grabs a dark green Henley and pulls it on, then fixes his hair by running his fingers through it. “Whaddaya mean?”

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