Page 21 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

I push up onto my elbows, bringing myself closer to his face, to those lips I now know the taste of. "To be curt, I want you on me."

His eyes darken at my words, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of amber remains. I watch his throat work as he swallows, his breath coming faster now. The power I feel in this moment is intoxicating — me, affecting him this way when moments ago we were arguing.

"Saylor," he says again, my name like velvet in his mouth. "We—"

"Do you know what I'm wearing under this?" I interrupt, the vodka courage speaking for my thick desire. My pussy is throbbing at the sight of him now, begging and aching.

He shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

"I bought it yesterday." I sit up fully, bringing our faces level. "After the breakup. It made me feel better."

"You don't need—" he starts, but I press a finger to his lips.

"Do you want to see?" The question hangs between us.

He doesn't answer, just stares at me with an intensity that makes my skin flush. I don't wait for him to find his voice. Before I can second-guess myself, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one fluid motion.

The cool air of the bedroom raises goosebumps across my exposed skin. I toss the top aside, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am — sitting here in just my bra that exposes my nipples with the man I hate the most. With Byron's best friend. A wild thought races through my mind: What if I've misread everything? What if he's not interested? What if I just put myself out there and he denies me?

The doubt evaporates when I see his expression. He looks at me like I'm water in a desert, like I'm something precious and rare. His eyes travel slowly over my chest, taking in every curve, every inch of my body.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I whisper, my fingers moving to the button of my jeans. "Before I take these off, tell me what's in your head right now."

He shakes his head, not in refusal but in disbelief. "You're the sexiest woman I've ever seen," he breathes, the words rough with want. "I can't believe this is happening."

That makes two of us, I think, but no agreement comes out. Instead, I unbutton my jeans and slowly slide the zipper down, holding his gaze as I do. The sound seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room, a counterpoint to our rapid breathing.

I rise to my knees, hooking my thumbs into the waistband, and slide my jeans down my hips, over my thighs. The denim catches on my ankles, and I kick it away, revealing myself in full — the matching set of navy lace that covers just enough to tease, to make him want more.

His eyes rake over me, taking in the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts above the lace, the smooth expanse of my thighs. There's hunger in his gaze, raw and undisguised, and it feeds something in me that's been starving for too long.

"Your turn," I say, finding my voice again.

He doesn't hesitate. With one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a chest that makes my mouth go dry. He's lean, but defined, muscle moving beneath smooth skin as he tosses his shirt aside. A trail of dark hair disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, drawing my eye downward.

I've seen attractive men before — dated one for over a year — but something about Cade's body makes my pulse race faster. Maybe it's the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe it's the way he's looking at me, like he'd die if he couldn't touch me soon.

A small scar traces across his left side, just below his ribs — a pale, thin line I want to trace with my fingertips, my tongue. His shoulders are broader than they appear in his usual button-downs, and his arms… God, his arms. Strong without being bulky, the kind of arms that could hold me against a wall with ease.

The thought sends a rush of heat between my legs, and I press my thighs together unconsciously. His eyes catch the movement, his lips curving into a knowing smile that should irritate me but instead makes me want to kiss him again.

"Come here," I whisper, holding out my hand to him.

He moves closer, until his knees touch the edge of the bed. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, but not close enough to satisfy the growing ache inside me. I rise to my knees again, bringing myself level with his chest. I place my palms flat against him, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my right hand.

"Cade," I breathe his name, testing the feel of it on my lips in this new context. Not as Byron's best friend. Not as the arrogant ass I hate. Just Cade, the man looking at me like I'm the answer to a question he didn't know he had.

His hands come to rest on my waist, warm and large against my skin. His thumbs trace small circles just above the lace of my panties, each movement sending shivers up my spine. His touch is careful, controlled, but I can feel the restraint in his fingers, the tension in his arms.

"What are you thinking now?" I ask, needing to hear his voice, to know I'm not alone in this madness.

"That I must be dreaming," he says, his voice husky. "That I'm going to wake up any second."

I lean forward, my breasts pressing against his chest as I bring my lips to his ear. "Not a dream," I whisper, letting my teeth graze his earlobe. "This is very, very real."

His hands tighten on my waist, and a small sound escapes him — half groan, half sigh. I pull back just enough to see his face, to watch his expression as I run my nails lightly down his chest, over his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch.

"I want you," I tell him, holding his gaze. "I've never wanted anyone like this."

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