Page 43 of The Wingman

“Cuddle.” My voice sounds hoarse, so I clear my throat.Jesus. I’m acting like a teenage boy on prom night. “We should cuddle, since you miss it.”

Self-loathing drips into my blood. I’m the fucking worst. Kit thinks I’m looking after her, and instead, I’m finding ways to touch her.

He manipulated her by proposing in front of everyone when he knew she wanted to break up, though, so fuck that guy.

Warning bells ring at the edge of my conscience, but I ignore them. Christ, I want to kiss her. If I were smart, I’d head straight to my room—alone—and release all this pent-up sexual frustration in the shower with my forehead against the tiles, muffling my groan.

I’m not smart, though. Not where Darcy’s concerned.

“As friends,” I add, my heart pounding. She can see right fucking through me, I’m sure, but I’m flying down a hill with no brakes. “I’m sure there’s some science about how it’s good for people.”

“Oxytocin.” She wets her lips. “It’s released when people touch. They encourage parents to do it with newborns.”

Tension hangs in the air.

“I’ll do it.” I swallow. “But only if I can be the baby.”

She bursts out laughing, and even though my pulse drums in my ears, I grin. A few knots in my chest ease, and I lower down on the sofa, holding my arms open. Like it’s the hundredth time we’ve done this, she tucks herself against me, her back to my front, and just like that, we’re cuddling.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever experienced.

Instinct grips me by the throat as I fold myself around her, pulling her closer to me. She’s so soft, so warm, such a perfect fit against me. We’re lined up against each other, and I wonder if she can feel my heart racing.

What am I doing? Do I care?

“This okay?” I murmur.

“Mhm.” She turns, glancing over her shoulder. “Can you breathe like that? My hair is probably suffocating you.”

“I’m good.” I could die like this. She smells like heaven. It’s taking every shred of my control not to press my nose to the back of her neck. Instead, I rest my chin on the top of her head.

Is this what having a girlfriend is like? Is this what I’ve been missing out on for years?

It would never be like this with anyone else, though. It’s not the act of cuddling with a woman, it’s cuddling withDarcythat’s sending my body and mind into overdrive.

You know what? Fuck it.

Driven by my dumb caveman brain, I press my nose to the back of her neck and inhale deep.

All the blood in my body rushes to my dick, and in three seconds, I’m hard as steel. My lips part at the intense urge to thrust against her.

Holyfuck.

I read an article once where a porn star said when he’s having performance issues on set, he smells the back of his female costar’s neck. Something about pheromones. I told everyone this at the bar, and Miller tried it with Hazel. He said it didn’t work.

Well, it’s fucking working now.

My balls ache with arousal and my cock strains against my pants. If Darcy moves even an inch, she’s going to feel it.

Panic threads through me, cutting through my blinding lust. I need a cold shower. I need to jerk off. Fuck. No. I just need to get out of here.

Darcy lets out a content sigh and shifts, and my mind goes blank as her ass presses back into me.

She tenses.

I tense.

Neither of us is breathing.

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