Page 29 of My Scorned Best Friend

“Mr. Banks, would you like me to take care of these pants for you? My hand snakes down his muscular chest until I cup his balls in my palm, squeezing and massaging.

“I’d like you to do that on your knees, Miss Hart.” He cocks his eyebrow as though he’s daring me.

Does he not get me at all? A dare pretty much guarantees I’m going to do whatever it is. I enjoy a challenge.

I sink to my knees, staring up at him as I swiftly unbutton his charcoal slacks.” I roll my eyes. “I mean, really?”

Clara sat back on the chair with a pile of books in her lap and stared at me for a moment. “Does it not turn you on?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’m a visual guy. I need to see it play out on a screen.”

“You honestly can’t use your imagination? Come on.” She picked up another book and read an excerpt that flushed my cheeks, but still, I was more uncomfortable than I was aroused. “Nothing?”

“Give me porn over this any day.”

“That’s just lazy.” She shuffled through a few books.

Either it was growing hotter in there or I was actually turned on. Her chest shined with moisture, and for the very first time in my life, I wondered what it would be like to sleep with Clara. Okay, not the very first time. She’d been my best friend through all of puberty. But this time, I actually visualized it. Her underneath me, sweat coating both of us from fucking so hard we could barely catch our breaths.

“Shut your eyes,” she said.

“This is ridiculous. You women can have your romance books and the guys will stick to porn.”

“Do you know how unrealistic porn is? I read this article about how boys watch porn since it’s so accessible now, then they think that’s what women want—to be strangled or slapped on the ass or told they’re a dirty slut. I mean sure, some women do like that, but I don’t think a young girl exploring her first sexual encounter is ready for that kind of thing. That’s more something you lean into once you’ve had some sexual experience and you know what you like, what you want to explore, what makes you feel fulfilled and gratified. Talk about throwing someone in the deep end of the pool who can’t swim.”

I laughed. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

“I’m not. I swear. You should check in with Rylan before he hits those years. You don’t want him experiencing his first time and thinking he needs to shove a cucumber up the poor girl’s ass or something.”

“Clara, what the fuck?” I’d never heard her talk like that before, and damn it all to hell if I wasn’t turned on. Not because I wanted to shove a cucumber anywhere, but all this talk about sex had made me horny.

“Just close your eyes for a moment. Let me read you something. Free your mind and just let your imagination run wild. Okay?”

I shut my eyes because I knew Clara well enough, she was stubborn as hell and this wouldn’t end until I did what she wanted.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his knuckles gliding along the swell of my breast. ‘I almost don’t want to unwrap you.

It’s then that I witness Dean taking me in like a piece of precious art he’s waited decades to view. His tongue slides out and he licks his bottom lip.

While he admires me, I pull his shirt from his body, letting it join his jacket on the floor. I look at a man five years older, more muscled, more defined. We’ve grown. His flat stomach now has more dark hair trickling down past his waistband, his nipples more prominent on stronger pecs. He’s turned from boy to man, and I missed the transformation.

“Dean?” I break up the mood. Not that I’m not enjoying what he’s doing, but Dean doesn’t do gentle caressing.

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, his lips touching my skin and finding their way down to my breasts.

“Don’t treat me like I’m damaged goods.” He lifts his head and stares at me like I’m a crossword clue he can’t figure out.

“What?”

“You don’t need to be gentle with me just to prove you’ve changed.”

The one side of his lips lift. He knows exactly what I’m referring to. Our sex life was never tame—it was break the table, shatter the lamp kind of sex.

“Are you asking me to fuck you, Chelsea Walsh?” A full smile creases his lips, his forefingers and thumbs now pinching my nipples harder. A moan falls from my lips.

One hand covers my right breast, and he squeezes and then massages it. The fine art of hard and soothing—no one knows it better than him. He bends down, taking my nipple into his mouth as his arm slides under my back along the counter. In one motion, he pulls me up to him. My legs wrap around his torso so that he doesn’t have to stop tormenting me with small bites to my pebbled nipples while he carries me to the living room.

“Place your hands on the couch, gorgeous.” His voice transforms to that authoritative mix of stern and sultry that I love.

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