Somehow this takes the kiss even higher, makes it even hotter. It’s like he’s talking with his hands, saying how much he needs me.

  I need him just as much.

  But I need more than kissing.

  So much more.

  I break the kiss, grinning as I reach for his hand. He’s quiet, letting me lead. I swallow roughly, then guide his hand down my body. He shudders as I go, and we blaze a trail down my breasts and over my belly. When we reach the top of my panties, he takes over, sliding his hand between my legs.

  “Oh hell,” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut as he feels my wetness through the lace, and the little thong too.

  His fingers trace lines over me, then he seems to collect himself, issuing a command. “Turn around.”

  “Against the wall?”

  “Yes.”

  I do as I’m told, thrilling at the confidence in his voice, the dirty need.

  I turn, and as I go, I slide off the robe so I’m only in my red lace.

  “God, yes. You’re so fucking incredible,” he says, then presses his big body against my back.

  I gasp when I feel the outline of his erection, thick and insistent.

  He slides my hands up the wall, above my head, holding them there with one hand. Then his other arm glides around my body, over my waist and down, his fingers dipping inside my panties, touching me while his lips press against my neck again.

  Twin sensations—his fingers gliding between my legs, his lips traveling across my neck.

  I moan and writhe, wriggling against his hands, arching into his lips.

  He plays with me, rubbing and touching me where I need him most, winding me up, driving me wild.

  “You feel spectacular,” he growls, and I do feel that way—because of him. Because of how he touches me. “You’re so fucking soft. So wet.”

  I can’t even answer. I don’t know what to say. All I can say is “Yes” as he strokes and thrusts and sends me toward the edge.

  His hungry mouth consumes me, kissing my neck fiercely, reverently, as he fucks me with his fingers.

  All these sensations collide in a tightening in my belly, an exquisite tension in my legs. Then I break, gasping and crying.

  “Oh God, oh God, yes. Oh my God.”

  I fall apart with him, regretting nothing. Only wanting more.

  When I come down from the high, I turn around, my legs like jelly, my brain high on dopamine. I clasp his cheek. “Will you please take me to bed now?”

  His grin is wicked, and I don’t ever want to forget the way he’s looking at me right this second. “I will.”

  It sounds like the answer to a prayer.

  21

  PEYTON

  I don’t know if this is a vivid dream or heightened reality.

  Reality has never felt as blissful, as unexpected, as it does when I stand in front of my king-size bed as Tristan lifts a hand to my chest, his fingers featherlight as he flicks open the front clasp on my bra.

  I release a shuddering breath.

  I’m getting naked for my friend.

  He’s stripping me down to nothing.

  I want this so badly, and I’m terrified at the same time.

  What does this mean? Where do we go from here?

  But I need what’s next.

  Need it more than chocolate and lace.

  When my bra falls open, my breasts revealed to him, a gust of breath rushes from his lips.

  “You’re so stunning,” he whispers, his voice rough as gravel and yet dusted in honey at the same damn time. Like he can’t believe he’s looking at me like this.

  But I feel the same about him.

  I can’t quite fathom that this strong, gorgeous man who I desperately wanted years ago is undressing me. For several surreal seconds, I’m sure I’m living a fantasy.

  “I like the way you look at me,” I say, needing to be sure this is real life, and holy hell, that felt good to say.

  He shakes his head, like this is all a dream to him too. He cups my breasts, and we both groan at the same time.

  He fondles them but doesn’t linger long. On a fast track for total nudity, his hands skate down my stomach and slip into my panties. He slides them, and the thong, down my legs, his breath hitching as I’m revealed.

  Shamelessly, he gazes up and down my body as he helps me step out of the lace.

  When he rises, he glides a hand around to my ass, dips his mouth to my neck, and whispers, “Let’s leave your shoes on.”

  A tremble radiates through me. “Better to wrap around your hips that way.”

  He jerks back, stares at me, then quirks his lips. “You dirty woman.” He presses a kiss to my jaw. “You can leave your shoes on with me anytime, you dirty, beautiful, fucking sexy woman.”

  Woman.

  He calls me “woman,” not “girl.”

  And that turns me on even more.

  But what would make me molten is seeing him.

  I play with the waistband of his shirt. “My turn to strip you.”

  “Don’t let me hold you back.” His tone shifts to playful, his eyes twinkling with mischief. But the lightness fades once more as I lift his shirt, raising it over his head and dropping it to the floor.

  The enormity of this choice echoes in my mind and sears in my brain. I’m doing this. We’re doing this.

  Damn the consequences.

  My eager hands are ahead of my mind, my fingers trailing down the firm expanse of his chest, playing with the most delicious smattering of hair. Trembling, I continue my travels, an explorer traversing a new land.

  He seems to sense I need this—this moment—to revel in the brand-new territory, to discover my best friend in this new way. He’s still as stone, letting me take this journey, like a cat in a new apartment, checking out every nook and corner.

  The V of his abs. The grooves in his flat stomach. The happy trail that leads to where I want to be.

  My fingers wander across the planes of his belly as I trace every carved inch of him, mesmerized by his body. Lifting my chin, I meet his gaze. Desire has darkened his eyes once more. His hazel irises shimmer with lust—a lust that heats me up.

  “You’re kind of hard everywhere,” I whisper, then shake my head, correcting myself. I’m so lost in touching him that I can’t speak properly. “Not kind of. You are,” I emphasize, moving my hands to his arms, running them up his toned forearms to his biceps.

  He’s no longer a statue. He reaches for my waist, jerking my body close to his, my skin against his half-dressed frame. “Yes, I’m hard everywhere, Peyton. Everywhere.”

  As close as he holds me, my hip is the lucky recipient of the evidence, and I feel just how much he wants me. I shudder, my voice barely a whisper as I say, “I better finish getting you undressed.”

  “Yes, you better.”

  I nibble on the corner of my lip, both insanely aroused by and slightly nervous about what we’re doing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, or perhaps it’s in the front, I’m acutely aware I should say something before we do the deed. The requisite are we okay with this check-in.

  Hey, Tristan. Real quick. We won’t let sex ruin our friendship, right?

  ’Course not. Friends with benefits sounds cool.

  Awesome. I thought so too. Let me just get these pesky clothes off you right now.

  But I don’t want to lose the intensity of this moment. It’s too perfect. Too wonderful in its own right.

  Besides, of course we’re okay with this. We can handle this.

  And I want to keep experiencing all the wonder of undressing him.

  I unbutton his jeans, unzip them, and push them over his hips.

  He helps me along, kicking off his shoes and shedding his jeans, until he’s down to only black boxer briefs that hide nothing. My mouth waters, and desire flickers through me like strobe lights in a disco.

  I can’t wait.

  I need him.

  Need this.

  I strip off his boxers, and my lips part in admiration and desire when his cock springs free. He’s beautiful. His cock is a work of art, a sculpture worthy of a museum exhibit.

  I don’t even know what to say as I stare at him in the flesh, drinking in his strong, powerful body, his thick, hard length.

  Words feel foreign. The only language I know is sensation.

  I wrap a hand around his hard shaft, hot and pulsing in my palm. As soon as I touch him, he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath forever.

  Like I felt when he touched me.

  The sound reassures me that he’s in this too, every step of the way.

  I ache exquisitely as I stroke him, making me want him more and more. I search for words, something to anchor me to this moment. “I kind of can’t believe this is what you look like,” I say, as speech comes to me at last.

  He blinks, like he’s trying to focus, trying to concentrate on answering me as I grip the steel of his erection. He rocks the slightest bit into my hand, need written on his face like a headline. “What do you mean?” he rasps out.

  “All this time, all these years. And look at you,” I say, staring unabashedly.

  He swallows, his eyes locking with mine. “And what do you see, Peyton?”

  What do I see?

  More than I bargained for.

  More than I ever expected.

  I see trust and sex and beauty and friendship. I feel fear and desire and unfettered excitement. And I see him. The way I wanted to ten years ago.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper, emotion tightening my throat. “Everywhere. And I want you now.”

  In one swift move, I’m on my back, legs spread, knees open, heels digging into my peach comforter. Tristan crawls over me, pinning my wrists at my sides. “Say it again,” he commands, rough and gravelly.

  “Which part?” I ask, arching my body, aching for him. A pulse beats insistently between my legs, and he’s going to need to put me out of my misery soon.

  “The last part,” he says, lowering himself so his hard cock rubs against my belly.

  “I want you,” I say, gasping, desperate now. “I want you so much.”

  His jaw ticks, and he breathes out hard. “You have no idea.”

  “No idea what?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets go of my wrists and rises to his knees, his eyes scanning the floor. “Need my wallet. Need a condom.”

  But I have another idea. “Tristan,” I say, insistent, pushing up on my elbows. “I’ve been tested. Since my last relationship. I’m clean, and I’m on protection.”

  “Oh, fuck.” He drags a hand through his hair like I’ve said both the best and the worst thing in the world.

  “What’s wrong?” I don’t want to ruin the mood. I reach up to his face, cupping his cheek. “Did I say something wrong?”

  He turns his face to my hand, kissing my palm, soft and tender. “No. You didn’t say a thing wrong. And I’m clean too. I’ve been tested. I just don’t know how the fuck I’m going to last inside you like that.”

  A smile spreads slow and easy on my face, and all my anxieties sashay out of the room. With my hand on his face, I pull him back down to me. “I guess we should try, then, and see.”

  He flashes me a wolfish grin. “I’ll give it my best shot.” He raises my arms again. “I love the way you look like this. Can you hold on to the headboard so I can fuck you like this?”

  Can I? With fucking pleasure. I scoot up and reach for the headboard, gripping it.

  He’s on top of me, cock bobbing, parking his knees on either side of my hips, his hands sliding up my waist, over my breasts, to my neck. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look? How beautiful you are? You’re so fucking stunning in every way, but especially like this.”

  My skin is sizzling. All the nerve endings in my body are unraveling. Pleasure consumes my every cell and he’s not even inside me. He’s simply praising me, and I could luxuriate in this attention all night long.

  He lowers his face to my breasts and brushes a kiss between them, then more down my belly. “Your body . . .You need to be worshipped. I need to kiss every inch of you.”

  I want that. Desperately. I want to feel him adore me with his mouth, his tongue, his lips.

  But I need to be filled right now.

  I need to be fucked.

  My eyes float closed, and I lift my hips. “Worship me tomorrow. Fuck me tonight.”

  The sound he makes is carnal and obscene. Like a wild animal.

  And it thrills me, sending a wave of anticipation through my body. His hands slide between my legs, and he parts my thighs wider, settling between them. I open my eyes to see him running a hand down his hard shaft, then rubbing the head against my wetness.

  My back bows.

  His entire body shudders.

  We are a feedback loop, and it’s intoxicating.

  He groans. I moan.

  He shakes his head, like he can’t believe this is happening. “I want you so fucking much.”

  Then he slides inside me, and I’m so wet, so ready, that he’s all the way in me in seconds.

  “Oh God,” I murmur as I feel him fill me completely. Tingles spread everywhere, a rush of heat floods my body, and I don’t want to hold on to the headboard anymore.

  I want to touch him.

  My hands fly to his chest, clutching him for dear life.

  He doesn’t move for a few seconds. Clenching his jaw, he closes his eyes. Then he opens them, meeting my gaze.

  “I want this to be so good for you,” he says, and there’s pure honesty in his words, an admission in the middle of all this heat and need. He lowers his chest to mine.

  I wrap my legs around him, hooking my high-heeled feet together over his firm butt. “It already is,” I whisper as I lift my hands, thread them through his hair, and bring his face to mine, his stubble against my cheek.

  He groans my name, some kind of plaintive wish to the universe as he starts to move in me with slow, unhurried thrusts.

  The feel of him, the weight of him, the way he reaches for my thigh with one hand, angles me more open, is all so wickedly new and utterly wonderful.

  I’m discovering a whole new side to my best friend tonight.

  An erotic, seductive side.

  A vulnerable, tender side.

  With his palms planted by my face, he finds the most delicious rhythm, thrusting deep then stroking back, nearly pulling out before he drives back into me, right where I want him. That spot. Pleasure cascades through me, and I feel boneless as he fucks me, swiveling his hips, taking his sweet, fantastic time, and hitting the mark with every thrust.

  He grins at me like he has a secret. “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard,” he says, and I light up like a pinball machine.

  Those words.

  His intensity.

  “Yes, please, yes,” I say, dragging my nails down his back. “Make me come, Tristan.”

  “Like you did against the wall,” he continues, his voice as ruthless as his desire. He rocks into me as tension grips my core.

  “Yes, do it again,” I urge.

  “Love it when you come for me. I want to make you come so hard you lose your mind with pleasure,” he says, and his filthy words flip the switch in me.

  He has a dirty side too.

  I never knew he was a dirty talker. How could I? The private knowledge thrills me, my body tightening, pleasure coiling in my belly. The ecstatic torture expands as I hover so damn close to the edge of release.

  “Oh God, Tristan,” I moan, lifting my hips closer, my head falling back on the pillow, my body taking over as I go wild beneath him, bucking. “I’m coming. Coming again.”

  One. Deep. Thrust.

  And I am over the edge, tumbling into ecstasy as he praises me. “So fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect, love it when you come, love it so damn much.”

  His words merge into his groans and his pumps, the thrusts of his cock deep inside me as he fucks me to his own oblivion.

  Then he fills me, his cock twitching, his body collapsing on me, his pulse racing so fast, I can feel it under his skin as my hands roam his frame.

  We’re both quiet for a minute. Our slowing breaths and the soft music from the other room are the only sounds.

  Soon, our breathing slows. But I can’t stop touching him. I want to worship him too.

  I want to have him again and again.

  And I hope, dear God, I hope that he wants all the same things I do.

  When he slips away to the bathroom, grabs a washcloth, and cleans me up, I nearly cry. It’s such a tender, sweet gesture. It’s one I’ve never experienced from a man.

  He sets the towel on the floor, returns to bed, and wraps an arm around my waist. Nuzzling me, he kisses my neck, then whispers, “I need to go soon.”

  That’s not what I wanted to hear.

  22

  TRISTAN

  The last thing I want on earth is to leave her.

  But I have to.

  Besides, leaving is easier.

  If I stay, I’ll curl up with her all night long, wrap her in my arms, and tell her she has my heart in her hands.

  And what if she doesn’t want me to spend the night?

  I can’t deal with any form of rejection this second.

  Nor can I deal with a conversation about what this is or isn’t. I’m not sure I want to have any conversation. Because I don’t know what the hell tonight means for her. I’ve got no clue what we’re doing or what she wants. But I can’t handle hearing anything hard right now, anything that would slice my heart in half.

  She has the power to destroy me, and I can’t afford destruction. I have a business, a family, responsibilities. I don’t want to put my heart through that wringer again when I have to deal with life head-on every damn day.

  Besides, I don’t know if she chose me tonight, or if circumstance did. Because in the past, I’ve never been the guy she chooses.

  That’s why I need to leave.

  Plus, I actually do have to go, even though I want so much more of her. I want her over and over.