Didn’t he always say she didn’t play enough? That she needed to let go?
Well, here was her big chance.
No other man had ever made her body come alive the way Tommy did without even touching her.
What if no other man ever did?
She studied her best friend, the tremors now quaking his shoulders. And she knew he was fighting himself, struggling not to ravish her.
No matter how hard either of them fought this attraction, and even if they succeeded, their relationship had changed forever.
The only question was…would they still be together in the end? Or would they both spend forever apart…and alone?
…
She was fucking killing him.
Tommy scrubbed pumice stone over the bottom of Julie’s foot. His cock was hard as steel and wedged at an awkward angle in his jeans. Highly uncomfortable. But other than standing and grabbing the front of his pants to reposition himself, thus bringing Julie’s focus to that very stiff part of him, he was just going to have to deal.
He was almost done with the pedi, and then he was getting the ever-loving hell out of here.
This had been a superbly dumb idea. Her first soft moan should have been a clue. Her second, a red flag waving in his face. He’d never wanted to be on top of a woman faster, or more urgently. Inhaling deeply, he finally lowered her foot into the water. “All right. You’re done. Get dressed and meet me in the living room.”
Where he had another colossal mistake waiting.
As he left, he didn’t look at her. Once he had the door closed, he reached down and rearranged his aching cock, groaning. God, he was so turned on. The little mewls she’d made from him touching her were some insanely dangerous shit. And he found himself teetering on the brink of blind lust—just from the noises she made. And he hadn’t even been doing anything erotic to her, just rubbing her damn feet.
What the hell would happen when he started rubbing other places—his favorite places? What kind of noises would she make then? Could he make the soft moans louder? The languid moans more frantic? The contented moans more desperate? Lust shot through him at the mere thought of trying.
Shit! He needed to calm down or he was going to do something he regretted. Fucking Julie Rogers was not an option. He refused to let the friendship he treasured with that woman be ruined by treating her like every other meaningless encounter he’d had.
If he were going to be with her, it would be special. He would be slow and thorough…a true lover. He would not fuck her brains out and leave.
Not, not, not.
Calmed by the inner pep talk, he went to his room to change into a pair of black silk pajama bottoms, needing to get out the restrictive jeans or he risked permanent damage. As tempted as he was to go shirtless, that was begging for disaster, so he tossed on a black wife-beater, then went back into the kitchen. When she walked into the living room wearing one of his oversized amateur MMA shirts from years ago, his gut twisted. There was something massively arousing about her wearing his shirt, and as far as he was concerned, that could be all she wore for the rest of her life and he’d never tire of seeing it.
As he’d been sifting through her drawer earlier and found it, male satisfaction had gripped him, and he wondered how many nights she’d slept in it, and if she thought of him every time she put it on. After that, his search for the perfect outfit had been over. He had to have her in it…see her in it.
The hem reached mid-thigh, making him think of the bright pink satin panties he’d chosen to go with it.
Going through her underwear drawer had been an eye-opening experience. He’d never considered what she wore under her clothes, but the drawer full of colorful lace, satin, and silk had both shocked and pleased him. Picking out the one he wanted her to wear, to know she it on right now, was so damn hot. Everything about that woman made him hot.
It was like his body had stored up twenty-three years of lust and was bombarding him with it all at the same time.
“How are you feeling?” he asked to distract himself.
“Fantastic. That bath worked out the rest of the soreness.”
“To be on the safe side, lie down on the couch, and I’ll rub more ointment on your back.”
He was surprised when she didn’t argue. When she pretty much flopped belly-first onto the couch without hesitation, he knew she wasn’t lying about feeling better. After he raised her top, he exhaled slowly at the smooth skin he’d give anything to place his lips against right now. Instead, he squirted a liberal amount of the medicated gel into his palm, then rubbed it onto her lower back. His gaze kept drifting down to the swell of her ass.
Oh, God, he needed to touch her there. Had to touch her there.
Being just a little bad wouldn’t hurt.
Right?