After watching a rom-com—her choice, and a drama—mine, we’d wound up snuggled together on the couch. It was long past midnight, and I’d wanted nothing more than to carry her into my bedroom and kiss her until that sleepy look disappeared. She’d been the strong one then, getting up and giving me a light peck on the mouth before gathering up her things.
“This was really nice, Smith. Thank you.” The regret on her face was almost completely concealed as I walked her to her car and she slid in.
“Text me when you get home,” I said, patting the hood of the car.
I made it all the way back into my living room before I had my pants unzipped and my cock in hand.
“Fu-uck,” I groaned, the ache in my groin making the pressure of my hand almost painful.
I dropped back onto the couch, my face just an inch from where Evie’s head had been, and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Squeezing my eyes closed, I stroked my shaft up and down. Long, easy strokes for as long as I could stand it, and then faster. I let all the mental footage I had of Evie form a movie, filling in the gaps in my perverted imagination. What I came up with was the best porno in the world, and my heart knocked against my ribs so hard, I could hear it as I worked my cock over.
“I want you to come inside me, Smith,” she whispered as she rode me up and down, faster and faster.
She pressed two fingers to her clit and moved them in a gentle circular motion as she impaled herself all the way onto my distended cock, taking me in to the hilt. Her pussy clenched, gently at first, but then harder as her nipples went tight and she threw her head back.
“Yes, yes!”
“Yes” was fucking right, because I was right behind her. My muscles tensed and my cock went rock hard. A second later, I bellowed her name and white light shot behind my eyelids as I came on my stomach in spurts.
My breath was still sawing in and out of my lungs when my cell phone buzzed and Evie’s text lit up my screen.
EVIE: Made it.
Christ, that made two of us.
My low laugh was more of a groan as I snagged a handful of tissues from the coffee table.
After I cleaned off, I thumbed out a quick reply.
SMITH: See you soon.
I realized with a start that, even if it was tomorrow, it wouldn’t be soon enough. I didn’t know I was starving until I’d tasted her.
Chapter Fourteen
“What’s going on with you today?” Cullen chuckled, giving me a confused look.
The smile on my lips faded. “Nothing.”
It was a total lie. I was still on a total high from my might-have-been-a-date with Smith last weekend. Maggie had said it wasn’t a date—it was just two friends who had almost banged while hanging out—but I disagreed. The chemistry that buzzed between us was impossible to ignore.
And so even though I was sitting at work bright and early on a Monday morning, I was humming, my feet kicked up on my desk.
Cullen shook his head. “It’s nice to see you feeling so cheery.”
Smith shot me a smile. “Did you get laid last weekend or something?”
I almost swallowed my tongue.
“Don’t you dare fucking answer that,” Cullen said, looking distraught while I erupted in laughter.
Smith’s playful side wasn’t one that came out often, but I loved the rare glimpses he gave me into who he really was and how his mind worked.
It was the part afterward that made me twitchy.
“Speaking of getting laid, Smith, what’s up with the new lady?” Cullen asked.
My heart jumped up into my throat.
Smith played it cool. “Nothing really.”
“Don’t play coy. You said it was someone from your past . . . so, who is she?”
Smith’s gaze flashed to mine with something that looked like concern. “It’s casual,” he said, directing his attention back to my brother.
“Isn’t it always with you, my man?” Cullen said with a wide grin.
A minute later, I managed to remove myself from the conversation with a mumbled excuse about needing to get something done, but for the rest of the morning, the scene replayed in my head.
This thing was supposed to be exactly that. Casual. What did it matter if Smith was seeing other women?
But, God, did it matter. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. If I kept this up with Smith—seeing him, flirting with him, kissing him—was I setting myself up for the heartbreak of the century?
Taking another sip of coffee from my trusty to-go mug, I opened up the design program to review the campaign I’d finished last week.
As I looked at the images of boy shorts and camisoles in the new spring line, in spite of my heartache over the reminder of Smith’s bad-boy nature, my mind wandered to much racier things . . .