My entire body begs for more—more touching, more stroking, more tongue—while my mind works out how we can do with less: less clothing, less waiting.
We should get naked.
Our telepathy works its magic once again. Dax slides his hands up under my shirt, kissing my neck while his thumbs graze the skin below my bra. He presses his hips into mine, and I can feel him hard and thick beneath his jeans.
We should definitely get naked.
I grab a handful of his shirt with one fist and slide my other hand underneath, feeling the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his stomach. I’ve seen Dax shirtless too many times to count, but never with the idea in my head that I could touch him or even taste him. And with the thought of How does Dax McGuire taste? I run my tongue along the nape of his neck, then playfully nip on his earlobe.
“What was that?” he asks between kisses.
“I’m not really sure.”
“Do it again.” His voice is so low and husky. I like this. Commanding, sexy, knows-what-he-wants Dax. This time when I do it, he’s the one moaning and pressing his hips to mine. Pressing his erection exactly where I’m aching.
For a moment, my brain dwells on the meaning of this moment. I think I’m about to have sex with Dax. And although I’ve thought about doing a million things with Dax, sex didn’t really enter the realm of possibility until tonight. I haven’t mentally prepared for it, and because now I’m certain Dax and I have telepathic powers, he stops mid-kiss.
“Are you still into this, Gems?”
My body votes a clear yes to this question, and my heart is on board as well, but my brain is still asking questions like What does this mean? And Have we thought through all of the implications? And Do I even have condoms?
Screw my brain.
“Yes. Absolutely yes. We should take our shirts off. I am definitely a fan of where this is going.” I pull his face toward me, and as his tongue brushes mine, it’s so, so good. Almost as if that very brief pause had me forgetting how well Dax kisses. How perfectly we fit together. And how all signs point to the idea that we’re about to shed our clothing and—holy shit, I’m about to have sex with my best friend.
Dax breaks our kiss and pulls away.
“Why are you stopping?” I ask him. “This is the part where we take our clothes off. It’s literally the best part.”
But Dax shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Like they have minds of their own, and he’s trying to contain them.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but what if we hit pause on this—just for tonight?” He scrubs his hand down his face. The lines of his forehead suggest that what he’s saying and what he’s thinking may not be one and the same.
“We should both go to bed,” he continues. “Separately. And then tomorrow, I will call you, and we will make a date to see each other. Hopefully, do all of this again and maybe other things that I can’t really think too much about right now while I’m trying to convince myself that going home tonight is the best plan.”
“Why?” I nearly scream in sexual frustration.
“Because I like you, Gemma. And I think that a lot of things happened tonight, and I want to be sure this is what you want.”
“This is what I want.” Okay, now I am yelling at him.
“Fuck.” He draws the word out. “I want it too. But please. Agree with me here before I change my mind. Tomorrow. We can go on a date. I will take you somewhere nice. If you still want to, we can—”
“Oh, I will want to.”
Dax squeezes his eyes shut, looking pained. “I am going to regret this the moment I walk out of here. I know it, but I’m going to go.”
He runs the tips of his fingers down my arms until they reach my hands, which he holds, pulling me to him. He leans in and places the sweetest, softest, feathery-light kiss on my lips, and it drives me wild because I know it’s the last one I’m going to get tonight.
“You good with this plan?” he asks as he pulls away.
“No, but you’re probably right. I hate being responsible.”
He laughs and pulls me into a hug, which turns into a long hug that I end up breaking because if Dax sticks around here any longer, there’s a strong chance I may start begging for sex. Instead, I walk him to the door. He takes the steps two at a time and pauses at the top to wave.
“Goodnight, Dax McGuire,” I call to him.
“Goodnight, Gemma McGuire,” he calls back.