“Everything about you is desirable, Lia,” he says as he pulls me in even closer so my butt lines up against his pelvis. And then, surprising me to my core, he dips his pinky finger past the waistband of my shorts. I gasp, my chest filling with unexpected hope that he’ll dip farther, but before I can even consider the ramifications, he drags his fingers back up.
His touch is so light, barely even there, but with the feel of his chest against mine and the briefest physical contact, my entire body’s reacting, causing a cool sweat.
“You’re . . . you’re making me feel . . .”
“What?” he asks as he plants his hand just below my breasts.
His thumb moves up and down, up and down, barely missing where I want him to caress me, creating this inferno so deep in my bones that I start to ache.
Ache for his touch.
For his hand.
For him to move it farther south.
An action I never thought I’d desire from my best friend, but here I am, mentally wishing and begging for him to spread me and make me feel anything but empty.
“Breaker,” I say, my voice breathless.
“Hmm?” he asks, moving his hand back down so the tips of his fingers slip past the waistband of my shorts.
Yes, God, yes.
Go farther.
Touch me, please.
My eyes squeeze shut as my pelvis voluntarily tilts up. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t need this. I shouldn’t want to get lost at this moment. This is the alcohol, right? This is the loss of a fiancé . . . right? I’m feeling lonely.
I’m confused.
That’s all.
I don’t . . . I don’t want Breaker. He’s my best friend.
But then his fingers drag along the skin right above my pubic bone, and my body shifts, twisting an inch to my back. It’s subtle, but it forces his fingers to fall even closer.
Throbbing.
Burning.
Hoping.
I want more. And right when I think he’s going to guide his hand between my legs, he glides his hand back to the middle of my stomach. I groan in frustration.
“Were you going to say something?” he whispers, his lips so close to my ear that I might combust.
“I . . . don’t remember,” I answer.
“I think you do remember. You just don’t want to say it.” His fingers dance up my stomach to my rib cage. “You were saying I’m making you feel . . .”
I wet my lips as I strain for his touch, but he doesn’t move. He keeps the hold on where his hand goes, always maintaining control.
“Just tell me, Lia,” he says, his lips dragging over my ear, causing chills to break over my skin.
“Turned on,” I say on a heavy breath. “You’re making me feel . . . turned on.”
“It’s because you’re so goddamn sexy,” he says just as the tip of his thumb slides against my breast.
“Oh . . . fffff-uck.”
“Jesus, you’re so hot,” he whispers just as his pelvis presses against me, and my eyes pop open in pleasure from the feel of his erection against my backside.
Oh my God.
He’s just as turned on as me.
His fingers slip along my stomach, and this time, without hesitation, slide under my shorts, where his pinky glides back and forth, right above my mound. He’s not touching me where I want him to touch me, but at this moment, I’m more turned on than Brian has ever made me.
I want it. Badly.
I want this.
I want release.
And I’m so worried that if I say something or move, this burning desire will dissipate. And I don’t want it to because I’m feeling something, like . . . like I’m starting to come alive from a deep, dark sleep, one that I’ve been in for over a year.
Needing to give him more access, I twist so I’m almost all the way on my back.
The new angle causes his grip to grow tighter, and as he moves back up my stomach, my chest grows heavy, my nipples harden, and I wait.
I pray.
I hope that he’ll touch me more.
That he’ll fully touch me this time.
Eyes shut, I hold my breath, my legs trembling as he inches closer and closer to my breast.
Almost there.
Just touch me, please.
He must be able to read my mind because his hand slides right under my breast, and his thumb drags across my nipple.
“God,” I moan, my back arching as I fall all the way to my back now, showing him I want more. I want so much more.
“Jesus Christ, you have the softest tits,” he says, his erection against my leg now, his lips right against my ear. “What I want to do to these.”