How can she not notice? How can she not feel—
Her eyes widen and a low, almost hushed gasp pierces the air between us. And I have my answer. She does notice. She does feel.
Goddamn it.
For three years I’ve kept my dirty, fucked-up lust for her a secret. She’s my best friend’s girl, has only had eyes for him since the moment they met during an event at the elementary school where she taught. I’m a grease monkey with more real life experience than college education. That can’t compare to a professional football player with a fuck ton of zeroes in his bank account. To India, I am and always will be her man’s friend, his brother-by-choice.
And no matter how many times I’ve imagined her watching me with those eyes full of need and the knowledge that only I can satisfy it… No matter how many times I’ve envisioned her loving me with that body created to be worshipped and corrupted… No matter how many times I’ve dreamed of holding her during the dark hours of night… Yeah, no matter how I’ve betrayed Jessie over and over again in my head, I’ve never given either India or him any clue of how much I crave her. It’s been my only consolation.
But now I no longer have even that tiny comfort. Or shred of pride.
Jaw clenched, I drop my hands to her hips, prepared to move her off me.
“Asa,” she breathes, her gaze searching mine, questioning.
“You okay now?” Cutting her off, I tighten my grip on her and am already pushing her away from me. And ignoring the inquiry in her eyes. What the hell could I say? Yes, my dick is hard for you while you cry over your boyfriend. And that makes me a piece of shit.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s understood. No need for it to be spoken aloud.
“Asa.” Small, delicate hands cup my face, paralyzing me.
I can’t move, can’t fucking breathe as she shifts, straddles my legs. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. What is she doing? Panic batters me, and my breath claws its way up my throat. How can she not see she’s killing me? Torturing me?
Somehow, I force my arms to move when the rest of me is still trapped in a deep freeze. Mechanically, I replace my hands at her hips and with the strength of a newborn, I try again to shove her away. Off of me. Out of my house.
Out of my goddamn mind.
“Asa, look at me.” Not until the moment she issues her softly spoken order and I obey, do I realize I’d closed my eyes. And that I’m shaking beneath her like an addict plummeting down from his first hit.
I’m a six-foot-three, two-hundred-pound mechanic who can bench press a transmission from a ’69 Chevelle. And here I sit, trembling under a woman damn near half my size. Terrified. Of what she sees. Of what I feel. Of what I’m capable of if she doesn’t get away from me.
Still not freeing me from her gaze, she smooths her thumbs over my cheekbones. Back and forth. Back and forth. Calming me. Searing me. Then slowly, so damn slowly, she lowers her head. And brushes her mouth over mine.
Shock, pleasure, and pain jolt me, and my body jerks as if electrocuted. A sound that’s part animal, part human rumbles in my chest, scratches its way up my throat. It’s desperate, agonized, and so, so fucking hungry.
Not heeding that sound as the warning it is, India sweeps her lips over mine again. Firmer this time. The tip of her tongue making an appearance and dipping into the corner of my mouth.
I snap.
The audile crack reverberates against my skull, and it’s my control splintering.
With a growl, I snatch my hands from her waist and plunge them into her tight curls, fisting the dark strands. Her breath catches against my mouth, and that tiny sound, that small puff over my skin, incinerates any remnants of restraint I had left.
I take her mouth.
Own it.
Defile it.
One thrust of my tongue between her lips, and I’m lost. In her sultry taste. In all that wet warmth. In her. This kiss should be hesitant, uncertain. I may have fantasized about this with my fist choking my cock, but it’s my first time with my mouth against hers. My tongue inside her.
I devour her like it’s the hundredth time. Like my job, my fucking life’s purpose, is to suck on that lush bottom lip that has tormented me for years. To lick the roof of her mouth before tangling my tongue with hers, coaxing her to play with me even while demanding she let me fuck this gorgeous mouth.
A harsh, dark sound rises up between us. A groan. A plea. And I’m not sure if it’s from her throat or mine. I don’t give a fuck. Not when her hands are tunneling through my hair, nails scraping my scalp. The same faint pinpricks that tingle over my head travel through my body and dance down my cock.
She tugs on my hair, and my hips surge in reply. A “yes.” A “give it to me.” A “don’t you fucking stop.”
The next sound that breaks on the air is definitely hers. It’s a needy whimper. My blood pumps scalding hot through me, and every cell in my body heeds that unspoken request. Gripping her curls tighter, I drag her head to the side and deepen the kiss. Take more. And I buck between her legs, rolling my dick over her denim-covered pussy.