The Best Friend Zone

We kiss again, our mouths hot and wet, tongues at war.

I twist to my side, wind my legs around his and arch against his hips, wanting more of that hungry bulge I can already feel every time I grind against him. Wanting him inside me.

He breaks the kiss with a hitched groan, rolling me on my back, shadowing my body with corded muscle and wild ink I want to lick right off his skin.

My turn to moan.

And this time in disappointment because I can’t feel his erection pressing into me, not with his hips pulled back and that hot glint in his eye, ordering me to be patient.

God.

I want to devour him just slightly less than I want him to consume me.

Thankfully, he isn’t opposed to the thought, trailing sticky kisses over my cheeks, my chin, my neck, before he snaps my sports bra up with a fevered groan.

“Shit, shit. Tory,” he rasps. “You still don’t have a clue.”

“Hmm?” I whisper, my legs stroking his.

“What you fuckin’ do to me. Don’t you get how bad I need you, need this?”

Drawing a feral breath, he shoves his hand in my panties, reaches down, and fills me with two thieving fingers.

Holy hell.

I’m drenched, bucking against him, finding his knuckle and working my clit good and hard against it. Somehow, I’m still able to grasp the thick elastic of my bra.

I pull it over my head, hoping beyond all hope that’s where his mouth is bound.

His head dips low at the sight of my nipples.

I arch my back, pushing against his mouth, loving how easily he finds the wickedly delicious line between punishment and pleasure with his teeth, his tongue, his everything.

I never knew how much that turns me on.

No man has ever kissed me before like he does.

No one has ever loved every inch of me like Quinn.

No man ever will again.

By the time he pulls my other nipple into his mouth and his tongue puts stars in my eyes, I’m burning with need. He’s naked, and I reach down, grasping his hard-on.

“Yeah, fuck!” He sucks a harsh breath as I start pumping him with my hand, marveling at how big, how hard, how much he throbs for me.

When he’s leaking pre-come all over my hand, he reaches down, fists my panties, and rips them clean off in one swift movement.

For a second, we lock eyes, and he grins. “I’ll buy you new ones, whatever the hell you want, just open those legs for me. Right the fuck now.”

I don’t even care.

I’m too delirious, riding his hand, so close to coming I think I’ll lose it the first minute he’s inside me.

“Quinn, please.” Groaning, I arch into his palm. “I can’t take much more.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand away. “Same.”

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?” I ask.

A second later, he mounts me, feeding his entire full, rough length into my body in one deep thrust.

I’ll never know how I don’t hit my O right then, but I’m glad I last a few more minutes.

Grasping my hips, he pins me against the mattress, folding my legs tight to his wall of a body as he thrusts with perfect pressure.

Divine friction and that white-hot look in his eyes make quick work of my resistance.

“Quinn…come with me,” I whimper, digging my teeth into my bottom lip, taking him as hard as I can.

I’m almost to the point of no return.

I want it to last longer, forever, but I want him to fill me with his molten fiery essence even more.

“Quinn!” I whimper, thrashing my head, damn near clawing him. “I-I can’t hold—”

I can’t anything.

My vision blurs as the ecstasy wave hits, radiating out from where we’re joined, hot convulsions sending me crashing against him again and again.

It’s as close as I ever want to get to death by orgasm.

Oh, but Quinn isn’t finished.

The second I hear his rough groan, his thrusts quickening, every inch of him swelling, pulsing, bursting deep inside me, I’m dead.

Dick-matized.

Gone.

I just wish we could ride this wave, this rush, this love forever as my eyes pinch shut.

Together, we let out ragged cries of pleasure, riding a high we both know we’ll never, ever find with another living soul.

The bed is empty when I wake up.

I roll over, wincing at my extra angry aches and pains after the past twenty-four hours, and glance at the clock beside the bed. Eight p.m.

Wow, I slept hard. And who could blame me?

Stretching my arms over my head, I sit up with a yawn.

Tossing aside the covers, I scoot to the edge of the bed. Rummaging around in the closet, I find new underwear, shimmy them on, and then grab a shirt.

It’s Quinn’s, but for now it’ll do. I slip it on and leave the room, loving how his scent lingers.

I pause halfway down the stairs, just to stare a moment at a scene from something I’d forgotten.