The One I Want

God, now I’m turned on. I look up into Andrew’s eyes, and I’m pretty certain he can see exactly what’s going on inside my head.

I watch him as I run my hand between my breasts and then lower over my belly, making sure he can see very clearly how ready I am for him. “Drew . . .” I lean up and kiss him. Thoroughly. Soon we’re both panting. “Why does the thrill of almost getting caught turn me on?”

“Are you trying to make me come right here in the entryway?” There’s a weakness in his voice that tells me I’m getting to him. “Fuck it.” The bowl is set on the small table behind him. He takes a breast in his hands and kisses my nipple, teasing it with his tongue and then moving over to the other to repeat the technique.

His hands are enormous, like other parts of his body, and span my sides. So hot as he slides to his knees in front of me. “Is this what you, babe? You want to come on my mouth and have me lick you clean? Or maybe you want to fuck you right here against this wall? Tell me what you want?”

I run my fingers through his hair and then take a section and give a little squeeze. “Why can’t I have both?”

As if he didn’t already drive me crazy, the smirk comes first and then he takes hold of the silky string wrapped over my hip. He rips that one and then moves to the other side. This time. he pulls it away from my skin with his teeth.

He’s about to shred it when a light comes on.

There’s no time . . . we freeze, our gazes locked on each other. Then we hear his mom say, “Oh, I . . . um. Is that my jade bowl? Full of condoms? Not important. Not important. Pretend this never happened. Right. Good night.”

Neither of us makes a move or says a word even after the lights off and we hear her door close loudly down the hall. I’m thinking she wanted us to know when it was safe again.

Just when I think our night of fun is over, I’m swept into his arms, and he sprints to the bedroom. The Fast and the Furious have nothing on him. My thong is ripped, and he’s naked in seconds.

Remembering to leave a condom behind before he grabbed his expensive jade bowl of protection, he’s covered and positioned in no time. “Do you need a warmup?”

“No.” The word barely leaves my mouth before he’s sinking into me.

We’re not making love. This is sensual and desires sated, carnal to the core. His body moves of its own accord, mine taking and giving, opening for him. With him on top, thrusting his body as it glides against mine, I whisper, “You feel so good, Drew.”

I thought Mr. Christiansen was his trigger, but Drew coaxes something else out of him—romance. He slows and kisses my cheek, wanting to make it last longer. I love it and could bathe in his charisma, revel in his care.

“Faster, Mr. Christiansen. Harder. I want you so badly.” But then again, sometimes you just want to have it all as hard as you can. “Yes! Yes!” My head digs into the pillow, and I urge him on with my heels on his ass.

Whether it was the name or the speed or the pressure or all of it coming together at once, we do the same. Lying on the bed, we both stare up at the ceiling and try to catch our breaths.

I say, “I need a shower.”

“Upstairs or downstairs?”

“My place.” When I turn to the side to find him staring at me, he smirks. “I’ll grab the bowl.”

* * *

You would think sitting across from my boyfriend’s mother . . . wait, boyfriend? Is that what Drew is? Do I have a boyfriend, or do I have a friend with benefits? And at what age do we stop calling them boys? I think Drew is my manfriend from here on out.

Back to the business at hand.

Although the rain outside put a damper on our shopping adventure, brunch is still on. I’m not embarrassed in the least sitting across from Cookie Christiansen at Sunday brunch. Nope. There’s also no shame being here with his sister-in-law and her best friend, Tatum.

I think I’m too tired to care with the level of energy required.

I sip a mimosa and then finish my bacon and eggs before moving that plate to the side and making the small side of pancakes the star of the show. To be honest, I’m exhausted, but the last thing I should be doing is thinking about why. I was worried when our conversation turned to forever and marriage last night. But somehow, we got over that bump. And the sex afterward was sensational. He’s glorious in bed. Attentive. Passionate. All that intensity turns into hot, provocative—I don’t notice them staring until the conversation stops, and I look up with pancakes shoved in my mouth. I chew and then wash it down with more liquid. “Sorry, what were you saying?”