Every Sweet Regret (Orchid Valley 2)

“No.” She arches a brow. “Why would you think that?”

“Your clothes were all over the hall.” I swallow. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“You think I brought some guy home to my mom’s and had him undress me in the hall?”

“I . . .” Obviously, yes is the wrong answer. “So you undressed yourself in the hall?”

“Rusty steals my clothes from the hamper.”

“Oh.”

“Would it bother you if I’d been with someone else?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out rough, raw. Too much honesty, but I don’t know any other way to do this. “I fucking hate the idea of anyone touching you but me.”

Her green eyes flash. She shifts herself so her body’s flush with mine and rocks against my hips. The movement is subtle. Nearly indecipherable. But it’s there, and my hips lift off the couch, chasing that heat between her legs.

“We decided we weren’t doing this,” I say, but I’ve already gripped her hip with my free hand, holding her close.

“There are so many reasons we shouldn’t. Then again, you got hard thinking about me touching myself, and now I really, really want to help you with that.”

And Stella’s the kind of girl who takes what she wants and says damn the consequences. That’s exactly why I should stay away. Instead, I drop the bag of frozen peas so I can hold her with both hands. “How do you plan to help me?”

She grins and slides her hand between our bodies, stroking me through the thick denim of my jeans. It’s so good and not enough. “There are a few effective treatment plans I could offer.”

“Is there one without side effects? One that won’t screw up our lives?” My words are breathless, and I’m already jacking up into her hand, looking for the pressure, for the relief. I slide my hands under her shirt, stroking the soft skin of her stomach. “The one where you don’t hate me later.” My voice sounds as tormented as I feel.

“We’re good, Kace. We’re just friends helping each other out. This is a mutually beneficial situation.”

“So when you were alone in here, you didn’t . . .” I swallow.

“Finish?” She shakes her head. “I was close, but then I heard something.”

Fuck. I used to hate how blunt she was when talking about sex, but I was an idiot. It’s hot. So fucking hot. She’s not ashamed of liking sex or of having it often. Hell, after finding my marriage crumbling and our chemistry MIA, I should appreciate Stella’s frankness like no other. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

She slides off the couch and onto the floor and looks up at me from between my knees, her eyes dancing with mischief. She tugs my hips forward, and I help, lifting off the couch so she can bring me where she wants me. When her fingertips brush the button on my jeans, I draw in a ragged breath and grapple for a hold on reason, but I’m already gone.Chapter EightStellaThe master of mixed signals is looking at me with so much heat in his eyes that I don’t think I could walk away if I wanted to. First he feels me up at his place and makes promises I still can’t stop thinking about, then he slams on the brakes, only to find me on Random the very next day. And this morning, he thought I had some guy in here with me? Did he think someone was sleeping next to me when we were chatting this morning?

“You’re a hot mess, Kace Matthews.” I brush my fingers against the button of his jeans again, smiling.

He draws in a ragged breath. “Only with you.”

I lock my gaze on his. “Tell me what you want.”

His nostrils flare and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Judging by the way you’re kneeling on the floor, I think you already know, Freckles.”

My heart is racing so fast that I feel like I just finished one of Savvy’s spin classes. I pop the button on his jeans and slowly unzip them.

“Were you thinking about this while you were touching yourself?” he asks. He cups my face in one big hand then slowly slides it up along my jaw and into my hair. “Did you imagine your hand was mine, or were you thinking about some other asshole?”

“That’s a dangerous question.”

He wraps a lock around two fingers and tugs gently. “It’s an important question.”

I trap the moan in my throat. “I was thinking about you. It seems like I’m always thinking about you.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and drop my gaze to his cock. I want it in my hands. Against my tongue. I want to feel him lose his control and fuck up into my mouth, pushing deep as he comes. “Do you think about me? When you’re alone?”

“I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. About that sassy fucking mouth of yours. If you knew the things I’ve imagined doing to that mouth . . .” His gaze drops, skimming over me. “The things I’ve imagined doing to every inch of you . . .” He shakes his head. “You might kick me out that door and lock it behind me.”