Shut Up and Kiss Me (Happy Endings 2)

A sexy groan lands on my ears, and I charge on. Kissing harder.

Emerson ropes her hand around my head, jerking me close as a throaty moan falls from her lips, the faint whimper of the word more. She’s barely audible. Maybe neither one of us wants to break this moment with too many words.

Good. Because I don’t want to analyze this choice. I just want to live in it. Deal with what it means tomorrow.

Since tonight I’m going to fuck my best friend.

That’s the way I kiss her.

Like I’m listening to the command of more.

I kiss her with every intention of wringing a sheet-grabbing, toe-curling orgasm from her this evening.

My hands move at a determined pace, unknotting the tie of her robe, but then I stop. Look up. “Is this okay?”

Her eyes are hazy with desire. “Very okay,” she says, then holds up a finger. “But . . .”

I stop, wondering what’s to come. She reaches for my glasses, slides them off my face, then tilts her head. “But maybe like this?”

It comes out so flirty, like the Emerson I know. But there’s also another side of Emerson I desperately want to experience.

Emerson after dark.

“Thanks for helping out a guy with glasses,” I say as she sets them on the nightstand.

“Anytime. Have I mentioned how sexy they are?”

I laugh as I undo the tie on her robe, spread the fabric open, then groan in frustration. “No, you haven’t, but what the hell, Emerson?”

Her eyes pop. “What the hell, what? Don’t you dare say we’re stopping.”

“God, no. But I was hoping you’d be naked under the robe. You’re wearing a bra and panties, dammit.”

She laughs. “Conveniently, they’re removable.”

“Very convenient.” I run my hand along her sides, savoring the soft feel of her skin against my palms. I’ll get to her clothes soon enough. Right now, I want to touch her all over.

But she seems eager to strip, since she loops her hands behind her back, reaching to undo her bra.

I shake my head, stop her with one hand. Her green eyes darken when my fingers circle her wrist.

Ahhh.

That’s a clue.

And it gives me an idea. I squeeze harder, pressing my thumb into her skin.

Her lips part, and the sound that comes from her mouth is all new, and dirtier. A sexy, greedy yes.

A little pressure, a little hurt gets her going. “Let me undress you,” I say.

Her breath hitches, and she nods. “Be my guest.” She lets her hands fall to the mattress, waiting for me to take over.

I unhook her bra, then shove off the bulky terry-cloth robe. She helps me along, wiggles out of it, pushing both items to the floor. Standing, I shed my robe too.

“I love robes now,” I tease, admiring her exposed skin, deliciously pale with freckles coasting along the top of her breasts. Her rosy, pert nipples stand to attention.

“Hello there, beauties,” I say to her tits, then I straddle her and bury my face where it belongs.

In the valley of her breasts.

As I lavish her with kisses, the mood shifts once more, tightening, intensifying. It’s the climb of the roller coaster, and we’re cranking higher and higher. She’s arching her back, gasping, then gasping louder when I bite down on a breast, drag my teeth over a nipple.

“Oh God, yes,” she murmurs, writhing under me.

I’m learning so many delicious secrets about my friend. Emerson likes it a little rough. A bit hard.

I roll the tip of my tongue along the nipple of her right breast, then her left. Her hands grab at my head, clutching. She grips me harder and tighter. Her moans are shameless.

And I could say I have no choice but to keep going.

But really, I’m fully exercising this choice to bite her nipples, to kiss her belly, to nip at her hips.

Then to strip her down to nothing as I tug off her black panties and admire the view.

Wet. Glistening. Pink.

“Look at you,” I say, a rumble in my throat. “Just fucking look at you.”

She seems to revel in the moment, bask in my dirty gaze as I roam my eyes up and down her naked body, imprinting in my mind the curves and dips, the shape of her, then the shivers that spread along her flesh as I touch her legs.

I rub my thumb along her hip, tracing the outline of a ladybug tattoo. “I didn’t know you had this,” I whisper, then dip my face to the black and red ink.

Kissing her there.

“Yessss,” she murmurs.

I lick the outline of it, bite her hip.

She arches her pelvis, and pushes up on her elbows, her eyes straying to my briefs. “Interesting fashion choice,” she says, regarding the red boxer briefs with pink flamingos on them.

“Do you really want to talk about fashion right now?” I counter.

“You have flamingos on your underwear. I both want to talk about them and rip them off.”