Hot as Puck(39)

If anyone can prove to her that she’s got what it takes to have a fulfilling sexual and romantic relationship, it’s me.

“I do not know what you mean.” I stand, grabbing my keys from the top of the pile of mail on the kitchen island on my way toward the door. “And I’m not going to let you give up on blossoming into a full-blown sex goddess because one dink looked at you funny and made you nervous.”

She sniffs again. “You really think I can blossom into a sex goddess?”

“I do. And I’m coming over right now to prove it to you.” I open the door, stopping short as I see Libby standing on the other side, looking adorable and sad in a pink linen dress with a flowery scarf wrapped around her neck.

She drops her arm, letting her phone hang limply to her side. “I’m already here. I didn’t feel like going home and being alone with myself and my stupid traitor brain.”

“Good.” I end the call and drop my phone and keys onto the table beside the door. “Get in here, sexy.”

“I’m not sexy.” Her lips turn down hard. “I smell like feet. After lunch, Becca gave me a hug with pimento cheese spread all over her face, but I didn’t realize I’d been cheesed until the curds were dry and crusty.”

“You don’t smell like feet. You smell like Libby.” I sniff experimentally as I take her hand and draw her inside. “And maybe a little bit like feet.”

Her head falls back as her eyes close. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? This is an easy problem to solve.” I take her backpack and her phone and set them on the table before slowly unwinding the scarf from her neck and hanging it from a nearby hook. “All we have to do is get you out of these pimento clothes.”

Libby’s eyes meet mine as I rest my hands on her waist, fisting the soft fabric of her dress in my hands. “Do you really think I can do this?” she asks.

“Do what?” I gather more of the dress into my fists, drawing her hemline up inch by inch “Let me undress you and make you come so many times you forget why you were sad?”

She shakes her head, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes me even more aware of the electricity building between us. “Will I ever be able to get out of my head and stop being nervous? Will it ever feel easy or natural with anyone but you?”

A voice in my head answers “No,” in a strong, steady tone, and a wave of possessiveness that has no place in a friends-with-benefits relationship rushes through my chest. But I push them both aside to assure Libby that, “Yes. It will. Just give it time.” Her hemline reaches her waist, and I slip one hand beneath her dress to rest on the warm skin at the small of her back, above what feels like another pair of lace panties. Her lashes flutter as she leans into me, her breasts brushing against my chest enough to make me hard.

“But first, give me time,” I say, my cock getting thicker as I hook my thumb over the waistband of her panties. “No more thinking about Roger or anyone else. From this moment, until the minute you step back through that door, you’re mine, Collins. I want you thinking about me, and all the incredible things I’m doing to your body, and nothing else. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” She gazes up at me with heat in her deep brown eyes, tempting me to jerk her panties down and devour her pussy right here in the foyer. “But I want to do incredible things to you, too. Will you show me? Show me what you like?”

“I will. But honestly, Libs, just standing this close to you does incredible things to my body,” I confess, my voice husky. “Now lift your arms, beautiful. I needed you naked five fucking minutes ago.”





Chapter Seventeen





Libby




Justin tugs my dress over my head and pulls me back into his arms, kissing me like he’s been starved for the taste of my lips, scattering all the humiliations of the day in a rush of awareness.

My lips tingle and my skin prickles with electricity as my arms tighten around his neck, and he hugs me so tight my feet lift off the floor. He draws me up his body, sending fresh sizzles zipping through me as my nipples brush against the soft fabric of his flannel through my thin, lace bra.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles against my mouth as he carries me down the hallway into the large, open-concept kitchen and living room. “Like maple syrup and coffee and Libby. And the Libby part is the best part.”

I gasp as Justin’s big hand squeezes my bottom tight, pulling me closer to where he’s hard and thick, pulsing against my belly, assuring me that this isn’t something he’s doing out of pity. He’s doing this because he wants me as much as I want him, and I’m so grateful.