My Best Friend's Ex(62)

       
         
       
        

Which only makes me torn. I'm torn between diving head first into a relationship with a man still mourning the loss of his last relationship, and stepping back, acting only as a friend, patiently helping him when he's ready to open up.

His lips brush across my neck, his fingers now moving down my shoulders where he presses them deep into my muscles. This is not friendship touching; this is there is something naughty in your future touching and for the life of me I can't stop it. I want him too much.

"Does that feel better?"

"It does."

"Good." He lifts his fingers from my muscles and spins me around quickly before I can even think what's happening. My top is halfway up my front, not exposing anything but definitely awkward, which he doesn't seem to care about because he keeps his eyes trained on mine as he lowers me to the ground. His hands go to the front of my shirt and he starts to put it back in place. The buttons down the front are all undone beside the last two, giving him a view of the middle of my cleavage and stomach.

I watch as his neck strains, his jaw ticking with each passing moment, his eyes still trained on mine until he takes a deep breath and looks down at my chest. Every piece of my body is on fire from the way he takes me in, his teeth nibbling on the side of his mouth, making him look even sexier than I thought possible.

I break out in a sweat, wishing and praying that he removes my top and presses those sexy lips up and down my chest, sucking my nipples into his hot, wet mouth. God, it's all I want. Just a little release, something to make the ache between my legs ease.

Slowly, he traces a line from my collarbone down my chest, between my breasts, over my stomach and stops at the waistline of my pants, causing exploding passion like fireworks on the Fourth of July throughout my body. My breathing's erratic, my chest is moving up and down in rapid succession, and my core throbbing with need. Please remove my shirt.

Looking back at me, his head tilted to the side, he says, "You're so beautiful, Emma." He scans my hair and smiles. "Even with that crazy morning hair of yours. Makes me want to see what other ways I can mess it up."

Leaning forward, his hand goes to my cheek where he holds my head in place before he presses his lips against mine in an open-mouth kiss. His rock-hard body moves me into the counter behind us, his bare chest connecting with my exposed skin, warming me instantly.

Wet, hot passion. His grip on my cheek grows tighter, angling my head to where he wants it, his other hand gripping my hip, pulling me closer. Tentatively, I run my hands up his well-defined chest, trying to memorize every curve and divot my fingers caress.

Sparks of arousal fly between us as his tongue thrusts against mine, tangling, molding, melding together, like we've been doing this for years, like our mouths have known only each other, were meant for one another. A low groan erupts from his chest as he dives in deeper, pressing me further and further into the counter. The hand gripping my hip slips inside my open pajama top where the warmth of his palm spreads over my side. He trails his hand north and all I can do is hold my breath and wait for his touch, wait for the connection of his palm to my breast. 

Oh God, please. I moan in his mouth, my hips starting to rock against his where I am greeted by his hardened length, probably one of the most amazing feelings I've ever experienced. I did this to him. I turned him on, and that in general has my libido skyrocketing through the ceiling.

"Fuck, you taste good," Tucker mutters as he moves his mouth across my jaw to my ear and then down my neck. I rest my palms behind me on the counter, bracing for whatever he has in store.

I'm tempted to run my fingers through his hair, guide him to where I desperately need release, but I hold back. I don't want to push him. I want him to want this. Me. I want him to want me. When his lips meet my collarbone, he kisses the length of my shoulder. Gently he starts to push my shirt to the side and a part of me wants to cry in relief. Please keep going, Tucker. I want you. Need you.

But when he kisses my arm and replaces my shirt, I'm close to breakdown in frustration.

And then his hand inside my shirt retreats.

And then his mouth, followed by his other hand, leaving me cold, turned on, and beyond frustrated. When I think he's going to step away, he doesn't. Instead he looks down at my chest, and the rapid rise and fall of it. His hands lift to my shirt where he starts to button up my shirt for me.

I'm not even joking when I say my vagina starts to cry, my sensitive nipples as well, pretty much my entire body is weeping for the loss of hope, for the loss of what could have been one epic climax on the kitchen counter.