Supple lips molded to his in a way that could only be described as perfect. She made a tiny sound that vibrated through their fused mouths, growing his confidence along with his cock. Though his mind raged for him to plunder and take what he so desperately wanted, and what he now knew she would eagerly give, he kept his pressure gentle and enjoyed her like she did her fine wines.
He sipped at her lips, tested their softness, reveled in their taste. Every second was beyond what he’d ever imagined, and yet there was still so much left to discover. Hundreds of inches to kiss, taste, explore. Dozens of ways to bring her more pleasure than she could ever need in a lifetime, so she’d never have any reason to go looking for it anywhere else ever again.
Finally, he forced himself to break the kiss and take a step back. Her blue eyes were bright, her pupils blown with hunger. Dillon had to gently remove her fisted hands from his chest to give them both the space they needed to catch their breaths. When she realized what he was doing, she did her best to compose herself by schooling her features and tucking her hands under her arms.
Despite the noise of the party going on behind them, it was her silence that was deafening. “Well?” he prodded.
“Sorry,” she said with a half shrug. “Nothing. Have a safe trip back, and I’ll see you when I get home.”
…
Please go home please go home please go home…
“I’m not going home, Aly.”
Damn it! “But you said you would.”
“Yeah, on the condition you could tell me honestly that you felt nothing. But you’re full of shit, so I’m not going anywhere.”
Shit! She didn’t know how to process what she’d felt when Dillon kissed her. The care in which his hands held her face like she was a flower with fragile petals. How his lips, full and strong, had fit so perfectly to hers that her mouth now felt incomplete without them. And the swirling heat deep in her belly that urged her to let go and be consumed by its lascivious flames.
Because while the idea of finally getting to feel Dillon against her—inside her—was like every fantasy she’d ever had rolled into one, the fact was, he was still only offering her a fraction of what she wanted. His body. Could she go back to being just friends when he grew tired of her benefits? Would she be even more in love with him after lying in his arms? Even worse though was the thought of never being able to get the feel of him out of her mind, out of her soul.
For the first time ever, she had sympathy for her mother…
Alyssa willed her pulse to slow down and her control to return. She needed time and space to think things through. To crunch the numbers and make a logical and objective decision on his—at the moment, seemingly ludicrous—proposal. If he wouldn’t go home, then she had no choice but to avoid him until she worked everything out.
Throwing her hands up, she said, “Fine, then. Stay. I hope you have a good time.”
An eavesdropping flock of romance reading vultures started moving in to collect what she’d left behind. As she sidestepped around him, she assured herself she didn’t care that several made blatant plays for her best friend. She hoped they didn’t try their hands at gambling because not one of them had a poker face. They practically showed him their cards, their sugary-sweet voices marking them as sure bets if he was so inclined to throw his chips into the pot.
“Aly, wait,” he said, grasping her arm.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Alyssa shook free and shot past him, practically diving into the sea of women that had crowded around him. Behind her, she heard female pleas for him to stay and then the sound of fabric ripping, followed by squeals of delight.
Glancing back, her jaw dropped to find a shirtless Dillon in the middle of an eye orgy. She told herself to stop gawking and walk away, but her eyes had taken over and rooted her in place so they could look their fill. It was as if she’d had blurry vision all these years and someone finally gave her corrective lenses, pulling all the delicious details into sharp focus.
His arms, which she’d seen daily, somehow looked bigger framing well-defined pecs, a six-pack of abs, and cut obliques that lined his narrow waist. And the only scrap of clothing left on him was a pair of barely visible leopard-print briefs beneath the matching low-slung loincloth covering him like ragged mud flaps in the back and front.
Alyssa’s throat suddenly felt drier than the Nevada desert. For the first time, she saw Dillon, not only as her handsome best friend, but as the rest of the female population must see him: a sexy, modern Adonis. She felt her nipples grow stiff and warmth bloomed between her legs as images of him pressing that godlike body of his against her flooded her mind.