Chapter Seven
Olly
Lacey shifts from one foot to the next, standing awkwardly by the couch in my studio apartment instead of lounging all over it like she usually would.
I lean against the kitchen counter, fold my arms over my chest, and watch in fascination as she tucks a nonexistent stray hair behind her ear. “You’re nervous.”
My voice is louder than I intend, but her anxiousness is confusing and a little arousing.
She tucks her chin into her neck, making rolls of skin appear as she shakes her head and pulls a face. “No, I’m not.”
I grin. “You’re a fucking sexy dork.”
Lacey’s cheeks flush a deep rosy pink, so bright that even my studio apartment’s dim lighting can’t hide the blush. Turning toward the couch, she bumps into a corner table—a piece of furniture that has sat in the same spot for two years…
She’s acting like she’s never been in my apartment before. What’s got her so jittery?
She bends down to pick up a book that tumbled off the table.
Fabric cups her ass like a second skin, and the seam between her thighs splits her pussy into two puffy mounds.
Heat sizzles at the base of my spine and throbs in my balls as my cock bucks against my zipper—thick and ready. All I’d have to do is tug her pants down and tell her to grip her ankles.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
When did I become the guy who almost comes in his jeans over his best friend?
Is that why Lacey is so nervous? Can she see my erection?
Shit. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable just because my balls forgot that best friends don’t empty them.
I point a thumb over my shoulder to the dresser. “I’m gonna change.”
She nods, straightening the book and her body. “Good idea. Me too.”
Lacey walks to the dresser and collects the pajamas she keeps here for the nights she sleeps over.
She gives me a shy smile and darts to the bathroom.
I look down at my bulging crotch. “Off limits. Now calm the fuck down.”
I swap my jeans for sweats, shove my longest hoodie over my shoulders, and let it settle over my crotch.
Scrubbing my hands up and down my face, I jog in place for a few seconds.
“Okay, you’re going to talk your best friend through getting her professor—without blowing your load in your pants like a horny teenager. ”
The bathroom door opens, and she walks out in the oldest pair of flannels she owns, so thin I can see hints of skin in the light. The white tank top looks almost identical to the tit-bouncing one she wore on campus the other day.
Is it too late to become religious and start praying?
“Leftover Chinese?” Distraction. Perfect.
“Dumplings?”
“Of course.” I wink at her. On the rare occasions we aren’t together for dinner, I still order her favorites.
She gives me an excited grin, then plops herself on the couch and grabs the remote, looking more relaxed now.
Good. Whatever this weird tension is between us, it needs to stop. I want to be the one Lacey can be herself with—always.
Steam warms my hands as I hand her a bowl of microwaved food and a beer, then drop onto the couch next to her.
Two drinks, two bowls, and the television playing in the background; the domesticity of the scene should turn off my commitment-phobic brain, but the swelling in my cock argues against it. I’d take a night in with my favorite girl anytime.
She looks up at me with those big blue eyes and a smile that slams into my gut.
The professor will fall to his knees when she finally asks for what she wants.
I grip my fork too hard.
“So… when does the lesson start?” she asks, placing her bowl next to her unopened beer before facing me.
She looks too eager, and I’m the reason; telling her she needs to get laid was fucking stupid because now I have to sit back while she lets some asshole put his unworthy hands on her.
Hunger gives up to the irrational jealousy churning in my gut. Sliding my bowl next to hers, I sit back, cushions swallowing my body as I sink into the couch. It creates the right amount of space between us, and space is what I need to keep my head clear.
We should not sit closer.
I loop an arm over her shoulder and tuck her against my chest—we have clothes on, that’s enough space.
“You make it sound like there’s a foolproof step-by-step method of seduction,” I say and play with her hair, twirling a few silky strands between my fingers.
“There isn’t?” She teases, still looking up at me. Her head lolls on my bicep, exposing the smooth lines of her neck to my fingertips. I can’t resist brushing one finger over her collarbone—skin so smooth that the tip of my finger glides across it like silk.
“Real life isn’t like your stories,” I whisper, my lips brushing the side of her forehead. “You may have a plotline, but the characters don’t always do what you expect.”
Did her breath just shudder?
“I know that.”
I let my finger stop at the pulse point in her neck, enjoying how it quickens, causing the shallow breaths she tries to hide.
Do I make her nervous?
“I know I get wrapped up in stories a lot.” Her throat bobs, and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “But I don’t know how to relax and get out of my head.”
“When you want someone enough, it will happen.” Lacey curled up on the couch with someone else, two empty bowls side by side, is not a scene I want to picture.
She opens the notes app on her phone and looks at me expectantly.
“Any practical tips until then?”
I hide my smile behind her hair. She is such a fucking nerd. “Don’t wear a suit.”
Lacey Wright pulls off sexy and successful too well. “Wear something you’re confident and comfortable in.”
Like these fucking pajamas.
She types her first note, and I hold back the groan as I picture peeling the threadbare bottoms from her thighs and draping her ankles over my shoulders. Her fingers would fly across her phone screen, never missing a beat as she noted my technique, recording what tongue flick feels best.
My cock is so full it’s painful. I need to stroke, preferably with Lacey’s mouth wide open and waiting.
The delicate sound of her breath catching draws my attention.
Without realizing it, I’ve made slow circles to the soft swell of her cleavage. My fingers rest just below her collarbone, close to dipping into the secret valley between her breasts.
Heat tightens my balls until they are heavy and throbbing against my thighs. I bite back the groan and mentally scold my overexcited cock.
“I was thinking of wearing my blue skirt tomorrow,” she says. “Do you think the professor will like it?”
A sudden predatory urge hits me. Desire and jealousy burn like a heady cocktail in my veins. I want to push Lacey down, pull out my cock, and paint her skin with my cum until it soaks into her pores and marks her as mine, not the professor’s or anyone else’s.
Mine.
I curl my fist in her hair too tightly, but there’s a ferocity in my grip I can’t turn off. I tug, forcing her head back until she looks at me. “This is about you, not the professor. Do you like your blue skirt?”
Her throat bobs as her tongue flicks across her bottom lip, wet and pink and far too tempting.
She nods.
Our faces are inches apart, so close I can taste the bourbon and orange from her old-fashioned on the back of my tongue.
I loosen my grip on her hair, and my fingers drag down to the base of her neck, molding and massaging.
It’s all part of the lesson, I tell myself. “Then wear the fucking skirt.”
Her lips part on a shallow breath, and her eyes quickly flick from my mouth to my eyes. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
My fingers play across her neck and the base of her skull, massaging points that make her eyes flutter. “Does it feel like I am?”
Her throat bobs. “Yes.”
This is a bad idea, but I’m past the point of giving a fuck. “How long has it been since you kissed someone?”
Her eyes widen. “A while.”
Not since we met, at least. Knowing I’m the closest she’s been to experiencing anything sexual with another person in years fuels the predatory sensation, filling me with a possessive euphoria.
“You can take all the notes you want, but the best way to research kissing…” my heart beats like a hammer in my chest, “…is to kiss.”
Her tongue paints her lips, and her throat bobs, but the steady rise and fall of her chest is surprising. She’s not as nervous about my suggestion as I expected. Has she thought about kissing me before?
“You want us to kiss?” she asks.
I want us to do more than that, but things are moving into dangerous territory. I need to get my arousal under control before I take more than she is ready to give. I offer my usual cocky grin, the one friend-Olly uses, not this strung out, infatuated version. “You asked for lessons. I’m obliging.”
I expect her to punch me on the shoulder playfully like she usually does or roll her eyes and switch to whatever rubbish reality television show is playing, but she implodes my world instead.
“Okay.”
And now it’s my turn to be nervous.
“Maybe we should… to make sure I remember how.” The tremble in her voice lessens with each word, her confidence growing as mine shrinks.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I’m afraid they will keep going and see how erratic my heart is beating beneath my sweatshirt.
“For research,” she finishes.
I can’t move, just watch as her fingers touch my chin. One delicate brush, and I’m lost.
I slide one hand into her hair, gripping the strands and tugging until her chin tilts up.
My other palm cups her cheek, and my thumb brushes across her bottom lip, pulling it out from between her teeth. So soft, wet, and warm.
“One kiss,” I whisper. “For research.”
Because friends help friends.
My mouth hovers over hers. I’ve kissed too many lips to count; one more pair won’t make a difference. It’s just a kiss.
Just one… that we are about to share… any second now.
Move your fucking face, Olly.
But I can’t. I’m stuck, shocked this is happening and terrified that my pent-up desire will spill out of my mouth and into hers, revealing my darkest secrets and wildest fantasies—all starring her.