I can’t handle it when he says things like that.
His captivating eyes tell me that I should always be put first, and it’s what I always wanted to hear from Brian. It’s the one thing I asked from him, yet Breaker offers it up so easily.
If you were marrying me, no fucking way could I share you with another man, best friend or not. And I wouldn’t expect your husband to love you any less than that.
I drop my feet to the ground and down the rest of my cider. “Do you want another?” I ask him as I walk to the kitchen.
“Sure,” he answers, but I can hear the trepidation in his voice.
I don’t bother to ask him what’s wrong because I already know. He’s worried I’m drowning my sorrows in booze, but I’m not. I’m trying to drown the red-hot emotions pulsing through me every time he looks my way. I’m aware I’m the one who asked him to be my friend—and only friend—all those years ago. I’m also aware that his sisters-in-law don’t believe he’s a relationship kind of guy. So I need to stop imagining things.
However . . . I can’t get the thoughts out of my head of how he goes down on a woman.
How he prefers his dick to be sucked.
How he’d treat his woman, like she’s precious.
Nor can I stop thinking about what his bedroom eyes look like. Are they darker? Clearer?
Not to mention, the way he so shamelessly tells me how beautiful I am . . . it’s starting to beguile me because I shouldn’t be looking at my friend like that. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, so if I have to use alcohol to help me subdue them, then I will.
I crack a can open for us and hand him one.
“Let’s watch a show,” I say. “Or watch a movie. We can watch The Thin Man.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to annihilate me in another board game?”
“I’m trying to save your pride.”
“Aren’t you considerate.” He grabs the remote, and I suck down my drink. My head is starting to feel fuzzy, which is just what I want. I welcome all of the fuzziness.
“Oh, I recorded some reruns of Password in case you wanted to play.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You game?”
“You know I always am.”
“Good.” He winks and then takes a large gulp of his drink as well.
“STOP.” I laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants. “Stop . . . how am I supposed to guess spoon from dairy?”
He is buckled over, laughing on the floor in our empty cider cans.
“Because you slurp dairy up with a spoon,” he says as he lies on the floor, arms spread, staring up at the ceiling. His shirt has pulled up a few inches, and I catch sight of his brilliant abs.
“You could have said spork. You’ve lost your touch.”
“I’m drunk,” he says as he kicks a few cans away. “And I just ate a donut, so my mind isn’t working well.”
I fall to the floor and crawl over to him, my hair falling over my cheeks as I stare at his smiling face. I reach out and pat his cheeks a few times. “You used to be so smart. What happened to you?”
“You and your drinks,” he says right before he wraps his arm around my waist and rolls me to the floor right next to him.
“We didn’t drink that much.”
“We drank ten cans each,” he says.
“Over like . . . ten hours.”
“Lia Fairweather-Fern, it has not been ten hours. And we’ve gulped down three in the past hour, so . . . we are drunk.”
“You might be drunk, but I’m not drunk.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Stand and walk in a straight line.”
“Easy,” I proclaim as I roll to the side and then slowly push myself up to standing. He props himself up against the couch to watch me. I take a deep breath and say, “Watch this excellence.”
I put one foot in front of the other and start walking, my legs wobbling while I lose balance and nearly crash into the island chairs, causing Breaker to roar with laughter.
“Okay, sure, you’re not drunk.”
“That’s not my fault,” I say as I take another deep breath.
“It’s not? Then who’s operating your legs?”
“Me, but . . . it’s my bra’s fault,” I say. “It’s constricting the blood from reaching my toes, and that’s what makes it hard to walk.”
“Wow, that’s quite the scientific reasoning.”
“Well, you try walking with a bra,” I say right before I reach in front of me, snap open the front clasp of my bra, and then pull the whole thing off. I toss the bra at Breaker and say, “You try.”
He glances up at me as he holds my bra in his hand, and then his eyes travel down my neck, past my collarbone, and right to my breasts, where my nipples press hard against the white of my shirt fabric.
“That was hot, Lia.” He wets his lips and then examines my bra. “Really hot.”
His eyes fall to my breasts again, and I can feel all inhibitions fall away as I stick my chest out and say, “Trying to get a good look?”
“Yeah,” he answers with a shameless smirk.
“Well, cut it out.” I kick my foot toward him. “This is serious business.” I take a deep breath and hold my arms out to the side. “Watch me walk with beauty and grace.”
“Let’s see it.” Although, when I sneak another look at him, he’s still looking at my braless breasts.
I place one foot in front of the other and glide, not missing a step and proving that in fact I’m not drunk.
“Ha,” I say when I finish. “Told you it was the bra.”
“Puh-lease,” he says while he stands. “That was all luck. Bet you I can walk straight with this bra on.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“I know so.” He sets the bra down on the arm of the couch, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it to the side.
Hello, pecs.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
“Putting the bra on,” he says as he reaches for it and attempts to fit his arms through the loops. “Fuck, why is this so tight?”
“Uh, maybe because you are much larger than me.”
He has one arm strung through a strap but is turning in circles, trying to grab the other strap. After a few turns, he props one hand on his hip and turns toward me. “Can you fucking help me instead of just watching me run in circles like a dog trying to catch his tail?”
“I’m actually good just watching.”
He grumbles, takes the bra off, and then fits it on backward so the back of the bra runs across his nipples. Since I’m so much smaller than his broad shoulders, his arms turn in, being pulled by the straps of the bra.
He glances down at himself and then back up at me. “You know, I don’t really think this is a good look for me.”
I let out a roar of a laugh while I shake my head. “I’ve seen better.”
“Then let’s just get this over before I lose all sense of myself and start matching your lipstick with my nipple color.”
“What?” I chuckle. “Why would you match it with your nipple color?”
“I saw this girl talk about it on Tik Tok. How the perfect shade of lip would match your nipple. That not true?”
“Why are you watching makeup tutorials on Tik Tok?”
“I don’t search them out. They just pop up. The girl had a Boston accent. I think her name was Mikayla. Really fucking entertaining that I watched a few of her Tik Toks. No shame. She’s actually really inspirational. Lives her life the way she wants. And hey, now you know to match your lipstick to your nipples. You’re welcome.” He then holds his arms out and walks in a straight line, holding steady the whole time.
“You know this doesn’t count, right?” I ask. “You’re not wearing the bra correctly.”
“Uh, because it’s not big enough.”
I shrug. “Not my problem.”
“Then what the hell is this? What am I doing?”
“You tell me, you’re the one who whipped the bra on.”
“Ridiculous,” he says as he takes it off and then sling-shots it right at my face.
The fabric slaps me across the cheek, and I gasp in shock. “Oh my God, you could have taken my eye out.”
“Dramatic much?”
“I bet I have a red mark.” I grip my cheek and play it up.
“Death by bra, that’s a first.”
“Uh, excuse me, sir. I have no doubt in my mind that many a woman have met their creator because of a poorly manufactured brassiere, most likely designed by a man who has zero concept of the kind of damage a destructive underwire can have on an unsuspecting soul.”
“You do realize a bra is a choice, right?” His smirk tells me he’s only teasing, but that doesn’t stop me.
“Oh sure, right, a bra is a choice, so if I started walking around with my tits out, you think I won’t have complaints about erect nipples or showing too much?”
He sticks his hands in the pockets of his athletic shorts and says, “No complaints here.”
“Ugh, pervert.” I walk over to the kitchen and grab another cider for us both.
“You can’t be serious. This might make me puke.”
“Or sleepy. I prefer the sleepy.” I crack both open and hand him one. We cheers and then take a seat on the couch, our shoulders pressed together as we stare at the TV in front of us.
After a sip, I say, “You know, there’s no one else I would want to spend my time with after I called off a wedding and broke up with my fiancé other than you.” I rest my head against his shoulder.
“Same, Lia.”
We both take a drink.
“When you first saw me in the hallway of your dorm, did you ever think this is where we would end up? Neighbors, best friends, attached at the hip?”
“Uh . . . not at that moment, but after that night, I had a good inkling.”
“How so?”
“We just matched. Like when everyone left Scrabble that night, and we were alone, I felt like my missing puzzle piece was put into place.”
“I felt the same way.” We both lift our drinks to our mouth and take long pulls. “I would be lost without you, Breaker.”
“I would be lost without you, too.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” I say, my mind turning morose. “You have so much going for you. Your business, you have a strong family bond and sisters-in-law who are so much fun. You have promise, a community surrounding you, and so much opportunity.”
“And you don’t have any of that?” he asks, his tone suggesting he’s wondering where I’m going with this.
“I have you. I’m building a circle. And I have a job that I love, but I don’t know, I just feel like you have so much more.”
“What I have, you have. You know Huxley and JP treat you like a sister. And you’ve built your business from the ground up, not many people can say that. Are these feelings stemming from not having your parents around?”
“I think so,” I sigh. “God, do you think I will ever get over it?”
“No, I don’t think losing your parents is something you get over, I think it’s just a tender hurt you learn to live with. It will take time, but it will get easier with each day.”
“I can still feel them sometimes,” I say softly before taking another large sip of my drink. “At night, when I feel alone in my apartment, I can sometimes feel that they’re there, watching over me.”
“They are,” Breaker says. “They’re always watching over you. And you know, when you’re feeling alone, you can always come over. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You are.” He slips his arm behind me and pulls me in close. “You are so important to me, Breaker.”
“You’re important to me too, Lia.”
I sit up and look him in the eyes. “Like . . . what would I do without you?”
“I try not to think about what a day without you in it would look like,” he says.
I stare at him, his eyes flitting back and forth between mine, my eyes traveling over his face as a smile tugs at my lips.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks before finishing off his drink and setting his can down.
I join him and set my empty can on the coffee table. “You’re a far cry from the guy I met back in college. Remember that caterpillar you grew on your upper lip? Atrocious.”
“Hey, there were a few girls who liked it.”
“Amanda Fulton? Yeah, because she liked every guy with two nipples and a penis, she pretty much looked past the nose fur.”
“Were nipples really a requirement for her?”
I palm his face and push him away, causing him to laugh. “I’m tired.” I let out a large yawn.
“Because we drank too much,” he says.
“Well, I want to go beddy bye.”
“Then go to bed.” He leans against the couch and puts both of his hands behind his head.
“I will,” I say as I stand on wobbly legs. “Just need to go to the bathroom first.”
I move toward his bedroom, and he says, “Where do you think you’re going? Your apartment is down the hall.”
“But the comfortable bed is right over here. Thanks.” I offer him a wave and then head toward his master bathroom, where I take care of business and brush my teeth.
I don’t bother with my hair because it’s already a mess. I move toward his bed and climb into the cool sheets. Yes . . . this is perfection.
For Christmas one year, Breaker bought me the same sheets as his because I said I love them so much, but for some reason, they don’t feel the same on my bed. I think it’s the mattress. That, and his bed smells like his cologne, which could make anyone want to sink in deeper.
“Just make yourself at home,” I hear him say as he moves around the bathroom.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I scoot toward the middle of the bed and lie on both pillows, leaving him with limited options. He always claims I’m a bed hog so might as well live up to it.
I hear him flush the toilet, followed by the sound of him brushing his teeth. When he turns off the bathroom light, he moves into the bedroom and lowers the motorized shades—something I don’t have in my apartment—and puts the room into complete darkness.
The bed dips from his weight, and then he slides up against me.
“You have my pillow.” He tugs at it.
“Hey, I’m using that.”
“You can’t use both,” he complains.
“I can do whatever I want. I got here first.”
“Yes, but this is my bed.” He tugs again, but I hold on tight.
“Fine. If you’re going to be like that, then I have no choice than to do this.” He slips his arm around my waist and pulls his body flush against mine so he can share the pillow.
“Are you saying this is a punishment? Because it doesn’t feel like one.” Really enjoying his warmth at the moment.
“It will be when I roll away in the middle of the night, and you fall off the bed,” he replies.
“And they say chivalry is dead.”
He chuckles. “If you were my girlfriend, then yeah, I’d let you do whatever you want. But that’s not the case here. You’re just the trolling best friend.”
“Trolling, wow,” I tease. “Care to explain to me how this hold is different? Because it seems like you’re spooning me like a girlfriend.”
“Nah.” He blows out. “This is friendly. If you were my girlfriend, my hand would be in an entirely different place.”
“Ugh, men, always wanting their hand between a woman’s legs.”
“That’s not where I was thinking.”
“Oh sorry, boobs.” I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see them.
“Not what I was thinking either,” he whispers.
“Oh . . . uh . . . butt crack? Not my first choice, seems stifling to a hand, but to each their own.”
He lightly chuckles, and I can feel him shake his head behind me. “Wrong again.”
“Well, call me confused because I can’t think of any other place to stick your hand. I mean, down my mouth, but that feels like a choking hazard.”
“I wouldn’t stick my hand in any of those places,” he says as he slowly splays his hand across my stomach, causing it to hollow out from his touch. “You see, it’s not about the obvious touch. It’s about the subtle one.” He glides his hand down to the patch of skin on my stomach that’s exposed and very lightly runs his finger across it. “This is how I would touch her. Just light enough to let her know I’m here, but not too much to make her think I want more.”
“Oh,” I say, slightly breathless because, Jesus, that feels good. “Brian, uh . . . he never touched me like that. He wasn’t much of a cuddler.”
“His loss,” Breaker says as he continues to run his fingers along my skin.
“He never did much with me. It makes me wonder if he just didn’t find me attractive.”
“Impossible.” His fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, slipping just lightly under it. “You are desirable, Lia.” His voice dips, his lips close to my ear while his hand slides another inch under my shirt, causing my body to heat.
I lie there, stunned, and unable to move through the fog of alcohol consuming my brain. I keep thinking, what is he doing? Is he really touching me intimately? But in the back of my mind, I want him to move faster.
“I’ve never felt desirable,” I say as his warm palm connects with my stomach now, his hand fully under my shirt.
“Because you haven’t been with the right man,” he says, shifting his body closer so I feel the heat of his bare chest on my back. “If you were with the right man, then he’d always know how to treat you so you know you’re desirable.”
His hand inches up my stomach just enough that his thumb lightly drags across the skin under my breasts.
Fuck.
Heat consumes me, and my cheeks are on fire as my stomach dips and bows while he slowly inches his hand back down my stomach until he reaches the spot just above the waistband of my shorts. A tingling sensation shoots through my veins as his pinky runs along the elastic of my shorts. I bite the side of my cheek, my pulse pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
“Everything about you is desirable, Lia,” he says as he pulls me in even closer so my butt lines up against his pelvis. And then, surprising me to my core, he dips his pinky finger past the waistband of my shorts. I gasp, my chest filling with unexpected hope that he’ll dip farther, but before I can even consider the ramifications, he drags his fingers back up.
His touch is so light, barely even there, but with the feel of his chest against mine and the briefest physical contact, my entire body’s reacting, causing a cool sweat.
“You’re . . . you’re making me feel . . .”
“What?” he asks as he plants his hand just below my breasts.
His thumb moves up and down, up and down, barely missing where I want him to caress me, creating this inferno so deep in my bones that I start to ache.
Ache for his touch.
For his hand.
For him to move it farther south.
An action I never thought I’d desire from my best friend, but here I am, mentally wishing and begging for him to spread me and make me feel anything but empty.
“Breaker,” I say, my voice breathless.
“Hmm?” he asks, moving his hand back down so the tips of his fingers slip past the waistband of my shorts.
Yes, God, yes.
Go farther.
Touch me, please.
My eyes squeeze shut as my pelvis voluntarily tilts up. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t need this. I shouldn’t want to get lost at this moment. This is the alcohol, right? This is the loss of a fiancé . . . right? I’m feeling lonely.
I’m confused.
That’s all.
I don’t . . . I don’t want Breaker. He’s my best friend.
But then his fingers drag along the skin right above my pubic bone, and my body shifts, twisting an inch to my back. It’s subtle, but it forces his fingers to fall even closer.
Throbbing.
Burning.
Hoping.
I want more. And right when I think he’s going to guide his hand between my legs, he glides his hand back to the middle of my stomach. I groan in frustration.
“Were you going to say something?” he whispers, his lips so close to my ear that I might combust.
“I . . . don’t remember,” I answer.
“I think you do remember. You just don’t want to say it.” His fingers dance up my stomach to my rib cage. “You were saying I’m making you feel . . .”
I wet my lips as I strain for his touch, but he doesn’t move. He keeps the hold on where his hand goes, always maintaining control.
“Just tell me, Lia,” he says, his lips dragging over my ear, causing chills to break over my skin.
“Turned on,” I say on a heavy breath. “You’re making me feel . . . turned on.”
“It’s because you’re so goddamn sexy,” he says just as the tip of his thumb slides against my breast.
“Oh . . . fffff-uck.”
“Jesus, you’re so hot,” he whispers just as his pelvis presses against me, and my eyes pop open in pleasure from the feel of his erection against my backside.
Oh my God.
He’s just as turned on as me.
His fingers slip along my stomach, and this time, without hesitation, slide under my shorts, where his pinky glides back and forth, right above my mound. He’s not touching me where I want him to touch me, but at this moment, I’m more turned on than Brian has ever made me.
I want it. Badly.
I want this.
I want release.
And I’m so worried that if I say something or move, this burning desire will dissipate. And I don’t want it to because I’m feeling something, like . . . like I’m starting to come alive from a deep, dark sleep, one that I’ve been in for over a year.
Needing to give him more access, I twist so I’m almost all the way on my back.
The new angle causes his grip to grow tighter, and as he moves back up my stomach, my chest grows heavy, my nipples harden, and I wait.
I pray.
I hope that he’ll touch me more.
That he’ll fully touch me this time.
Eyes shut, I hold my breath, my legs trembling as he inches closer and closer to my breast.
Almost there.
Just touch me, please.
He must be able to read my mind because his hand slides right under my breast, and his thumb drags across my nipple.
“God,” I moan, my back arching as I fall all the way to my back now, showing him I want more. I want so much more.
“Jesus Christ, you have the softest tits,” he says, his erection against my leg now, his lips right against my ear. “What I want to do to these.”
“Wh-What?” I ask.
“Strip you out of this shirt and plant my head between your tits. I want to test their weight in my hand, pinch your hard, pebbled nipples, suck on them until you scream, and then mark them with my teeth. I want you to wake up the next day and see that you were owned the night before.”
My legs involuntarily spread as the dull throb between them becomes a pounding need. Breaker’s deep, raspy—sexy—voice, the one I heard through the wall once before, is breaking every ounce of restraint I have. He’s using it on me. Me.
I expect him to move his hand back down, but instead, he drags his thumb over my nipple again, and again . . . and again, causing a hiss to escape my lips.
I thrust my chest into his hand, wanting him to make good on what he said, but he retreats, and I groan in frustration.
“Breaker,” I say breathlessly.
“You need me, don’t you?” he asks, a sense of cockiness in his voice. Even that’s more of a turn-on than anything.
“Yes,” I whisper, wanting to shed my clothes.
Thankfully, he moves past my shorts and then right between my legs. I spread them in delicious anticipation, and to my delight, he slips two fingers along my slit. He doesn’t press inside, doesn’t even try to get me off, he just glides them over the sensitive skin. So I spread even wider, causing them to slip inside where he feels just how turned on I am.
“Fuck,” he says in such a tortured voice that I feel the rumble of it all the way down to my bones.
He removes his fingers, dragging my wetness up my stomach, and when I think he’s going back to my breast, he removes his hand from my stomach, and I watch in fascination as he slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them both.
My breath catches in my throat as he slides them past his lips and says, “I knew your pussy would be the sweetest thing I ever fucking tasted.”
“Breaker,” I say, my mind nearly exploding. “What . . . what are you doing?”
“Attempting to control myself,” he says.
“We’re . . . we’re drunk,” I say for some reason, maybe to make myself feel better for crossing a line with my best friend.
“We might be, but I’ve thought about tasting you for so goddamn long now.”
“What?” I ask, stunned. “N-No, you haven’t. This was . . . you were just showing me how I can be desirable.”
“Yeah, Lia,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine. “You’re so fucking desirable.” And then he slips his hand back toward my breast, bringing his index finger up to my aching nipple, and pinches it.
“Oh God,” I groan, my hand falling between us, right against his hardened cock.
This is not what we do.
We don’t cross this line.
But feeling him so hard right now while he plays with my nipple makes me do something I don’t think I was ever prepared for. I dip my hand past his shorts and run my fingers down his boxer briefs, along his . . .
“Oh my . . . God,” I say breathlessly as he continues to twist my nipple. “Breaker, you’re . . . you’re huge.”
And he is.
Long.
Thick.
Easily the biggest I’ve ever felt.
My fingers work along the ridge of his veins through the fabric of his briefs and then back up to the head.
His breathing picks up, but he doesn’t stop turning me on, playing with my nipple.
I want more, so much more, so I turn all the way onto my side, facing him. I can barely see his face in the darkness of the night, but can see the outline of his carved jaw.
“I’m turned on,” I say as if he didn’t know that.
“So am I.”
“I want a release.”
“Me too,” he says.
“We shouldn’t be doing this. This is crossing a line.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. He just smooths his hand to my back and down my shorts, gripping my ass tightly.
“Breaker, I need you to say something. Tell me this is crossing a line.”
“I’m not going to say anything to stop this. Not a goddamn thing.”
“Why not?” I ask, my heart hammering.
“I think you know.”
I shake my head. “I don’t, Breaker. I don’t know.”
Once again, he remains silent, and just when I think he’s not going to do anything, he rolls onto his back. He pushes down the blankets, and then he grabs me. In one smooth motion, he lifts me on top of his lap, right over his erection.
“Oh God,” I breathe out heavily.
He reaches between us and adjusts himself so I’m resting along his ridge.
“You want a release, Lia? Take it,” he says with confidence. “Use my cock.”
The demand is so naughty, so erotic, something I never would have expected him to say, yet it switches something inside me. Instead of shying away, I feel myself listen to him.
“L-Like this?” I ask as I move my pelvis, my clit sliding along his erection.
He nods. “Just like that.”
“With our clothes on?”
“Yes. Have you never dry-humped before?”
“N-No.”
“Then I’ll help you.” He sits up on the bed effortlessly, as if I’m not on top of him, and lines his back against his headboard. I’m still pressing against his erection, but this position makes me feel the pressure of his girth on my clit.
His hand falls under my shirt and moves up to my breast, where he cups it and gives it a gratifying squeeze. My head falls back and my pelvis juts forward, creating such a delicious friction that I repeat the movement.
“Just like that,” he says, his thumb playing with my nipple now. “Ride my dick, Lia. I want you to focus on your pleasure. I’ll get off when you get off.”
He’ll get off when I get off? The selflessness, it thrills me even more.
I rest my hands on his shoulders, and as he plays with my nipple, I pick up my pace, moving my clit over his cock, loving the way it feels and the intense pressure pulsing through me, just as he pulls my chest forward and sucks my breast into his mouth through the fabric of my shirt.
A gasp pops out of me as he moves his mouth across to the other breast, sucking and nibbling as well. There’s just enough protection from my shirt to frustrate me, so I drag the neckline down, exposing the top of my breasts. He doesn’t skip a beat as he sucks on my cleavage, moving from one side to the other, using his teeth the whole time.
“Yes,” I call out, feeling shy but also crazy at the same time, like I can’t keep in the pleasure. I don’t want to. I want to let it out. I want to release it all.
I’ve been so frustrated, so bottled up, that it feels like Breaker just popped the cork, and I’m finally letting myself live for a moment.
I rock harder against him as the pressure between my legs builds, and my bottom half starts to go numb. I can tell my impending release is just a few moments away.
“God, yes,” I whisper as he bites down on the side of my breast, the pain of it turning quickly into pleasure, and I guide his head to the other side. “More,” I say as he drags my neckline lower, a rip sounding through the silent room. His mouth finds my nipple, and he pulls it in with one large suck. Holy fuck, that feels incredible.
I groan and ride his length, pulsing harder and harder.
He moans, and a wave of goosebumps erupts over my skin.
He bites down on my other nipple, ripping my shirt completely open, and I grind harder against him.
His mouth is so delicious, his hands so attentive, his mind in it to please me, not himself. It’s so sexy, so incredibly gratifying that I grip the back of his neck, toss my head back, and I let the pleasure of his delicious cock against my clit take me over the edge.
“Fuck, Breaker,” I call out as I ride him faster, my orgasm piercing through me at such a fast pace that I do everything in my control to keep it going, to make the feeling last as long as I can. Just as it starts to wane, he groans against my breast, he pulses up against me, and then he’s groaning into my shoulder as he comes as well.
I’m so startled, so intoxicated by the sound of him coming that I just sit there, stunned, holding him, not caring that my shirt is ripped open or that he was just sucking on my breasts. Or that I just crossed the biggest line with my best friend ever.
“Jesus, fuck,” he whispers as he catches his breath. He lifts his head and then leans against the headboard. In the dark of the night, I can catch the rise and fall of his chest, but that’s about it.
Oh my God, we just made each other come.
I . . . I can’t believe it.
Now that it’s over, I feel so shocked.
Unsure of what to say, I move off him and then whisper, “Can I borrow a shirt?”
“Of course,” he says. “I can get it for you.”
“No, it’s okay. I can grab it.” I get out of bed, feeling so awkward that I close my ripped shirt together and move over to his dresser, where I grab a shirt and then go to the bathroom. I shut the door behind me, lean against the counter.
What the hell did I just do?
I . . . I just humped my best friend to the point that both of us orgasmed.
I’m freaking out.
Big time.
We crossed a line, a big one, and I’m pretty sure I just ruined everything.
There’s a knock on the door, followed by, “Lia, you okay?”
No.
I’m not at all.
“Yeah,” I call out. “Just, uh, changing and going to the bathroom. Be out in a second.”
“Lia, do you want to talk about this?” His voice is sincere and comforting. Not the same as the man who told me to use his cock for pleasure. This is the Breaker I know. The Breaker I love.
“What?” I squeak out. “No, of course not. Nothing to talk about.” I change out of my shorts and my shirt and slip his shirt on, leaving me in nothing but his clothes . . . that smell just like him of course.
With turmoil twisting in my stomach, I go to the bathroom, clean up, and then don’t bother to look in the mirror before I leave because what’s the point? I know what I’ll see—someone incredibly scared about what just happened.
I exit the bathroom to find Breaker on the other side of the door, holding a new pair of shorts.
“Hey,” he says as he lifts my chin so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “You good?”
I tack on a smile because if I’ve learned anything from Brian in the past year and a half that I was with him, it’s to know how to fake a smile. “Of course. Just really exhausted now.” I pat his bare chest. “Took it out of me. Do you, uh, want me to go back to my place?”
“No.” His brow furrows. “No, I want you to stay here with me.”
“Okay, just wanted to make sure.” I smile and then start to move past him when he presses his hand to my stomach, stopping me.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.”
I know he’s not convinced, but he lets go of me. He moves toward the bathroom while I make my way to the bed and slip under the covers. This time, I just use my pillow, staying on my side while my mind races. I probably just messed up my friendship. It was amazing when his mouth was on me. I got so lost, so quick, and in the moment, I didn’t care about anything other than the friction and heat we were creating.
Was it really all worth it?
Was it worth ruining this friendship?
Fresh from the bathroom, Breaker walks up to the bed, where he slips in. I half expect him to stay on his side, but he pulls me close to his chest by the stomach and buries his head in my hair.
I’m breathless, unsure of what to do.
He’s snuggling again.
He’s spooning me.
His entire body is in control of mine.
“You sure you’re good?” he asks, his breath caressing the back of my neck.
“Yes,” I whisper, my heart racing a mile a minute.
“Okay. Night, Lia.”
I swallow hard and whisper, “Night, Breaker.”
He snuggles in closer while I lie there, wide awake.
Instead of falling asleep, I remain restless, captured in his strong arm, battling between reveling in the way he holds me so close and freaking out that I just ruined everything.
When he drifts off and his grip loosens, I take that moment to slip out of bed, out of his bedroom, and over to my apartment, where I lie awake the rest of the night.
You fucked up, Lia.
You fucked up big time.
