Page 41 of Merlot Marriage

Laughing at my joke, she brings the sandwiches over and sets them in the sizzling pan. Any lingering awkwardness fades with the sound. Even though all I want to do is get my hands under that dress, the annoying pinch in my chest from missing her all week eases. And the tension in my spine fades away at the sound of my best friend’s laugh.

Ophie’s shoulders are relaxed as she moves to stand beside me. Her hip bumps mine and our elbows clash. Dropping my spoon into the pot, I step back to make more space for her, unable to resist gripping her hips as I do.

But right then, she leans forward, her ass grazing my crotch, and I suck in a breath at the contact, tightening my hold on her hips. The fabric of her dress bunches under my fingers as I pull myself together. A different kind of tension rockets through my body, and now I’m afraid to breathe wrong in case it breaks something precious.

Instead of straightening her ramrod spine like I expect, her body goes soft. “I don’t want to burn dinner,” she murmurs while leaning back, her weight settling against me with a sigh. My brain short-circuits, any conversation I thought we needed cut off at the knees by her body language.

Slowly, I gather more of the fabric in my fingers, pulling the dress higher and higher on her thighs. I dip my head down to speak low in her ear. “Who said anything about burning dinner?”

My lips are so close, I can’t tell if the taste of her in my mouth is real or from my memories of the other night. The warmth of her skin tickles my lips at her neck and my fingertips on her thighs. My thumbs brush the edge of her panties, and I hesitate to go further.

We stay like that—my mouth millimeters from her skin, my fingers brushing the crease of her hip, the only sounds her hitched breathing—for an agonizing collection of heartbeats.

I want more than anything to hook my fingers in her underwear and pull them down to her knees, but I have no idea if that’s what she wants. Her body is telling me yes, but just because she was okay with this while we were living together doesn’t mean she’s okay with it now.

I would be lying to myself if I didn’t want some reassurance that she missed me as much as I missed her. That I’m not the only one overwhelmed by the idea of an us that means more than just a platonic partnership.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Ophie huffs.

“I—”

“How am I the one who’s not overthinking this? Overthinking ismyspecialty, not yours.” She bends her head to the side, giving me more access to her neck and shoulder. Slowly, not breaking the contact between us, she reaches out and turns offthe burners on the stove. Her hands drift back and settle on top of mine, pressing my fingertips deeper into her skin.

I want to melt from her warmth, sink to my knees and taste her, but the smooth expanse of her shoulder calls to me just as loudly. Leaning down, I drag my lips across the shell of her ear, into the space behind it, then along her neck to bite down on the tendon where her shoulder joins.

Ophie moans as I press my teeth into her skin, the sound bypassing the rational part of my brain and arrowing straight to the animal bit that’s been chanting “mine, mine, mine” since the day we met.

“Fuck, Ophie. Are you—”

Flipping around, she slaps a hand across my mouth. “Don’t.”

Our bodies are pressed together, her breasts crushed against my chest, her hips lined up against mine, the sundress caught between us. Without breaking eye contact, I wrap my fingers around her wrist and pull her hand away from my mouth. Twisting her arm behind her back, I pin it there with my hand. The motion pulls at the soft fabric of her dress, the deep V in front exposing half of her breast.

“For the last time, Philip. We’re both adults. I already told you I wanted this. What else is there to discuss?”

There is so much more to discuss. Is this just casual to her? Or does it mean more? As close as we’ve been for the last two years, the one topic we never discussed was how we feel about sex. Maybe because it would have meant admitting we were ignoring something vital between us in the name of safety.

But right now, my beautiful best friend is staring up at me, her eyes dilated with lust, her lips parted and begging for me to nibble on them. Any remnants of self-control I’ve been holding on to snap. I push all my overthinking aside and scoop her up, wrapping her legs around my hips.

“Couch or bedroom?” I slide my hands beneath her ass, backing us out of the kitchen and away from the heat still coming off the range.

“Couch is closer.” Ophie points behind me before diving in and capturing my lips with hers.

“God, I missed your mouth.” I walk us to the couch, a giant L-shaped thing that’s too big for this place but obviously well-loved. She doesn’t stop kissing me as I release her legs and ease us down into the corner. Instead, her tongue invades my mouth and her hands attack my shirt.

Pulling it over my head breaks our frantic kiss. Immediately, Ophie’s hands roam over my chest as I toss it to the side. “How are you so tan?” Her question ends in a squeak as I pull her hips toward me. Her feet are planted on the floor, her knees draped over my shoulders, that dress just barely covering her sweet pussy.

“It’s summer.” I shrug, then hook my fingers in the edge of her panties and pull. I take a moment to admire the smooth skin of her inner thighs, the pink lips of her core peeking out. “Mmm, I’ve been missing this tasty treat.”

Ophie lies back with a little laugh. “It’s so hard to take you seriously when you dirty talk…”

I ignore her and dive in, running the tip of my nose between her folds. “You were saying?” I follow with my tongue, laying the flat of it against her pussy and licking up her length, slow and firm.

“I’m going to be quiet now,” she whispers to the ceiling. “Just don’t stop doing that.”

“But I like it when you talk.” I squeeze her thighs as I repeat the action, slowing down when her legs finally relax. “And don’t worry, I remember all the spots that made you scream last time.”

“You’re like an elephant.” Ophie giggles as she settles into the couch, talking to the ceiling as I go to work, licking andsucking, listening for the same sounds she made before. “And I didn’t scream last time. I was being quiet so we didn’t wake up Sydney.”

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