Page 82 of The Friend Situation

I stand. “I do not need any more big brothers to lord over me. I already have two, Weston. Mind your business.”

He grabs my wrist, gently pulling me toward him. I fall onto his lap, and our faces are too close. The air is heavy as he tucks hair behind my ear, grinning as he twirls a strand around his fingers. It plays out like a movie.

“Don’t go,” he nearly begs, and I almost see him physically lowering the barriers between us.

I study him, keeping my hands to myself. “Why didn’t you text me this week?”

“I needed time,” he admits, swallowing hard.

I whisper, “I thought you were mad at me for?—”

“No. Never,” he says, chuckling. Leaning in, he whispers in my ear, “Watching you come was so fucking sexy.”

His gaze darkens, and his breathing increases as I move even closer.

His lips part, and I wait for him to tell me to stop.

“Can I?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

His fingers thread through my hair, and I gently paint his lips with mine, needing to taste the smoky bourbon on his tongue.

At first, we’re gentle, but it immediately grows desperate. My world spins, and I cannot believe we’re right back where we were. The pin drops, and we quickly lose control. I inch up my skirt, straddling him, feeling his thick cock below me.

“Fuck,” he whispers against my throat as his mouth slides down my neck. His hands snake under my ass, and he growls against my skin, “No fucking panties.”

“Just in case,” I whisper, reaching for his belt.

Weston allows me to take control.

“There’s no undoing this,” he says as I unbutton and unzip his pants.

“I know,” I say, seeing how hard he is.

His cock strains against the fabric, and I gently glide my palm against him. He groans out, the sound low and deep in his throat. It’s so fucking sexy.

My mouth falls open in surprise.

“It’ll fit,” he murmurs.

I reach forward, ready to expose him, and he finally grabs my wrist to stop me. I narrow my eyes, somehow knowing he wouldn’t allow this to go all the way. He never does.

“We need to discuss things first,” he says, his eyes defiant.

“Can we talkafterward?”

He zips and buttons his pants, but I can still feel how thick he is below me.

“Never agree to the terms before hearing them.”

“I trust you,” I say, rocking against him again.

“You shouldn’t,” he warns, steadying me by placing his hands on my hips.

“I want as little or as much of yourself that you can give, Weston. There’s no pressure with me. If you want to just be friends, fine. But it would be a whole lot more fun if we were fuck buddies too. Clearly, we’re compatible,” I say.

I think I feel him pulse beneath me.

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