Page 66 of Ripple Effect

I smirk. “Are you?”

Her fingers trace along my jawline, and a shiver racks down my spine. “Not really, I guess. You’re the one who took my phone. But, um ... would you like me to move?”

“Move?” I rasp the question, my head swirling. Every rational thought is lost, drowning in a heady pool of desire.

She swallows hard, her voice shaky. “I meant, like, to get off of you.”

“I think”—I lean in so our foreheads touch, the phone forgotten on the cushion beside us—“that’s the last thing I want right now.”

Her face heats, thighs unconsciously squeezing around me. “Oh, is it now?”

“Yeah,” I say, “sure is.”

With her distinct combination of bold and shy, those movements switch from accidental to deliberate. I guide her gradually, ensuring that I take my time.

I’d rather savor this moment than rush it—her on top of me, brushing against my erection, finally acknowledging how much she turns me on.

She rests on my lap, my hands moving her hips in a slow dance of shifting, of sliding. Our breaths mingle, her soft moans urging me on, pleading with me to continue.

And so, I do.

Every small adjustment, every tiny gasp, only adds to the tension. I cup her face, drawing her in even closer. The space between us narrows, and every fiber of my being aches to close that distance—to drown in the warmth of her mouth, in the taste of those perfect lips.

But I resist. If we cross that line again, there’s no coming back. And maybe, if I don’t go there, we can still pretend we haven’t torn down our self-imposed boundaries.

Her hands trail down my chest, fingers clenching the fabric of my shirt as she grinds down on me. The sensation has me gripping her hips tighter, guiding her, directing her in a way that maximizes the friction. It’s torturous in its sweetness, each graze feeling like too much and never enough.

She tilts her head back, eyes shut tight, the column of her throat exposed to me. I can feel her heartbeat, fast and erratic, matching the thunderous beat of my own. And maybe that’s not such a good thing, but I can’t bring myself to be concerned at the moment.

Undeterred, I roll my hips directly against her warm center, and the sound she makes has me leaking precum like a teenager.

“Oh, God,” she breathes, voice heavy with need. “El, I can’t ... I need ...”

“Just let go, pretty girl,” I whisper against her ear, her body quivering at the words. “Let go with me.”

Her response is a whimper, her movements growing more erratic, more desperate. I can sense she’s close, teetering on the edge. I trace my fingers up her spine, and she shivers under my touch.

“That’s it,” I murmur, “just a little more.”

Her rhythm falters before she clutches onto me tightly, a shudder running through her entire frame. Her breathy moan fills my ear, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

Fully spent, she collapses against me, our hearts racing in tandem.

For a long moment, there’s only silence, only the steady rise and fall of our chests. The aftermath leaves us both breathless, but the undercurrent of tension remains, reminding us that this is just the beginning of something, not the end.

“So,” she pants, hiding her face in the crook of my neck, muttering the words against my skin. “Is that what ‘just friends’ do?”

“No, Daze,” I say with a gulp, holding her against me. “It’s not.”

Gently, she pulls back, her eyes searching mine for something. The playful glint they usually hold is now replaced with the weight of uncertainty.

“I should, uh ...” She glances around, her gaze finally settling on the bathroom. “I need to freshen up.”

“Daisy,” I start, but nothing else follows. I have no fucking clue what to say right now, how to make her stay.

With a soft, almost inaudible sigh, she shifts off me and stands, clearly trying to hide the rosy shade coloring her cheeks. “I’ll probably head to bed after,” she says, her voice a soft murmur. “You can join whenever.”

Then she quickly turns, heading to the bathroom and leaving me in a fog of thoughts, the warm imprint of her body still lingering on mine. I sit here, alone, and lose myself in the heady aftermath. The couch beneath me feels empty now, cold even.

---