Page 36 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
I tilt her chin up and sweep my tongue against hers. She lets out this soft, desperate sound that unravels something in me. I groan, low and guttural, as my hands slip from her cheeks to her waist, pulling her against me.
Her body melts into mine—soft curves, wet skin, that scent of rain and something unmistakablyMaya.
I walk her gently back until she hits the wooden post of the gazebo. She gasps at the contact, and I take the opportunity to trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” I murmur against her throat.
Her head falls back slightly, giving me more access. “I think I do,” she breathes. “Because you’re doing the same thing to me.”
I smile against her skin, then bite gently at the spot below her ear, soothing it with my tongue. She shudders in my arms, her fingers tightening at my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
I don’t.
I kiss her again, slower this time. I love the way she tastes, the way she moves, and the little noises she makes when I tug her bottom lip between my teeth.
“Jake…” she whispers again, but it’s different now. Less warning, more need.
My name sounds like a prayer on her lips, and I kiss her harder. I could lose myself in her. I already am. And that scares the hell out of me.
The rain continues to fall around us, but inside the gazebo, it’s just heat and breath and burning desire.
Her hand slips under the hem of my shirt, splaying warm fingers against my stomach, and it takes everything in me not to lose control right there.
Then the rain starts to slow.
The spell breaks.
The steady drumming on the gazebo’s roof fades to a quiet patter, like even the sky knows it’s time to pull back.
We both freeze.
Breathing hard. Chests heaving.
The air between us shifts, no longer ignited with heat, but thick with something else—something uncertain and fragile.
Maya looks up at me, her eyes wide and stunned, pupils still blown, lips red and parted from our kiss. She looks like she’s been caught in a dream she’s not ready to wake from.
“I—” she begins, voice barely a whisper, but I can see a dozen things behind that one syllable.
Panic.
Want.
Guilt.
Fear.
“We should get back inside,” I cut in, fast. Too fast. My throat is dry, my voice rough. I don’t let myself think about what Ireallywant to say. Not when I know it would change everything.
She flinches slightly. Not visibly, but I feel it like a shift in gravity.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, eyes darting away. “Okay.”
We step out from the shelter of the gazebo, the wet grass cool beneath our feet. Our hands swing close, brushing once, and both of us pull away like it burns.
The walk back to the venue is quiet. No banter, no teasing. Just silence, thick and loud and crawling over my skin like static. I glance at her a few times, but she doesn’t look back. Her arms are crossed, damp hair sticking to her neck, her jaw tight like she’s holding something back.
I don’t know if it’s regret.
