The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(76)

It’s almost too easy, the way he backs me up, guiding me to a low counter that runs along one wall. His hands settle on my hips and he lifts me onto its cool surface. It brings us eye to eye. Grasping the edges of the counter, he crowds me, his gaze hot and roaming.

“There,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”

“I should get back to the bar.” A weak protest.

One he ignores. The backs of his fingers skim up my arm, raising goose bumps on my skin. “Nice top.”

Even though it’s thirty degrees out, I chose a black silk tank that hugs my waist but gathers loosely over my breasts. A tie around my neck holds the top secure. That I am braless is not lost on him. He stares at my stiff nipples as his fingers drift to the bow at the back of my neck and give it a little flick. “Take it off.”

“W-what?”

“Let me see those sweet tits you’ve been teasing me with since you walked in the bar.”

“I—” My breath catches. “No. I’m not taking my clothes off for a stranger.”

He doesn’t look away. “But you want to, don’t you? You want me to look at you.” He bends his head until his lips are at my ear. “You’re dying to expose yourself, to let me see those pretty pink nipples.”

My skin draws tight. I struggle not to sway into him.

He leans back, his attention on my top again. “Untie the bow.”

“Someone might come in.” Despite our play, my fear of getting caught is real, though not completely unwelcome.

“They won’t. I took care of it.”

I believe that. Gray would cover all the bases. In his own way, he’s as much of a planner as I am. But I can’t think of him as Gray now, not when he’s doing this for me.

His fingers are back, skimming over my inner arm, teasing the edges of my top. “Just a little peek.”

My breasts ache so badly, they’re hot, heavy, the silk covering them an irritant. With shaking hands, I reach up. The fabric tugs against my neck then comes free. It slithers over my skin like a caress.

He sucks in an audible breath as my breasts are exposed. I see myself through his eyes, sitting half-naked in this dim back room, my nipples puckered, my breasts quivering with each shallow breath I take. The vulnerability of it feels naughty, forbidden, and I nearly whimper.

A noise of pure satisfaction leaves him. Not bothering to lift his gaze from my breasts, he reaches out, runs the tips of his fingers over my nipple. I’m so sensitized now the touch sends a bolt of pure, searing lust straight through me. I flinch, clench my teeth to keep still.

He hums, strokes me back and forth as if he owns me. “So pretty.” He grazes me again. “You like that, sweetheart?”

Eyes closed, I bite my lower lip and nod.

I feel him move. The wet flat of his tongue drags over my nipple. My eyes fly open on a strangled cry. He grins up at me, his mouth hovering at my breast. It isn’t his usual cheeky grin but something more wicked. “Mmm. Delicious.”

He takes a step closer, and I swallow convulsively. Gray’s voice lowers. “I wonder where else you taste good. You want to show me, sweets?”

I’m practically panting now. My hair swings as I give my head a hard shake. He leans in, trailing the blunt tip of his finger up the curve of my breast. I nearly yelp when he gives the stiff peak a quick, crude pinch.

His smile is pure male smugness. “Lift up your skirt and show me where you’re wet.”

God. My thighs shake. I want to resist him. I want to do exactly what he says. As if against my will, my hands lower to the hem of my skirt.

Up, up, up. Every inch that slides over my thighs pushes my agitation higher. I can’t take it. I gather up the skirt until it’s around my wait. Cool air caresses my wet skin.

The silence is deafening. There is only the roar of my blood beating and the quiver of my sex, now fully on display. He just stands there, his eyes narrow, his expression almost fierce. I don’t miss the way his broad chest moves with agitated breaths.

I expect him to touch me. He doesn’t. He stares, his gaze fixated on my sex. And it drives all my awareness to my exposed state, to the fact that the small bud of my clit is throbbing.

He licks his bottom lip as if he’s imagining my taste. When he speaks, it’s a raw demand. “Spread wider.”

I do, wide enough that I feel the strain in the tendons between my thighs.

Still he doesn’t touch me, which drives up my need. I want him to so badly now that I bite the inside of my lip, arch my back just a bit to entice him with my breasts.

That bastard simply gives me an evil look. “You’re dying for it, aren’t you?”

“No,” I whisper. A lie.

He knows it. The corner of his mouth curls as his hand drifts to his belt.

Short of breath and aching, I watch him slowly unfasten his belt, the metal buckle clinking in the silence. He doesn’t unzip immediately but runs the heel of his hand down the significant bulge of his erection.

I have to clench my fists so I don’t reach out and cup him.

The hiss of his zipper lowering buzzes in my ears. I only have eyes for his hand, reaching in to pull out that beautiful cock. Long, hard, thick, a bead of precome glistening on the wide head. I know how smooth his skin is. I know his taste. How well he’ll fill me.

“Do you want this?” he asks.