Best Friends Don't Kiss(68)

I. Fucking. Know.

“You’re so beautiful.” I stare up at her, still on my knees, her naked body on full display before my very eyes. The depths of her blue eyes contain everything I want to see—passion, heat, desire. I let out a deep exhale, and when my warm breath brushes across her, the whites of her eyes roll back ever so slightly, and her lips form a tiny O.

She wants me to touch her.

It’s apparent in her now-ragged breaths, in the way her eyes darken with heat, the way her nipples harden, and the way her fingers grip my shoulders.

Fuck, the things I want to do to this woman. I want my name on her tongue. I want to see the way her eyes look when she comes. I want to feel her and taste her and make her feel things she’s never felt. I want to worship at the temple that is her beautiful body and make it mine.

I want to make her mine.

Not fake. Not pretend. Not just friends. But mine.

Her dark lashes fan over her cheeks as she blinks, still staring down at me.

Her full breasts move up and down with each unsteady pant.

And I just kneel before her, lace still clutched between my fingers, wavering between moving my lips the last few inches—and finally, fucking finally, tasting her—and not rushing this.

My heart threatens to beat out of my fucking chest, while my body wants to react, to give in to the urge, the desire, the want, the fucking chronic need.

But not yet. Not now.

I’m ready, but Ava isn’t ready. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. I just…know her. I always have.

Even though my body is fucking pissed, my mind is made up.

Tenderly, I pull the lace of her underwear the rest of the way up her legs until they cover her completely. And I finish it off by slipping her sleep shorts over her hips.

She continues to watch me, confusion resting in her eyes, but I don’t let that deter me. Instead, I smile and stand up to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“All set,” I whisper against her skin.

And then, I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth and get myself ready for bed.

My balls might be fucking blue in the morning, but the seed has been planted.

I want to make her mine.





December 25th, Christmas Day

Ava



With strong arms wrapped around my waist and my back pressed against a firm chest, warm skin blankets me. I am cozy, comfortable, cocooned.

I could stay right here for an eternity, and I don’t think I’d ever grow tired of it.

But my human blanket has other plans.

“Time to wake up, Ava,” Luke’s voice whispers into my ear, but I keep my eyes closed and shake my head.

“Nope.” Lord knows, my desire to stay in bed is warranted. After Luke helped me “get dressed” for bed last night, his hands and his eyes teasing and taunting me until I thought I’d spontaneously combust, sleep didn’t come easy.

It took me hours to turn my freaking brain off and for my body to stop vibrating with pent-up sexual frustration.

Frankly, I don’t know why he did what he did or why he didn’t do what I really wanted him to do, but it would take a lobotomy for me to forget about it. For me to forget the way he looked at me. The way his voice sounded when he told me I’m beautiful.

His words are forever ingrained in my mind.

And your heart. And hell, let’s be real, your little beaver too.

I am now acutely aware that I have either already broken or want to break every damn rule on my Best Friends Don’t List. With my eyes still closed, I visualize that list and go down each number, taking inventory of my crimes.

Kiss? Guilty.

See each other naked? Also guilty.

Have sex? Want to be guilty so bad that I’d volunteer as tribute to make my orange prison jumpsuit.

Catch feelings? Oh boy.

Oh boy? You should’ve been in handcuffs about fifteen years ago, sister.

I think I might be in trouble.

Big “I think I’m falling for my best friend” trouble.

“Ava?” Luke’s voice is in my ear again. “Did you forget that it’s Christmas?”

“Nope.”

With his chin resting on my elbow, his soft chuckles vibrate against the skin of my bare shoulder. “Not only is it Christmas, but it looks like you got your wish.”

I peer one eye open. “What wish?”

“Snow.”

That urges both of my eyes to pop open. Instantly, I turn toward my bedroom window and glance over Luke’s shoulder. Through the panes of glass, I spot the thick white flakes drifting from the sky. They shimmer and dance in the light of morning as they descend past the window and toward the ground.

Snow.

“A white Christmas after all,” Luke whispers, now lying back on the bed.

“I knew Vermont wouldn’t disappoint,” I say, a sleepy smile consuming my face, and lean forward to rest my chin on his bare chest, still staring out the window.

“I took a look at the ole itinerary, and it appears we have quite the day ahead of us,” he teases, a smile cresting up the corners of his lips.

“You ready to experience a Lucie family Christmas?” I turn my head to the side, now resting my cheek against his chest, and meet his amused face.

Luke gazes down at me, reaching out to brush a few rogue pieces of blond hair off my forehead. “Is anyone really ready to experience a Christmas run by Guy Lucie?”