Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(41)

Guilt had engulfed me as I’d come to grasp that reality.

The source of my heartache was no longer Mia.

It was Liv.

Had I been sober, that would have been the moment I went to bed. Maybe get my head straight. Go talk to Till in the morning about what the hell was going on, see if he had any grand advice—which would probably just end with him making fun of me.

I wasn’t sober though, so I’d started flirting with her all over again.

And, now, I was standing in the breezeway, holding my breath, wishing I weren’t such a f*cking mental case.

I was sick and tired of feeling like I shouldn’t want her.

There was nothing anyone could say to change my mind. I needed to man the f*ck up and talk to her. Explain why I’d been so weird the last few months. Hell, maybe she’d be receptive of my new feelings.

Or, more than likely, she’d be freaked the f*ck out.

I wouldn’t lose her though. I was positive of that. Liv wouldn’t let my misguided feelings ruin us.

No. Our demise would ultimately be because I couldn’t let her go.

To me, my feelings weren’t misguided. They weren’t weird. And they definitely weren’t wrong. I wasn’t a fool for wanting her as my own.

I was finally realizing what I should have known fourteen years earlier when I’d first laid eyes on her.

Liv James had never been just my best friend.

No matter what I’d told myself.

With new resolve, I squared my shoulders and headed back to my door. I would listen to any story she wanted to tell me about the past—especially the ones where she’d touched herself with thoughts of me. Because, when things went south—and, in my life, things always went south—those stories would be all I got of Liv.

I had her friendship.

I wanted more.

And, in that moment, I realized I wanted it all.

Pushing the door to our apartment open, I made the decision that I was done waiting to get over my feelings.

I was acting on them.

Right.

Now.

At the sight of Liv passed out on the carpet, I amended my timeline.

Tomorrow. I’d act on my feelings tomorrow.

After scooping her into my arms, I carried her down the hall to her bedroom. She was out of it, but she still curled into me, nuzzling my neck with a moan.

Gently placing her on the bed, I took one last eyeful and then dragged the covers over her. Pressing play on the iPad she kept connected to a set of small speakers, I drove out the silence with her favorite ’80s playlist.

“Quarry?” she called over the intro to Phil Collins’s In the Air Tonight.

“Yeah.”

She stretched before tucking into a ball. “You ’kay?”

“I will be tomorrow. Just get some sleep.” You’ll need it.

“Mmmhmm,” she purred. “Later, Q.”

I chuckled. “Later, Rocky.”





“LIV,” I BREATHED AS HER ass glided against my cock.

With a deep groan, I snaked my hand out to squeeze the delicate curve of her hip—partly to stop her tortuous rhythm, partly to urge her faster.

Rocking, she continued an unapologetic assault.

After teasing my way under her shirt, I kneaded her large breast. When my palm came in contact with her nipple, I switched my focus. Rolling the tight tip between my thumb and forefinger, I increased the pressure as her hips sped in response.

“Fuck,” I cursed, releasing her tit. I glided my hand down her flat stomach and into her panties.

She shifted to her back, her legs falling open in invitation. A growl vibrated in my throat when I reached her slick, wet heat.

One stroke down and I dampened my fingers before sliding back up in search of her clit. Rough circles followed by gentle taps, I worked her until her hips angled up, guiding me toward her opening.

This was where all the dreams had ended. The ones that kept me up night after night yet still managed to send me to bed praying for them to invade my mind. I supposed it was fitting. Some deep-seated but not-so-hidden feelings must have been screwing with my subconscious. Taunting me about having parts of Liv but not being able to have her all. I’d touched her body in my dreams a thousand times, but never once had I been inside her.

Tonight was different though.

With a hiss through gritted teeth, I sank my finger deep into her heat.

The tight sheath of her body was too much, and it drew me awake.

Battling against consciousness, I fought to remain in my dream-world. But it was one opponent I was no match for. My eyes slowly opened.

The strain of my aching cock was nothing new to wake up to.

However, the woman I was knuckle deep inside was something else altogether.

“What the….” I whisper-yelled, yanking my hand away.

Oh, but it got worse.

Taking a quick inventory, I realized that I was in my bed, slightly hungover, and thirsty as hell.

Oh, f*ck.

My pulse spiked as I glanced down at the woman at my side.

Pink sleep shorts.

White tank top, lifted, exposing one perfect breast complete with a dark, peaked nipple calling for my tongue to lave over it.

Her head was resting on my outstretched arm, and her chest was evenly rising and falling. Long, brown hair covered her face, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt who it was.