More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(59)

The pang of envy deep inside me doesn’t go unnoticed.

“So Amanda.” Jordan’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I meet his gaze once more.

“Yeah?”

“Got anything else on under my jersey?” he asks.

Oh. I lift my chin, hoping for confident. Probably failing miserably. What’s the point of arguing when we’re just going to end up tangled together anyway? That’s what I want. I think he wants it too.

“Maybe you should do a little exploring and find out for yourself.”

His expression turns thunderous and he grabs hold of my waist just as I try to get away from him. He pulls me in, his hands immediately diving beneath the hem of his jersey and grabbing hold of my butt.

“Still got your panties on,” he murmurs as those big hands grab hold of both cheeks and gives them a squeeze. A shuddery sigh escapes me, and when he slips his hands underneath my panties and touches bare skin, I close my eyes. Press my lips together to contain the moan that wants to spill out.

“Jordan,” I whisper, but he kisses me silent. It’s an aggressive kiss, full of tongue and heat and we’re only a few seconds in before he breaks away from my eager lips and hauls me over his shoulder, carrying me caveman-style out of his closet and straight for his bed.

Now I’m yelling his name in protest. Pounding on his back with my fists. He ignores me, his hand coming up to smack me lightly on the butt, and I hiss out a breath, nearly fainting at the way he gently caresses my backside right after he slapped it.

This is getting weird.

He tosses me on the bed and follows me down, so he’s hovering above me, his face in mine, my back flat on the mattress. “You’re loud,” he tells me. “My mom might hear you.”

My eyes go wide. I would die if she barged in here to see what was going on. Just…die. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Gonna have keep your mouth covered if you can’t keep quiet,” he says with a smirk, those expert hands of his tunneling up the inside of the jersey, touching me in all the right places.

I close my eyes, a little moan escaping me when he traces my lacy bra, and he lightly clamps his hand across my mouth, silencing me. My eyes flash open to find him watching me carefully.

“Shhh,” he whispers, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “Quiet, baby.”

I melt at him calling me baby. This entire situation is weird yet hot. He’s using a little force on me—just enough to scare me, but not enough to make me run screaming from his room. I try my best to calm my breathing, my racing heart, our gazes never straying from each other’s. When he slowly lifts his hand away from my face, he leans in and kisses me. Surprisingly, it’s gentle. A mere brushing of lips on lips, and I feel that simple kiss all the way to my curled toes.

He keeps kissing me, and it’s nice, more than nice. But I want more. I become restless. I lift my hips against his knee and he shifts away, breaking the kiss to slowly shake his head. “No grinding on my knee tonight. I want to touch you.”

My insides tremble. I want him to touch me too. Jordan shifts away from me and takes off the jersey I’m wearing, his fingers sliding over my stomach, between my breasts, along my collarbone. When he undoes the front clasp of my bra, he takes it off, sliding the scrap of lace down my arms and tossing it on the floor. And then he’s kissing my chest, cupping my breasts, stroking and sucking and doing all sorts of wondrous things that make me want to scream.

I must get close to screaming because his hand is back on my mouth, keeping me mute. I let him keep it there, closing my eyes when his other hand drifts down, caressing my stomach, smoothing over one hipbone, then the other, just before he dives his fingers down the front of my panties.

And that’s almost all it takes. He touches me there, so carefully at first, so tentatively that I almost want to shout at him more. But I remain quiet, his hand still loosely covering the lower half of my face, his other hand in my panties. I squirm against his touch, spreading my thighs, inviting him in, and he takes the invitation. Stroking me, testing me, slipping one thick finger inside me…

“Oh God.” The words are muffled behind his hand and he removes it, kissing me again, before he slides his lips down to my throat, behind my ear. I wince when his fingers fumble, a distressed noise leaving me, and he pauses. Goes completely still.

“Did I hurt you?” He sounds worried.

I shake my head. Shift my hips. “Not really.”

His mouth is at my ear. “Tell me what you like.”

I absolutely cannot answer that. Please. I am way too new at this sex thing and he is Jordan Tuttle, the sex god.

“Tell me, Mandy.” He kisses my ear. Nibbles it. Makes me squirm again. “I want to know what you like.”

“I don’t know,” I finally tell him, mumbling so low I hope he doesn’t hear me. Which is dumb, but I’m feeling so inept. So inexperienced compared to him. He’s been with so many girls. A countless list of girls I don’t want to think about. They’ve been with him like this, wrapped up in his arms like this, his mouth on theirs, his hands…everywhere.

I hate to think about it. So I push all of those negative thoughts out of my head and focus on right now.

Jordan is persistent. He touches me in different spots, asking if I like it. And when he touches one spot in particular that makes me see a few sparkly stars in my peripheral vision, I tell him don’t stop. I might’ve even begged him. He increases his pace and, with his other hand, tugs my panties down past my hips, to my thighs, until I’m helping him and kicking them off myself. I am completely naked with Jordan in his bed, his fingers between my thighs, and I am so close to exploding I’m afraid I might fall completely apart.