Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) (30 page)

I start rubbing her with the palm of my hand. Rough, mean strokes. And moans leave her in a low and hesitant way, her eyebrows turning upward.

Her breathing picks up, her hips angle toward me. And I'm so fucking hard I'm about to bust a hole through my jeans. Without thinking, I pull my hand away from her and slam the bulge in my pants between her legs. She cries out. Her legs wrap around my waist as I start grinding against her.

How the fuck does this feel so good? All I'm doing is rubbing my hard-on against her through my clothes. But the movements scratch an itch I can't describe. And the way her body reacts to feeling me makes it so I could come in my pants any second, just listening to her moaning.
 

Her hands grip my shirt, pulling my body down as her hips jut up, grinding desperately. Her eyes are glued to mine and I watch her pleasure. I see it in the flutter of her lashes, the rounding of her mouth, her long moan.

We're nose to nose and her warm breath is on my lips. Somehow, I know she'll turn her face away again if I try to kiss her. So I keep my lips right over hers, feeling the prickle of the slight touch.

I bring my finger to her mouth, the same finger that was inside of her, and trace the curves of her lower lip, tugging it down a little until her mouth opens.

She closes her eyes and just as my finger starts to make its way into her mouth, the sound of a lock clicking makes us both jerk apart.
 

I sit back and she rushes to sit up. The front door opens and just before Ava comes into view, I pull one of the throw pillows onto my lap. Julia, somehow sensing what I'm trying to hide, or maybe trying to accentuate casualness, throws her legs over the pillow—which makes me bite back a groan as pain shoots through my crotch. She starts laughing, a loud and genuine laugh, which somehow serves as the perfect sound to break the awkward silence.
 

Ava turns the corner of the entryway to see us sitting on the couch, me against the backrest, and Julia leaning on the armrest with her legs thrown over me. I think we look like a perfectly platonic pair of friends. Maybe.
 

Still, Ava freezes when she sees us. "What are you guys up to?"

That's when I realize there are moaning sounds coming from the television. Julia and I may have been interrupted, but the actors on the screen are very much eager to carry on.

Julia answers before I can, "Watching a movie. George Clooney is getting some action. Want to join?"

Ava looks at the screen for a while then shakes her head. "I've got an early day tomorrow."

She goes to the kitchen and fixes herself something to eat. Julia and I don't look at each other. I'm sure she's bright red right now and I'm going to burst into laughter if I do look at her.

"You guys are still in for the baseball game next week, right?" Ava asks as she settles down at the table.

"You know I'll be there," I say, turning to Julia for her response. She's not looking at me, but tenses at my attention.
 

Clearing her throat, she says, "
Uh
…Yeah, me too. Sounds fun."

It takes Ava twenty-five minutes to eat and head off to her room. By then, my blood has flushed the lust from my veins.

"Julia—"

"
Shh
," she says, nodding at the screen.

She doesn't look at me, though the skin over her collarbone is still pink and every inch of her seems aware of our physical closeness. There's an echo in the silence between us, a reminder of the delicious noises she made when my hard dick rubbed against her through our clothes.
 

Who knows how far we would've gone if we hadn't been interrupted. Julia can sit there and avoid my eyes if that's what she needs to gather herself, but it's obvious we both gave in to a deep urge we've been battling for a long time now. The urge to be on each other, to feel each other. We both gave in at exactly the same time, silently admitting that maybe we can't overlook our attraction after all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Julia

T
HEY
SAY
THE
FIRST
step to solving a problem is recognizing there's a problem to solve. Here's mine…

Every time Giles lays a hand on my side, as we cuddle close for sleep, his fingers absentmindedly caress the exposed skin of my back. And with each stroke, my thoughts grow desperately feral. Heat gallops over me, trampling, and makes it hard for me to think straight.
 

Last night? I almost came from him rubbing himself on me. What in the hell were we thinking? I felt lightheaded afterward, completely outside of my own body. Then, I went to bed in my own room. Giles didn't even say anything about it. I think he understood that I needed time to think. I'm so overwhelmed between what my mind tells me I should do, my fear of making another big mistake, and the undeniable way my body surrenders to his touch.

I wish so badly Lex's belief was true, when she said falling for someone was a decision you made. But with Giles, the only decision I remember making was to be his friend. Everything else has been out of my control.
 

The heart doesn't ask for permission and it doesn't check for boundaries. It's selfish and reckless, just wanting and demanding, consequences be damned.

And now I'm here, having to deal with the questions and the gray areas and the uncertainty. It's clear we make amazing friends. It's clear neither of us wants to jeopardize that. But it's also clear we've fallen into a wedge where we can't seem to move in either direction. We've created a norm that's completely abnormal. Friends don't sleep the way we do. Friends don't look at each other the way we do.
 

The question is obvious: do we give in to the momentum our bodies have started? We've grown so intimate, and yet not intimate enough. We know the feel of each other, and still there's so much left unexplored.
 

I don't want to think about him being with anyone else, but does he want to be? Are our nights together keeping him from pursuing satisfaction from other places? It seems so, from what he's told me. I've never explicitly asked him if he's been with other girls, terrified of what I might hear, but he has told me on more than one occasion he hasn't even been tempted. But how long will that last? If we continue to deny ourselves physical gratification, will we be forced to seek it elsewhere?

The thought makes my stomach turn on end. Some other woman underneath him, some other woman laying her head on his bare chest, breathing him in, letting his voice drum over her. No. I just can't let it happen. I'm being unfair, wanting him in the ways that make me feel comfortable, while keeping myself from having to face what I'm afraid of.

You're waiting to have sex again because you're scared, but the longer you wait, the more terrified you'll be…

Lex is the only person I can talk to about this. But there's so much I've been keeping from her. She has come to be my closest friend and saying something aloud to her would leave me no choice but to face it.
 

After what happened last night, after Giles nearly bringing me to orgasm while entirely clothed, I'm forced to admit I can't keep holding onto this dynamite stick and calling it a candle.
 

But it's Friday night and I haven't been able to talk to Lex until now that my shift is over. I head back to her office, where we usually share a drink and decompress from the workday, and I tell her everything. Once I start talking, I can't stop, it all tumbles out of my lips, thought after thought.
 

She watches me in bemused shock, hanging on to every detail. Those details even surprise me, how I describe nights with Giles and how close we've gotten. What it does to me, how crazy it makes me, how good it feels to be around him. The things he says, the things I'm dying to confess. The things we don't do, and the things I wish we did.

"I don't get it," Lex says. "It's obvious you both want something more. What are you so afraid of? And don't give me that bullshit about not wanting to ruin the friendship. You two have crossed the point of no return, but you're just standing on the other side and pretending you haven't."

I rub the space between my brows, already feeling the nerves and anxiousness at the thought of what I want to do.

"All right, I'm nervous. I know I'm not a virgin anymore, but I still feel like I am, sometimes. He's so experienced, Lex. I've only ever had sex once, and that was a joke. An embarrassing, awkward, awful joke. What if I'm terrible at it? What if he realizes we don't gel that way and then everything's ruined?"

Lex laughs. It's not like her to laugh at me when I'm obviously distressed, but her laughter makes me realize how ridiculous I sound. I shut my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Look, you're nervous. It's understandable. Your one and only experience with sex is the type of nightmare story they tell in health class to keep kids abstinent. Except you didn't get an STD and die, though that would've probably been less embarrassing than what happened to you."

"What am I supposed to do? How do I move forward with this?"

"Are you on birth control?" she asks, her tone soft and motherly.

I run a finger over the skin just below where my sleeve ends, where I can feel the tiny lump. "I am. But it's just this weird thing inside my arm, reminding me that if I have sex, everyone I know might get an email with attached footage."

"Can we be serious for a minute?"

"Okay…"

"You need to get condoms."

"He has them, I'm sure—"

"No," Lex cuts in. "Don't just assume that. You need to keep them in your purse and to take them with you everywhere you go. You never know when…the opportunity might strike."

"Fine," I say, "I'll get them and I'll keep them in my purse. Then I'll…what, show up in his bed, naked, and wait for him to make a move? What if this isn't what he wants?"

"Trust me, it's what he wants."

"What if…" I trail off at the sight of Lex leaning back in her seat, shaking her head.
 

"It's like you're scared of being the one to make the decision," she observes. "Don't ask for permission to go after what you want. You don't need it. Not from anyone."

"Good thing I'm shaved," I blurt out.

Lex throws her head back and laughs at me. When she gathers herself again, she asks, "Are you going to do it tonight?"

"Probably not. We're having a party at our house—oh, hey, you should come."
 

"House parties are just not my scene."
 

"I forget, you're twenty-something going on fifty-something." She responds with a half-shrug and I go on, "Anyway, my point is… chances are we'll both be drinking and that's not how I want it to happen."

She nods her agreement. "A drunk lover is a sloppy lover. You don't want two disastrous sex experiences in a row."

I groan and sink in my chair. "No pressure, right?"