HIS NOSTRILS FLARE, as if he’s sucking in a silent gasp, but he’s outwardly calm and so controlled. My friend has a sexy alpha side... My entire body feels stiff enough to snap. Not that I want to escape but, now this moment is here, the actual realisation of all my hopes and dreams, I’m a physical and mental wreck. So high on longing and the thick thud of desire, I can almost imagine the orgasm he claims to be able to deliver.
‘Fact one about orgasms,’ Oliver says huskily, his full, sensual lips only inches from mine. ‘They start in your mind.’
I look up from his mouth and the expectation of his kiss, my stare clinging to his for fear I’ll pass out before we even get to the good stuff. Because bedroom Oliver is even more confident than when he’s running his multi-billion-pound company. I went to a tech conference with him once in Silicon Valley, where he’d been invited as a speaker. His intelligence and authority was so hot, I’d had to leave before the end of his talk to rub one out on the bathroom.
‘Close your eyes,’ he says, voice low and seductive as he woos my body to his will. ‘Let me paint you a picture.’
I obey his hypnotic words, although I don’t want to miss one second of the look of lust on his face. I’d walk over hot coals for him on any given day, so on this day, where I’m so close to the fulfilment of my deepest fantasy, I’m his to command. One hundred per cent.
When he speaks again, I’m so attuned to every nuance of his voice—as if I’m hearing it for the first time, so heightened are my senses—that every word is audible over the sound of my own ragged breathing.
‘It’s hell watching you walk around in these sexy bikinis,’ he says, his breath warm on my cheek. ‘I don’t know what’s happened, because I’ve seen you in a bikini too many times to count, but I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you, off your gorgeous body, since we arrived.’
My neck collapses, my head falling back, a gasp of ecstasy floating past my parted lips at his arousing confession. I’m petite, curvaceous. Why have I never known that he thinks my body is gorgeous? His poker face must be a good as mine.
He lifts my glasses from my face and I fight the urge to open my eyes. ‘I want to see what’s underneath these tiny triangles,’ he says, his dark voice vibrating the air between us.
Moisture gushes between my legs. I want to show him. How can he do this to me with his voice alone? With his ordinary words? But to me, they’re not ordinary.
‘I want to taste the sweet little nipples I see poking through the fabric,’ he says, his warm breath now feathering over my neck, my collarbone, as if he’s about to take off my T-shirt and bikini top to do exactly that.
‘I want to know if you’re wet while I stand here speaking my dirty thoughts aloud.’
I am, oh God, I really am.
I grip his fingers more tightly because I feel faint with desire.
He hums a sexy noise in his throat. ‘I want to drop to my knees right now and suck on all that heat and sweetness. And I will. Soon.’
My pants grow frantic, as if I’m a vixen in heat. I want to open my eyes, to see the lust I hear in his smoky voice. I’ve never been this turned on before, and he hasn’t really touched me yet, but I don’t want to break the spell. I’m high on the promise in his voice, which I’ve waited so long to hear.
Wave after wave of delicious spasms clutch at my core muscles. I might actually come standing here. With him touching nothing more than my hand and my mind with his aphrodisiac words. How can he do this to me? And why did I wait all these years to be this brave?
‘But more than any of that,’ he whispers, worming his way deeper into my mind, ‘I want this.’ The heat of his breath registers on my lips a split second before his firm kiss lands, and I go into meltdown. With an impatient grunt, he drops my hand to grip both sides of my face and holds me still, captive, enraptured, while his firm, thrilling kiss directs my pliant lips apart. His tongue delves inside my mouth at the same time his leg slides between my legs, my sarong parting so the only thing between my very wet crotch and fizzing clit and his muscular thigh is two thin layers of fabric.
My pulse whooshes in my head; I’m kissing Oliver.
As if my brain is jolted with electricity, I snap out of the seductive trance he put me in the minute he touched my hand. My eyes snap open to see his swimming before me, out of focus but bold with triumph and challenge. I could die happy right now, because I’ve taken that giant leap, I’ve made something happen.
His strong arm scoops around my waist, hauling my body up and mashing my tingling breasts to his hard chest, so I feel the bar through his nipple. I’m desperate to discover if it’s sensitive for him. My tongue pushes against his, a mewl forcing its way from the back of my throat as I claim the kiss I’ve only dreamed of for nine years. It’s everything I imagined and more. A first, but somehow familiar, because he’s no stranger. I know him inside out. And I want him with terrifying ferocity.
My hands tangle in his hair, fighting to bring me closer to the source of such wrecking pleasure as Oliver Coterill’s kiss.
I want it never to end. I want to rush it along. I want so many things, I’m practically levitating, only the tips of my toes grounding me to the timber floor.
Then my analytical mind starts a placard-waving demonstration. I scrunch my eyes closed in the hope of silencing the protests. I don’t want to see sense. I don’t want to think of all the reasons that this shagging my best friend dooms me to a lifetime of heartache. I just want him. Just one time before I abandon my futile crush for good and give up my fantasy.
Because there’s been a secret, shameful part of me convinced I’ve held something back from past boyfriends, as if waiting for this moment. For my shot with Oliver. Perhaps I even sabotaged my own past relationships, holding out for this long-coveted eventuality. Perhaps that’s the reason my exes were jealous of our friendship; they saw what I tried to conceal.
And Oliver’s right. I want to experience the amazing sex everyone talks about. That it might be with him, is too perfect to contemplate.
Without breaking the kiss, Oliver releases my face to work on the knot of my sarong. My lips cling to his like limpets, my arms so tight around his neck, I might inadvertently strangle him. But if I let go he might change his mind. I might change mine. That he wants me, that he’s actually fumbling to get me naked and it’s not just a figment of my rampant libido and overactive imagination, already makes this the best sexual encounter of my experience.
His mouth tears from mine, his head bent closer while he struggles with the knotted fabric.
‘Let me,’ I say, swatting at his fingers. ‘Take off your shorts.’ I’m almost too afraid to see him naked—the experience will likely be life-threatening. And he’ll see me—uncharted territory.
He abandons the knot in the sarong and steps back. ‘Oh, no. There’s no way we’re rushing this.’ He lifts the hem of my T-shirt at the same moment I free the knot around my waist. With a whoosh of falling fabric, and a tantalising glide of his knuckles over my waist and ribs as he divests me of the T-shirt, I’m back to just my tiny red bikini—my lucky charm. For all the heat in his stare as he eyes me up and down, I might as well be naked.
My knees knock. I’m going to let Oliver see me naked.
‘We’ll get to the good stuff,’ he says with a hint of his teasing smile. He grips my face once more and slides his mouth over mine. ‘But first you need warming up.’
I thought men couldn’t multi-task, but Oliver is a pro. His lips never leave mine as he manoeuvres me, inching me back to the bed. My thighs hit the mattress and I collapse backward, clinging to his waist to pull him down on top of me.
It’s a ‘sprawl of limbs, clash of teeth and grunt of laughter’ moment, but then his arm scoops my waist and he rolls me on top of him, my body in contact with his hardness from breasts to thighs.
I drag my mouth from his, every inch of me on fire. ‘I’m warm, trust me.’
‘Good,’ he says, his hands gripping my buttocks.
Laid under me, his hair desecrated by my hands and his eyes dark with desire, he doesn’t look like my Oliver. But he’s never looked hotter. And, considering he rocks business suits like a Hollywood heartthrob, wears jeans and a T-shirt well enough to make designers weep and struts his board shorts like he’s modelling surf wear, that’s no mean feat.
I push up onto my haunches, kneeling astride his thighs for a better view of his sculpted chest and abdomen. That’s when I see the thick rod of his erection for the first time I actually whimper behind the hand pressed to my mouth.
‘Oh...’ My words dry up as I salivate, blatantly staring at the object of so many of my fantasies. A taboo object, which until now has been as shrouded in mystery as the Bermuda Triangle.
His sensual mouth, slightly swollen from our kisses, stretches. ‘It’s showing off—ignore it.’
That he talks about his penis in the third person makes me want to laugh, make jokes, start some of our usual banter, but I want him too much for levity. The fact that he’s here with me with that snake in his shorts, and that he’s mine to touch and kiss as I please, starts a series of body-racking trembles.
Desperation makes me a little fractious. ‘I thought the whole point of this was that, for once, I didn’t have to ignore it. In fact, I thought I could lavish all my attention on it.’ I deliberately lick and then bite my bottom lip.
His pupils dilate, his breath coming faster. ‘You’ve had to ignore it in the past?’ The look of mild incredulity on his face confirms my excellent acting skills.
I shrug. ‘I’m a woman, you’re a guy... Not that I’ve ever seen it showing off before, of course.’
He smiles, a hint of his friend smile hidden behind the lust transforming his features into those of a man I don’t recognise. ‘Well, you can lavish all the attention you like on it,’ he says. ‘Just not yet.’
My sulk evaporates when he reaches up and unties the bikini strap at the nape of my neck. ‘The first thirty minutes are all about you.’ He peels down the triangles and my breasts spill free, just like that, my nipples peeking out, as if they don’t know we’re supposed to be just friends.
‘Thirty minutes...?’ I croak. Won’t it all be over after ten? We’ll probably be snorkelling in thirty minutes...him satiated and me still wondering if there’s something wrong with me...
No. I trust that he’s good at this. He’s had enough practice. All I have to do is surrender to his plan.
‘Mmm-hmm. Lean forward,’ he says.
I brace my arms on either side of his head on the bed, my freed breasts dangling. I have a fleeting thought that it’s not the most flattering angle, but then Oliver does two things that blank my mind. One, he cups my aching breasts in his warm hands and, two, he jerks his hips up from the bed, as if he can’t keep still, the thick ridge of his erection bumping my clit and making my eyes roll back.
‘Argh...’ I love this plan. Best plan ever.
‘Tell me.’ His thumbs rub my nipples in small circles, his big hands cupping and caressing. ‘Are you feeling turned on?’ Another tilt of his pelvis. Another nudge of my clit.
Turned on? I’m molten. He’ll feel my heat, my soaking bikini crotch. He’ll know it’s for him... But we crossed the line where I hide my raging attraction to him long ago.
‘Yes.’ I open my eyes to see him studying me with fascination. ‘I was turned on before you walked in here.’
His nod is lazy, his eyes hooded as if he expected that answer and is picturing what he interrupted in the bathroom.
‘What do you think about when you use those toys you love?’ he asks. ‘And don’t you dare say nothing, because I won’t believe you.’
I flush—I feel the heat spreading across my skin like a tidal wave. This is Oliver... He rolls each nipple between his thumbs and forefingers, the bite of pressure enough to make me forget everything but how good he’s making me feel. I’m so aroused by what he’s doing and the way he’s looking at me, as if he can’t wait to put that magnificent penis inside me, that my mind forges ahead with blatant honesty.
‘You.’ I realise my mistake immediately and bite down on my lip to engage some filters. ‘I imagine you making all your women come hard enough to release those screams I’ve heard through the walls.’
‘And?’ he says, his fingers stroking and pinching at my nipples in perfect synchronicity so that I’m gasping.
I want to hide from being this vulnerable with him, but I don’t want him to stop what he’s doing. I look deep into his eyes. ‘And I imagine it’s me you make scream. Me you make come.’
Fire rages through me, scalding, scorching. But there’s no room for shame or awkwardness because his pupils flare, his stare burning hot. ‘I will. More than once.’
I close my eyes. I love this confident side of Oliver. That his commanding conviction extends beyond business to the bedroom fills me with trickles of hope and excitement that, this time, I might just make it over the finish line.
My hand makes a dive for his erection, but he intercepts, gripping my wrist. ‘Twenty-seven minutes until you get anywhere near the contents of my shorts,’ he says, his voice gruff, body strung taut beneath me. He abandons my breast and grips my hips in his hands, grinding me over his hard length, meeting the helpless undulations of my hips with small thrusts. Teasing. Tempting.
I release a frustrated yelp and slide my lips down his neck to his nipple piercing, which I flick with my tongue until his fingers dig into my skin.
Oliver tugs the side ties on my bikini bottoms and peels fabric away from my backside, his hands grasping and massaging the bare cheeks of my arse. Then he pulls the front of the bikini until I push up onto my knees a fraction, the whole garment sliding between my legs with a scrape of fabric over my most sensitive parts.
He tosses the bottoms and releases the final tie on the top at my back, throwing it after its partner, so I’m now completely naked astride him. At the mercy of his fierce stare and exploring hands.
‘This isn’t fair,’ I choke out as he roams my nakedness freely with eyes and hands. I want to see all of him too.
‘Who said it had to be fair?’ Giving my hips one final grind onto his erection, he jack-knifes up into a sitting position with a crunch of his sexy abs so that we’re nose to nose. ‘Kiss me,’ he says in his husky voice.
No second time of asking required. I forget I’m stark-naked astride my friend’s lap, drape my arms over his broad shoulders, tangle my fingers in his hair and go to town on his mouth, my heart thumping that I’m allowed to kiss him, touch him. Will I ever be able to stop? To go back just to watching his mouth move when he talks and recall how it tastes?
No. No time travelling. Enjoy the moment.
We kiss for what feels like an hour, me naked and writhing in his lap and him displaying a degree of restraint and patience I hadn’t believed possible from my highly sexed friend.
If he wasn’t intermittently grunting and moaning, his cock rock-hard between my legs, I might have thought he was bored. I’ve never known a guy to turn down dick action. For thirty minutes!
‘Oliver...’ I moan, need building in me like steam.
‘Tell me how it feels.’ His familiar face is almost unrecognisable, slack with desire, his lips swollen and eyes hooded but penetrating.
I can’t keep still, my hips jerking on his lap. ‘I’m burning up. I need you.’ My mind clears from the lust fog and I realise I’m actually close. Amazingly, unbelievable close. As if a stroke or two of my clit could carry me over the edge. But surely not? It can’t be that easy.
But I’ve been here before, the high elusive, my orgasm building only to fade away again.
But he hasn’t even touched me there yet, only my breasts. And his kisses.
He must hear my thoughts, because he slides one hand between my legs, his other a vice around my back, as if he doesn’t want me to get away.
But why would I go anywhere? I’m exactly where I want to be. He’s still wearing his shorts—there’s been zero penetration—but already it’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
He stares at my face while his fingertips slide over my mons, my skin sensitive thanks to the full Brazilian wax I had for the holiday. I grip his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, anticipation coiling in my belly. And I can’t look away from his eye contact, even though I’m burning alive at the unchartered intimacy.
He grazes my clit with his fingertip, bolts of electrical current zapping along my thighs. ‘Tell me what you like.’
I nod, so desperate now to know if his skills, his boasts, are justified. ‘Touch me again. Like that,’ I say, beyond caring that my voice is a breathy pant and I’m barking sexual orders at my best friend.
Another glide of his fingertips, and then another. Delicate circles growing in pressure until it’s too much to bear and I throw my head back on a desperate cry.
He pushes a finger inside me, then a second, his thumb still circling my clit, and then his facial scruff scrapes the skin of my breast, his mouth devours my nipple and I clench in a violent spasm around his fingers.
‘Yes... Oliver...’
This is happening. It’s really happening... I’m so close, and not a battery in sight.
He sucks down hard, pressing my nipple flat between his tongue and the roof of his mouth before releasing it to the rapid lap of the tip of his tongue. I look down, watch his mouth on my breast, feel his hand doing incredible things between my legs, and the tension builds.
‘Harder,’ I say. ‘Suck me harder.’ And he nips at my nipple with the barest scrape of his teeth.
Fire races along my nerves, thick, languid heat pooling in my pelvis, a desperate empty feeling deep inside.
‘I want you inside me,’ I manage huskily.
‘Not yet.’ His tone is final.
‘Suck harder, then!’ I gasp, my hips joining the rhythm of his pumping fingers. He obeys, his mouth clamped down on my nipple, pushing a third finger inside me and pressing his thumb down on my clit.
And then he looks up, his eyes searing into mine while his mouth is at work, the contact bold and intimate, and the final catalyst igniting my pleasure.
‘Oliver...’ His name is all I can utter before I fall. The waves of sensation batter my weak body, spasm after miraculous spasm wracking my internal muscles.
I buck and jerk in his lap, both seeking and avoiding the heavenly pleasure, but his grip around my waist shackles me, so I’m his puppet until the last wave smacks my spent body and I slump forward with a strangled plea.
‘Enough...enough!’ I’m limp in his arms, collapsed against his broad chest, his scruff scraping my shoulder and neck as he nuzzles his mouth over my skin.
‘I’d say that’s one orgasm down, one point to us, wouldn’t you?’ I feel his heart thudding against mine, feel his smile against my neck. I can see it in my mind’s eye—smug, playful, those grooves bracketing his beautiful mouth.
I want to call his bluff, to pretend I faked it, to wipe away the arrogance I’m certain is on his face. But, even if I hadn’t all but snapped off his fingers with the force of my orgasmic spasms, I’m too wrecked to do more than offer a lame huff of protest.
I have nothing to say. My mind’s blessedly blank. I can’t believe what just happened. With Oliver, of all people.
But then another thought occurs to me, sending my heart leaping into my throat. Because before this one time is over I have a few more demands. I straighten and look him straight in the eyes—although he’s a little blurry because I’m not wearing my glasses—and test out my croaky voice.
‘Now I get to touch your penis.’