My stomach drops. It’s my condo, and Jack can get his ass out.
"No,” Marshal says, “I don’t want you at a bar with a stranger, but, Sami..."
I take a step back and reach for the hem of my shirt. Pulling it over my head, I watch as Marshal's blue eyes grow in proportion to his cock as his gaze is suddenly glued to my boobs. They're big and round and pushed upward in my pink Victoria's Secret bra. "Either I'm going to crawl into your bed and have a sleepover with my best friend" —I reach for the button on my jeans— "or my best friend is going to need to tell me to leave, and I guess I'll look for somewhere else to stay because I sure as hell can’t go back to my condo tonight."
Marshal runs his hand through his light brown hair as he watches my next move.
"What will it be?" I shimmy out of my jeans and leave them on his floor near my shirt. "Are you going to kick me out?"
"I don't want to be a get-even fuck, Sami."
My head tilts to the side. “Really? You’ve never been in this situation before?”
“Not with you. You’re different.”
Marshal Michaels has never turned down sex, no matter the reason.
I take a deep breath, reach up, and stroke his chiseled jaw. "I don’t want this to get even.” My head shakes. “Jack can screw whomever he wants. What I want isn’t about him. It’s about me. And” —I separate each word for emphasis— “This. Won't. Change. A. Thing."
"Our agreement?" he asks again with more uncertainty in his voice.
"Let's have a new agreement?"
For only a moment, I remember all the effort, all the working out, to be ready for my wedding and honeymoon and decide I want to show off my toned body to my best friend. Wearing only my bra and matching boy shorts—the kind that show off my butt cheeks—I reach for Marshal's hand. I've never noticed before how big it is. How long his fingers are. How strong his grasp is.
I take a step toward his bedroom.
It's only one step, but suddenly, I'm pulled back into his arms. My waist is pulled tight against him, his erection grinding against me and probing the flesh of my stomach.
I wince as Marshal tugs my hair, forcing my head backward until I'm staring up into his eyes.
My breathing hitches as I take him in. The blue is different, deeper, stronger, and there's something new.
"Tell me you're sure."
The crotch of my panties dampens.
“Marshal…”
“No, Sami. Tell me.”
I try to swallow. In the last few seconds, breathing has become more difficult.
Shit.
"I-I'm sure," I say, my answer squeaking out.
What just happened?
I wanted to feel close to my friend. I wanted the togetherness that Jack's stupid escapade took away. I wanted a friend. But now? Shit, now I'm turned on. My core clenches and my circulation quickens.
I've never seen this side of Marshal, the sexy side that others have seen. Now that I have, I want more.
Before I can say anything else, Marshal pushes me backward until my shoulders collide with the wall and he's against me, all of him.
I moan as his stiff cock pushes harder against my stomach.
"Fuck, Sami, I'm not sure what's happening, but I don't do sleepovers, not anymore. I don't do sweet. Not when it comes to sex. You know me."
My nipples harden as he crushes my breasts against his chest. "I know you, Marshal, better than anyone. Take me. I want to be consumed. I want my mind so focused on you, on here, and on now that the rest of the world fades away.” I fight emotion I don’t want to feel and concentrate on the man before me. “Marshal, I want to think about only you, the one man who's never lied to me."
His eyes narrow. "And tomorrow?"
"You'll still be my best friend."
Marshal reaches down and unashamedly moves the crotch of my panties. I bite my lip as he plunges one and then two fingers deep inside me. The room fills with his growl, guttural and primitive. He isn’t the only one making sounds. With each plunge I moan with pleasure.
"Fuck, Sami, you’re so wet. You really do want this, don't you?"
My core tightens around his long fingers, and my knees weaken as I move with his rhythm. "More than my dad wants the apocalypse." I move on my toes, finding his rhythm. My voice is breathy as I say, "Please, Marshal, don't make me beg."
Marshal
Thoughts I've never let myself think are rushing through my mind.
With each plunge of my fingers, my imagination runs wild.
I picture Sami begging—my Sami on her knees pleading for my cock.
I want that.
I want that and more.
The surge of desire overwhelms me. She is like nothing I've ever imagined having for my own in my entire life. Then again, she's the one who's always been there, the one who knows me, my friend.
The need for more is coursing through my bloodstream, electrifying every nerve ending, and intensifying my senses. I feel every inch of her beneath me, my chest on hers, and my erection against her stomach. The way her silky, wet pussy squeezes my fingers, I can’t imagine what it will do to my dick. And damn, the noises she’s making are echoing off the walls.
How is it possible to want somebody so badly when that somebody has always been near?
Images I never entertained are creating an erotic slideshow in my mind.
Sami writhing beneath me.
Sami on her knees as her pink tongue darts out to lick my rock-hard dick.
I imagine watching her lips as I fist her hair and she takes me deep into her throat. I hear her gasping for air as her head bobs up and down. My cock aches thinking about her taking me, all of me, until I come and she swallows every last drop. I don’t want to stop there. If this goes a second more, I won’t stop.
I want to slide inside her core and feel those warm walls clench around me like they are doing to my fingers.
My brain is saying no.
It's saying all the words that mean no.
Such as stop.
And don't do this.
And this isn't a good idea.
My brain is saying that this new agreement will never work. It's telling me to tuck my friend into my bed and move to the couch. It's telling me to jack off in the bathroom and forget this ever happened.
I've never been good at listening to my brain.
Especially not when another part of my anatomy is in on the debate.
I lean forward and take her lips, capture them, claim them. My brain says to be gentle, to merely brush our lips as friends do. Fuck my brain. All self-control is quickly fleeing. Gentle isn't in my vocabulary.
Twenty-plus years of being gentle with Sami are suddenly washed away by a flood of desire, much like the flood saturating my pumping fingers. I push closer, bruising her lips, making them red and puffy. As I do, a soft whimper escapes Sami's mouth. It's just the encouragement I need as I plunge my tongue between her lush lips.
Her warm mouth is ecstasy. It's sweet, like grapes, while also tart like wine. The lethal combination enters my system, erasing all sense of right and wrong.
My brain tries one more time: this is Sami, Samantha Anderson, the girl down the street, my best friend. Remember when we were kids...