Page 111 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

DEREK

I’ve applied pressure on wounds. I’ve felt pressure to pay bills. But I’m learning a whole new meaning of the word as I imagine Perri while I ride to work, as I picture her between calls, as I see images of her lush body flash before my eyes no matter what I do.

During a break, I hit up Merriam-Webster to make sure I’m clear on it.

There are a handful of definitions for “pressure”: “the action of a force against an opposing force,” “the stress or urgency of matters demanding attention,” and “a sensation aroused by moderate compression of a body part or surface.”

That all sounds about right. But there’s one missing— the stress of wanting your roommate naked, under you, calling your name . . . but too bad, sucker, because you’re engaged in a war of resistance with her.

Yeah, this pressure is a fresh category of dick affliction. Doctors will soon determine it’s worse than blue balls. It’s the albatross of horny men everywhere.

The pressure spreads to my lungs, making me think of her with every goddamn breath. It expands to my brain, where every bit of gray matter is stuffed with thoughts of her.

Her face, her body, her mouth. All I want is to touch her, have her, taste her.

Even work doesn’t distract me. The gym doesn’t erase her from my mind. A shower certainly doesn’t do the trick.

And an evening blowing bubbles for Molly and the baby and shooting hoops with happy-go-lucky Travis does zilch to move the implacable space she’s commandeered in my head.

The pressure only intensifies.

When I leave Jodie’s and return to the house I share with the woman I crave like oxygen, like water, like food—well, that was a dumbass decision living with her, wasn’t it?—I’m finished playing games.

Because the doctors say there are two treatments for this disorder.

One is ending the flirtation.

The other is ending the flirtation.

Maybe I started the kissing games, but I’m going to finish them tonight.

When I walk through the back door, I call her name.

No answer.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I huff, ready to blow a gasket. I’m a geyser. I’m a fire hydrant. Something has to give.

I head to the kitchen, grab the chalkboard, and write a note, scratching so hard I nearly leave gouges in the blackboard. I step back and stare at the seething letters. Even my handwriting looks charged.

I stomp upstairs, grab my book, and dive into a story of a small town upended by a violent crime and disturbing supernatural forces. The escape from my reality only minimally calms me.

After nine, I hear the lock click. A key slide. A door open.

My heart rate speeds up. I close the book.

Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and my bare feet, I go downstairs. As she drops her purse to the counter, she flicks on only one light, so the kitchen is barely illuminated. The light-blue dress she wears is elegant and sexy at the same time.

It accentuates every curve of her body, every inch of her figure that I want to explore.

But she could wear a grocery store bag, and I’d still want her.

This desire for her is more than physical.

It’s burrowed deep, much deeper than how she looks.

I wanted her the moment I met her, and the more I’ve come to know her, the more profound the longing has become.

“Were you with Arden and Vanessa?” I ask.

She startles then turns around. “Yes. How did you know?”

“You’re dressed for women.”

Her lips curve up. “I am.”

I walk to her, saying her name in a rough voice, ending the small talk. “ Perri. ”

The moonlight casts half her face in a silvery glow. “What is it, Derek?”

“Read the note.”

She peers at the chalkboard.

Practice is over.

She looks back at me, a new vulnerability in her green eyes. Maybe even concern. “It is?”

I cross my arms so I’m not tempted to touch her. There will be no coaxing hands or whispering lips. This is about choice—choosing what we do next. No more games.

“I’m going to be direct here.”

“Okay. Be direct.” Her tone gives nothing away.

I nod at the board. “We’re done practicing.”

“I can see.”

“The game has changed.”

“Has it?”

The time for bluffing has passed. “All my cards are on the table. This is how it’s going to be. The way I see it, this flirtation needs to end.”

She squares her shoulders, lifting her chin. “Fine.” She says it like the tough girl she is.

“It can end one of two ways.”

“Is that so?”

“It can end cold turkey.”

She winces but nods. “Fine.”

“Or it can end the other way.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me lay it out.” I point to her hallway—her do-not-go-down-it hallway.

“You can go to your off-limits room and do what you did last night. You can slide your fingers inside your panties and get yourself off.” Her eyes widen like I’ve nailed it.

“You can pretend it’s me licking you or sliding inside you or whatever you imagine. And you can come that way tonight.”

A breath rushes from her lips. She licks them, raises her chin, and whispers, “And the alternative?”

I let my gaze linger on her face, then I take my time perusing the rest of her. Hard nipples, quickened breath, eyes darkened with desire.

“The other option is this.” I gesture to the steps. “I go upstairs, and you follow me a minute later.”

“And what happens upstairs?” She’s so damn direct it arouses me further. Because it suggests she’s done with the games too.

“Up there, the games are over. No more resistance—no more toying. We give in to this.” I gesture from her to me.

“We give in to what’s been happening from the second you pulled me over.

I haven’t once stopped wanting you. I want you more every day.

You’re under my skin and in my head, and right now, I need to fuck you. And you need to fuck me.”

Her breath hitches. “Is that what I need?”

“Only you know. But you sure look like you want to get on my cock and ride me.”

She gasps.

I step closer. “And that’s where I want you. But you also look like you might need me to put you on your hands and knees and slide into you, fucking you so damn hard you scream.”

“That’s what you’d do?” She’s breathless, and her hand flutters over her chest.

I give myself another up-and-down tour of her body. “Or you might look like you want me to spread your legs and devour your sweet little pussy with my mouth and tongue.”

“Those are a lot of options you’ve just laid out,” she says, a little flirty, a lot dirty.

I grin. “Consider it lady’s choice tonight. You come upstairs, and you can take your pick from the No More Practice menu. I’ll be waiting.”

She hums, and it hits an octave I’ve never heard till tonight. “Is that what happens in the room above the garage?”

I lift a hand and finger a strand of her hair. She trembles as I touch her. “Come find out.”