Page 60 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

FULLY EQUIPPED TURNDOWN SERVICE

Nolan

There’s this idea about certain moments in life. That we don’t have any choice sometimes. That some sort of cosmic force compels us into action. People often use this idea of “it just happened” to justify why they do something in the heat of the moment.

It’s the idea of temporary insanity. Or a temporary explosion of lust. But at the end of the day or at the start of the night, a choice is just that.

A choice.

You make it, and sometimes you do it with no regard for the consequences.

That’s me right now.

My hand cups Emerson’s jaw, and I’m fully aware of the what-could-go-wrongs, the what-may-implodes.

I just don’t give a shit. My want is stronger. I want to kiss her more than I want all the other things in my life.

So, I kiss her.

It’s quiet in the room, with only the ambient noise of a hotel. The low hum of air conditioning. The faint honks from traffic down below. And the thump, thump, thump of desire pounding through my body as I take her mouth with mine.

We kiss with the growing urgency of a first kiss. True, it’s not our first. But it’s our only kiss like this .

In bed.

With nothing to hold us back.

Lips slide. Breath mingles. Hands get in on the action. With my thumb, I trace lines along her cheek and chin, mapping the shape of her face with my fingers. I let my senses flood with the taste and feel of Emerson, like I’m savoring a glass of wine, its flavors filling my mind.

The faint hint of cinnamon from her toothpaste. The lingering scent of grapefruit from that face mask. Her clean, showery smell.

Most of all, the taste of her hunger.

It radiates off her.

It comes in the soft murmurs she makes. In the pressure of her lips. In the eager exploration of her tongue as she kicks the kiss up a notch, deepening it, like she wants to know exactly what this kiss could be.

It’s a whole-body kiss, one I feel in my shoulders, in my stomach, in my fucking balls.

I want to remember every second of this. I want to recall this intoxicating kiss the next day and the next and the next.

But all moments break apart, a kaleidoscope shifting into another scene.

I pay a visit to her neck, kissing down, down, down to the hollow of her throat, where I press an open-mouthed caress to her soft skin, then a lick.

A sexy groan lands on my ears, and I charge on. Kissing harder.

Emerson ropes her hand around my head, jerking me close as a throaty moan falls from her lips, the faint whimper of the word more. She’s barely audible. Maybe neither one of us wants to break this moment with too many words.

Good. Because I don’t want to analyze this choice. I just want to live in it. Deal with what it means tomorrow.

Since tonight I’m going to fuck my best friend.

That’s the way I kiss her.

Like I’m listening to the command of more.

I kiss her with every intention of wringing a sheet-grabbing, toe-curling orgasm from her this evening.

My hands move at a determined pace, unknotting the tie of her robe, but then I stop. Look up. “Is this okay?”

Her eyes are hazy with desire. “Very okay,” she says, then holds up a finger. “But...”

I stop, wondering what’s to come. She reaches for my glasses, slides them off my face, then tilts her head. “But maybe like this?”

It comes out so flirty, like the Emerson I know. But there’s also another side of Emerson I desperately want to experience.

Emerson after dark.

“Thanks for helping out a guy with glasses,” I say as she sets them on the nightstand.

“Anytime. Have I mentioned how sexy they are?”

I laugh as I undo the tie on her robe, spread the fabric open, then groan in frustration. “No, you haven’t, but what the hell, Emerson?”

Her eyes pop. “What the hell, what? Don’t you dare say we’re stopping.”

“God, no. But I was hoping you’d be naked under the robe. You’re wearing a bra and panties, dammit.”

She laughs. “Conveniently, they’re removable.”

“Very convenient.” I run my hand along her sides, savoring the soft feel of her skin against my palms. I’ll get to her clothes soon enough. Right now, I want to touch her all over.

But she seems eager to strip, since she loops her hands behind her back, reaching to undo her bra.

I shake my head, stop her with one hand. Her green eyes darken when my fingers circle her wrist.

Ahhh.

That’s a clue.

And it gives me an idea. I squeeze harder, pressing my thumb into her skin.

Her lips part, and the sound that comes from her mouth is all new, and dirtier. A sexy, greedy yes .

A little pressure, a little hurt gets her going. “Let me undress you,” I say.

Her breath hitches, and she nods. “Be my guest.” She lets her hands fall to the mattress, waiting for me to take over.

I unhook her bra, then shove off the bulky terry-cloth robe. She helps me along, wiggles out of it, pushing both items to the floor. Standing, I shed my robe too.

“I love robes now,” I tease, admiring her exposed skin, deliciously pale with freckles coasting along the top of her breasts. Her rosy, pert nipples stand to attention.

“Hello there, beauties,” I say to her tits, then I straddle her and bury my face where it belongs.

In the valley of her breasts.

As I lavish her with kisses, the mood shifts once more, tightening, intensifying. It’s the climb of the roller coaster, and we’re cranking higher and higher. She’s arching her back, gasping, then gasping louder when I bite down on a breast, drag my teeth over a nipple.

“Oh God, yes,” she murmurs, writhing under me.

I’m learning so many delicious secrets about my friend. Emerson likes it a little rough. A bit hard.

I roll the tip of my tongue along the nipple of her right breast, then her left. Her hands grab at my head, clutching. She grips me harder and tighter. Her moans are shameless.

And I could say I have no choice but to keep going.

But really, I’m fully exercising this choice to bite her nipples, to kiss her belly, to nip at her hips.

Then to strip her down to nothing as I tug off her black panties and admire the view.

Wet. Glistening. Pink.

“Look at you,” I say, a rumble in my throat. “Just fucking look at you.”

She seems to revel in the moment, bask in my dirty gaze as I roam my eyes up and down her naked body, imprinting in my mind the curves and dips, the shape of her, then the shivers that spread along her flesh as I touch her legs.

I rub my thumb along her hip, tracing the outline of a ladybug tattoo. “I didn’t know you had this ,” I whisper, then dip my face to the black and red ink.

Kissing her there.

“Yessss,” she murmurs.

I lick the outline of it, bite her hip.

She arches her pelvis, and pushes up on her elbows, her eyes straying to my briefs. “Interesting fashion choice,” she says, regarding the red boxer briefs with pink flamingos on them.

“Do you really want to talk about fashion right now?” I counter.

“You have flamingos on your underwear. I both want to talk about them and rip them off.”

I flop to my back and play with the waistband, teasing. “Pick door number two. Now. Fucking now.”

She climbs over me, grabs at my waistband, but then stops. Her head drops to my chest, her chestnut hair spilling across my pecs as she moans in frustration. “Condom. I don’t have one with me. It’s been a while,” she mutters.

I push my head into the pillow and groan too. But then, I man up. “I’ll go downstairs and get one.” Unless ... I glance at the nightstand. “This hotel did say the rooms are fully equipped.”

Her green eyes sparkle. “Please let it be equipped for safe sex.”

With a laugh and a hope, I stretch an arm to the drawer, slide it open, and reach inside.

Yes! The feel of foil makes my dick even harder. “ That is turndown service.”

“And now I will open that door,” she says, then hooks her thumbs into the waistband of my boxer briefs and slides them down, moving along my body as she strips me.

My cock gives her a one-eyed salute.

She draws a sharp breath, then she nibbles on the corner of her lips. Once more, the mood tilts. She crawls back up my body, straddles me again, and grips my dick.

Everything else vanishes into the Vegas night. All the choices. All the consequences. All the what-ifs.

They distill down to the feel of her hand on me. The heat in her eyes. The way I can’t stop looking at her as she strokes me.

I still her moves then wrap my arm around her waist and slide her down to the mattress so her back is against those soft hotel sheets and she’s spread out before me, a naked masterpiece to admire.

“Want to look at you. Touch you. Fuck you like this,” I say as I kneel between her legs, slide my hands down her thighs, press them wide open.

I dig my thumbs into her flesh, my short nails scratching her skin.

Her back bows, and she pushes the side of her face into the pillow like she’s hiding her moan.

I grab her jaw, pull her face back so she’s looking at me. “Let me see you.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, her expression one of frenzied need.

Yeah, sometimes you just give in. Because you’re thirty years old. Because you’ve thought about fucking her more times than you want to admit. Because you’re wildly attracted to your best friend.

Because there are so many reasons not to, but you’re two adults who want each other. That’s sometimes the only reason that counts.

I roll on the condom, rub the head of my cock against her wetness, then slowly, deliciously, push inside.

She breathes out, tenses, then gives me a nod to keep going.

I sink in, filling her all the way, pushing her knees up toward her chest, my pecs a few inches from her tits.

She reaches for me, hands curling over my shoulders, and lifts her face toward mine, asking for a kiss.

And it’s the best kind of kiss, and the best kind of sex.

It’s kissing and fucking. Fucking and kissing.

Finding that rhythm. Moving with the other person.

I follow her cues. Listen to the sound of her breathing. Watch her face. She’s loud—surprisingly so. I guess I thought she was just flirty for fun, just dirty for show.

But that mouth becomes something else in bed, a sort of unfettered truth as her fingers race through my hair, tugging.

She cries out.

Moans.

Begs.

It’s incredible, and I fuck her harder. One hand slides down to her ass and I grip her flesh. “You like that?”

“I do,” she rasps out.

I grab and knead, maybe leaving marks. She urges me on with those gorgeous moans.

I dip my face to her neck, bite down on her collarbone. A long ohhh spills from her lips as she grabs my ass, jerks me deeper, and whispers in my ear, “I’m close.”

I push up on my elbows. “How can I get you there?”

“Let me be on top.”

Fifteen seconds later, we’ve maneuvered around.

She’s on top of me, riding me. Playing with herself and losing her mind.

I squeeze her tits, pinch her nipples, and stare. Just stare shamelessly at the woman riding my cock, parting her lips, and then breaking apart.

She calls out my name like she did that night on the roller coaster, her face flushed pink, her hair wild.

But it’s better. So much better. All real, all true.

I suppose this is the moment when there is no choice. I literally have no choice but to follow her into the land of orgasmic bliss.