Touch & Go by Mira Lyn Kelly
Actually, now that he thought about it, yeah. That wasn’t a half-bad idea after all.
Only this was Ava. And he didn’t lie to her, because she’d never lie to him. And that meant something.
So cutting her a look, he opened his palms and let out a guilty breath.
“Okay, so the kiss was maybe better than I’d been expecting. And evidence would suggest its residual effect is lasting a few minutes longer than I’d have guessed.”
Ava’s eyes narrowed, slanting toward him in a way that made him want to take a step back. “You thought I’d be a bad kisser?”
And hello bigger problems than he was equipped to handle right then.
“No,” he answered quickly. Firmly. Honestly, too, because with that mouth of hers—Christ, it was wide and full and sexy as fuck. But he’d pretty much been telling himself it couldn’t be as hot as it looked since he was sixteen and hormones started putting stupid ideas in his head about the one girl he knew better than to put a move on.
“No way I thought you’d be a bad kisser. But I mean, like you said, I’ve kissed my fair share of women—” Noting her arch look, he rolled his eyes, amending, “Fine, and maybe Ford’s share, too, but what I was getting at was…you stand out. It was a really good kiss. So good, it scrambled a few signals upstairs, and when I reached for you like I always do, instead of going buddy-buddy, it went…not so buddy.”
Okay, now she was checking her nails. Never a good sign. “And this, after ‘brace yourself’?”
Sam pressed his tongue against a molar, coughing out a short laugh. He’d known he would pay for that one. Like he should have known Ava would be cool about whatever went down between them. And she’d prove it by ribbing him as relentlessly as she always had.
Damn, he loved her.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. This time Sam knew exactly what he was doing when he reached for the girl who was everything that mattered to him. Catching her around the shoulder, he firmly tucked her into his arm as they stepped into the waiting car, already occupied by three passengers. Moving to the far side, he watched the doors close, felt the subtle drop as the elevator began to move, and then slowly, awfully, became aware of the soft slide of Ava’s hair where it fell across his wrist and hand, and the tingling charge in his fingertips as he resisted the urge to catch a bit of it and rub.
Clearing his throat, he moved his arm. Took the half step back available in the confined space and tried to shake out the offending limb as subtly—and when that didn’t work, not so subtly—as he could.
Ava shot him a curious glance.
“Hand’s asleep.” And this time the lie really did seem better than the truth. At least right then.
The doors opened to the lobby, and Sam was thinking his plans to watch a flick with Ava when they got home would have to wait until he’d taken some quality alone time with Anne Hathaway as Catwoman throwing her leather-clad leg over a motorcycle. Only then Steven was in his peripheral vision, the guy lurking off in a corner by himself, and instinct kicked in, driving Sam to do what any fake boyfriend worth his weight would.
He caught Ava by the arm and with a single tug, spun her back into his hold, and stole another kiss like it was his to take. And Jesus, in an instant she was right there with him. Melting into his chest and opening beneath his mouth as he held her against him with her own hand wrapped in his at the small of her back.
By international standards, this kiss was far tamer than its French cousin up on the terrace. But despite the lack of tongue, it burned at least as hot as the last. More. And he wasn’t the only one to feel it. Beneath his fingers, Ava’s pulse was racing. Her breath was unsteady against his lips. And when he drew back and looked down into her eyes, there was no denying the heat in them.
That heat shouldn’t have started his heart jacking in his chest. It shouldn’t have ramped him up. Because this was Ava and they were friends and that was never going to change. Only, somehow, suddenly, the fact that this was Ava and knowing she was responding the same as him was ramping him up like nothing else. Because she wasn’t worried. He’d have seen it in her eyes if she were. And if she wasn’t worried…maybe for the sake of really hammering things home with Stalker, indulging for just a few more minutes wouldn’t be the worst thing to do.
—
Sam was kissing her again. Backing her through the hotel lobby toward the street exit with their bodies in an intimate press better than just about anything her imagination could have summoned.
It wasn’t real—she’d seen Stalker Steve an instant before Sam reeled her back into his kiss—but it didn’t matter. His lips were firm and warm and half smiling against hers. And when their eyes met, their silent agreement was struck.
Just a little bit longer.
Just for show.
Just enjoy it.
At the revolving doors, they broke from the kiss and Sam spun her forward, keeping her body in front of his as they exited. There were a couple of groups ahead of them for the cab, so Sam let the doorman know where they were headed and then pulled her off to a quiet corner out of the way.
Against her neck, he murmured, “He could still be watching.”
“He could,” she agreed breathlessly, reaching back to sift her fingers into his hair as he pulled hers aside and set his mouth to that stretch of skin beneath her ear that had never been so sensitive. “Oh my God, you’re good at that.”
Another lazy smile against her neck. “We want it to look legit, right?”
“Yes,” she gasped, as his arm stole around her middle, pulling her in closer still. “This is our window. We should make the most of it.”
“Are you sure? Because if we were really going to sell it, Ava, I’d make you blush. Get you to tell me what color panties you’re wearing beneath this dress—the lacy dark blue ones, I’m betting? Ask you, when I put my mouth here”—he pressed an openmouthed kiss beneath her ear, drawing against the tender spot with the lightest suction before returning to nuzzle her lobe—“if it makes those pretty panties wet?”
“Sam.” The way his name slipped past her lips like it was some kind of plea should have had her backtracking, trying to reinforce the friendly state of their relationship, and at any other time, it would have. But Sam was doing this on purpose, so what was the harm in giving him what he was after?
“Jesus, Ava, that blush is going to be the end of me. I shouldn’t be able to make you do it. I shouldn’t know I can make you.”
Just like she shouldn’t know that after all the years of believing this man was totally immune to her, suddenly she had the power to affect him. A power that was drugging, addicting, and had her desperately wanting to test the limits. She wanted to find out how far she could push before he cracked. Before he wouldn’t let her push anymore.
Still tucked back to front in Sam’s hold, she turned her head to rub one cheek against his chest. “Then you probably don’t want to know about the state of my panties, Sam.”
It was a challenge. A dare.
A bold leap from the harmless games of flirtation they’d been playing upstairs.
Sam tensed, his slow-roaming hand stilling over her hip, and she wondered if, that quick, the limit had been reached. Only then his fingers began to close, his grip on her tightening in a way that had her heart starting to skip.
“Tell me.”
She barely recognized the voice that reached her ears; it was so low, so rough. Nothing easy or laid-back about it. And it was for her.
“You’re right. I’m wearing the midnight-blue.” A lacy set he’d found within days of her purchasing them while he’d been fingering through her stuff, waiting for her to find a missing sneaker. A set he’d made all sorts of teasing, appreciative noises about, just to get a rise out of her. “And as for their being wet?”
Wet was an understatement. She’d gotten wet at that first chaste kiss up on the terrace. Pushed into sodden at the mere mention they kiss for real, and hit drenched at the first sweep of his ton
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wear them again,” she whispered back to him, adding a sinuous little shift of her body against his. “After tonight…I think they’re ruined.”
Not that she cared. They’d been happily sacrificed on the altar of fantasies-come-to-life, and under the safety net of convincing Stalker Steven she wasn’t available, no less.
She waited for the baiting comeback. For Sam to say something. Do something. Only instead of lightening the mood or pushing their game further, the only words Sam had for her were, “Get in the car, Ava.”
Confused, she blinked and then noticed the doorman standing beside a Yellow Cab, waving them in.
Game over. Or it would be within the next several seconds, anyway.
Body still thrumming with the awareness Sam had woken in her, Ava sighed moving forward, because that’s what she did. Always. And like always, Sam was there with her, the reassuring warmth of his hand at the small of her back as they crossed to the waiting cab. She thought he might kiss her once more. She hoped for it. But at the door, he stood back, waiting. Then, once she was situated, he climbed in beside her, shutting the door.
The air in the cab seemed still. Heavy with all the things they were going to need to say to put the night behind them.
Sam raked his fingers through his hair, staring forward as they pulled into traffic. His hands balled at his sides, only to flex open when, with a curse, he shook them out in front of him.
“Sam?” she asked, reaching for him, because whatever he was in the middle of—and it was definitely something—she was in it with him.
Her fingers met his arm and his eyes closed. Then, letting out a coarse laugh the likes of which she’d never heard from him before, he turned to her, hard eyes running over her face, before he swore again. And then, faster than she could see it coming, he had her by the shoulders and pulled her across his lap.
“What do you say, Ave,” he asked, searching her eyes. “Feel like making a really bad decision with me?”
Chapter 5
The bad decision-making—a.k.a. best idea ever—was a go. At least Ava was pretty sure that was the message conveyed when she’d grabbed Sam’s tie and pulled him into a kiss that had gotten them halfway home before the driver she kept forgetting was there cleared his throat. Loudly.
At which point Ava and Sam had come up for air, straightened in their seats, and gone about out of their flipping minds counting down the blocks until they made it home.
Ten blocks to go and Sam’s fingers were playing at the hem of her skirt. Inching it incrementally higher, he let his reach extend until he was grazing the inner flesh of her thighs, and she was half panting, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
Five blocks, and his lips were back at her ear, his breath coming warm and humid against the whorl, as he whispered the coming tragic fate of her panties. A worthwhile sacrifice if ever there was one.
Two blocks, and the bold so much a part of her makeup returned, urging her palm up the heavy muscle of Sam’s thigh, working higher and higher toward her goal, until her wrist was caught in his iron grip, her progress stayed.
Sam met her eyes.
“When this cab stops, you’d better get inside that apartment before I get my hands on you, because I’m about tapped on restraint, Ave.”
And the fact that Sam considered his actions for the night restrained—hawt.
One block, and the demon in her demanded she climb over Sam so she was seated curbside and ready to dash.
Half a block, and Sam was groaning behind her, his hands at either side of her ass as she shimmied over her very own Shangri-La. And holy-moly, it was all she could do to keep going, because the feel of that stiff length pressed against her ass—it was playing crazy tricks on her mind. Skewing the few remaining bits of her judgment. Making her think, when weighed against the benefits of finally getting Sam inside of her, consequences like getting thrown in the slammer for public lewdness just didn’t seem that harsh.
Fortunately, before her mind wasted completely away, the cab pulled to a stop in front of the graystone they’d been calling home since her brother bought the building six years ago. Sam was all but throwing the bills at their driver as Ava bolted for the front door. She had the keys out and the door half open before Sam was on her. His hands snaking around her from both sides, his body pressing in from the back as he laughed, lifting her off her feet to carry her inside.
And thank God for that, because contrary to what her behavior that evening suggested, public displays weren’t really her thing. And the idea of her brother or friends coming home to the sight of Sam drilling her out on the stoop—well, by the time tomorrow rolled around, she’d probably care a little more than she did right then.
They’d barely made it a step inside the building before Sam had her spun around and backed against the security door, his mouth crashing down on hers with the kind of greedy hunger that surpassed her every fantasy. Because this was real. This was Sam gathering the fabric of her skirt, rocking between her legs, and for one precious night, wanting her almost as badly as she wanted him.
Another hard kiss and deep, plundering thrust of his tongue and Ava was moaning, scrambling for the sides of her dress and whipping it overhead.
Sam pulled back for a single second, his eyes raking down her body before shaking his head with an expression so bewildered it would have been adorable if it weren’t so mercilessly hot before diving back in for more. Their hands were everywhere. Hers, jerking at his tie until she made enough headway to get through to the buttons at his neck. His, wide against the backs of her thighs, kneading the curve of her ass, and then sliding up so he was cupping her from behind as he rocked into her again from the front.
She was panting, her blood firing hot through her veins, waking every inch of her.
“So wet,” he ground out above her ear as the length of his fingers pressed against flesh that was swollen and achy for him. “The panties, Ava. They’ve got to go.”
Right there in the hallway? Against the single door standing between them and the rest of the world?
Yes.
“Do it,” she gasped before his mouth descended again, the deep thrust of his tongue making her belly churn with need.
She felt the quick bite of the lace at her sides, the delicate garment fall away, and then the slick panel between her legs replaced by Sam’s rough workman’s hands. They weren’t gentle. They weren’t soft, and when he used them on her, every single incredible point of contact virtually exploded with sensation.
She’d dreamed of this.
Dreamed of what those calloused fingers would feel like against her skin, playing with her breasts, against her tongue. But the reality—it was like some kind of tactile high that was pushing her fast toward that place of release she almost never reached.
“Sam,” she cried desperately.
He pushed inside her.
—
Holy fuck, Ava was coming around him.
One single finger.
Barely halfway inside her.
And Christ, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the end of her shattered cries raining down on him without following her over the edge.
No way. Time to man up, asshole.
This wasn’t his first rodeo and there was no reason on God’s green earth the bite of Ava’s short nails at his neck and her fingers pulling at his hair should send him over the edge.
For fuck’s sake, he was practically a gold medalist in the Endurance Olympics—or at least he had been up until he felt the hard, rhythmic clenching of Ava’s orgasm breaking just for him.
He slid his finger in and out, stroking deeper with each pass. Then, taking those soft, desperate sounds with his kiss, he added a second finger, stretching her tight little body around his thrusts as he filled her lush, wet mouth with hi
Jesus, his switch had flipped but good. Because this was Ava. And nothing in his admittedly vast and varied past had ever come close to burning him up the way she was.
How the hell was it even possible they could be like this together and still have managed to make it twenty years without giving in once or twice before?
A dark corner of his barely functioning rational brain knew.
Because it was Ava.
Because he’d never been willing to risk the most important person in his life for some casual fuck.
But that wasn’t what was happening here.
They weren’t risking anything. This was just the culmination of a series of events that would never occur again. Stalker Steven needing a blunt intervention. A chemical reaction neither of them had expected when they came into contact. An unanswered question between two friends—two adults—who knew exactly what they were getting into, and they were solid enough in their relationship for a single night between them to be just that. A single night, granting a depth of intimacy that hadn’t been there before. One that would make them stronger.
Another breathless cry and Ava bit at his bottom lip, sucked it into her mouth as she rode his hand.
In the fucking hallway. Of the fucking apartment building her brother owned. Because he couldn’t stop.
Ford would lose his mind over this. That was, if the guy actually noticed.
There’d been a time, around fifteen years ago, when he’d have definitely noticed and might have given Sam something to think about. But those days were long gone.
And Ford never just dropped by over here. Almost never.
Shit.
Drawing back from the kiss, the tender grasp of Ava’s teeth, and that scorching, needful heat in her eyes, he shook his head. “Ava, which apartment?”