“Ryan.” My name sounds like a promise. A plea. A cry for help. A koan. A question. A riddle.

An exaltation.

I close my eyes.

And realize that half an inch might as well be a mile.

Her hand moves from my abs up the center of my breastbone, fingers tracing the lines of my collarbone. I look at her. To my surprise and agony, she steps back, her hand staying on me, eyes riveted. Without a word but with so much purpose, my C-Shel takes her time enjoying me. I’m rock hard as she uses her fingernail to brush the thick vein that pops from my forearm to biceps. My blood turns me into a furnace as she grazes her fingertips along my side, counting each rib. When she steps back, breaking our physical connection, it’s the look on her face that keeps us in touch.

I can’t do this.

I can’t breathe without her touching me.

Blinking hard, she clears her voice, turning around and stepping backward. Her hands tap the base of her neck as if giving instructions.

And then she says, “Unzip me.”

With stupid, clumsy fingers caught off guard I obey the request. As she steps out of her dress, I watch the exquisite frame-by-frame release of the cloth as it drops away, revealing a shapely bustier, black lace panties, and legs that go for miles in tall heels. She’s damn close to my height, a fact I hadn’t considered until now, the jut of her ass a dream come true as the height of the shoes changes how she carries herself.

She turns around.

“Now we’re equal. How would you feel if I walked out into public looking like this?”

“No fucking way. I won’t allow it.”

“See? You’d be jealous, too, and besides, ‘allow’? Seriously, Ryan, when did you — ”

Whatever she was about to say is buried by my mouth, my tongue, my hands, my cock, all on her and touching, exploring and demanding, silencing and opening her. Anger makes her kiss back hard, teeth banging together, her mouth opening and sucking my lower lip, biting down as if pinning me in place, as if telling me I can’t escape.

“I won’t allow it,” I inform her, slipping my knee between her legs, pressing up with a slow, grinding beat that makes her gasp, her hand moving over my ass, fingers biting into my hip, pulling me closer to her, “because you still haven’t shown me how you’d kiss me if we were really together, Carrie. Show me. Show me now.”

CARRIE

I don’t know what he means. Panic splits my mind in two.

Desire weaves it back into one whole. The two forces fight in a dark corner of my mind while my body won’t stop touching him. This can’t be happening, right? This is Ryan. My buddy. My friend. My couch potato and Friday night television binge partner and holy hell, I’m kissing him like my tongue is a part of his body.

He tastes so good. How does a man taste like all my dreams in one hot, warm, wet tease? My arms are around his neck and his hands cup my ass, pulling me against him as he uses his leg to drive me crazy, my clit rubbing through my panties as he – wait, is he seriously doing this? How is he doing this? No man has ever moved my body with such expertise, kissed me like that with his tongue, moved his fingers like that along my nipple, made my own body work in concert with his to —

“Oh, God,” I moan into his chest, gripping his arm for balance as I start to shake, something deep inside widening and narrowing at the same time, like a secret chime being called in my core. Electricity rushes to the surface of my skin and I whimper, legs tightening as Ryan reaches down with his hand to touch me and that’s it.

I disappear.

In my place comes heat and sighs, groans and cries, my head tipped back and hair falling out of my updo, spilling down my back, Ryan’s strong arms holding me to him, making it impossible to escape the sheer bliss he’s giving me.

“I’ve never – I – what are you doing?” I gasp, trying to wiggle away, desperate to move closer, completely unable to calibrate my mind and body as chaos takes over and turns me into a warm, wet noodle.

“What I should have done long ago,” he says firmly, bending down to lift me, moving across the room with confident strides and dropping me on the bed. The room is a hazy spell, the air filled with my orgasm, a sexy scent that combines with his masculine musk. It hangs in the air with nothing but promises of more.

More.

We’re – we’re actually going to – I’m about to —

“Turn over,” Ryan says, face serious in the moonlight. I don’t question him. I do as he says. He swiftly removes my bodice. I start to pull my shoes off. His hand grips my ankle.

“No. Leave those on.”

His voice is so different, yet familiar. Simultaneously, he’s Ryan and someone else. This feels like having a one night stand.

With my best friend.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, on the bed above me as I turn over, almost naked before him, breasts pulled slightly by gravity, belly flat, high heels on the bed as my knees go up. Ryan takes his time to look at me, an appreciative, unhurried quality in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

Ever.

In any man who has ever looked at me naked.

I curl my hands into fists to stop them from covering myself or ripping the bedspread off the bed and flinging it over me. Nothing about him says he’s displeased. In fact, Ryan seems utterly captivated by, well...

Me. Practically naked, laid out before him.

My pulse quickens as I return the look, and now he’s staring at me with eyes that pierce, his hands moving to my belly, one curved around my breast, a half smile forming.

“You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

“You’ve imagined me naked?”

He just smiles.

“Because I never had to imagine you naked,” I blurt out, awkwardness rushing in to replace everything good about this moment. “I mean, you know, you wear a g-string at work and those really show everything so I never need to really conjure up an image of — ”

His smile widens.

He removes his boxer briefs and holy hell, am I wrong.

Way wrong.

Like, hugely wrong.

“Oh,” is all I can say, struck dumb.

“Your turn.”

“My turn?” I squeak.

His finger curls under the edge of my lace panties, a silent gesture that’s pretty damn clear. But he doesn’t peel them off, leaving me the choice. It’s my move, his fingers say.