I wasn’t about to

waste an opportunity like this. Shoving away all thoughts of what might happen

to our friendship if this went sideways, I dropped my keys and phone back down

and reveled in the feel of his lips over mine.

“Fuck it,” he groaned

into my mouth. “I’m done playing the nice guy, trying to ignore how hard you

make me because you’re my friend and co-worker. How you’ve made it fucking

impossible for me to even look at another woman without comparing her to you.”

Wait? Had his recent

dry spell been because of me? Because

I could definitely lay the blame for mine at his feet. It was hard to find a

guy who measured up to my dreams of Jack. I’d finally talked myself into

accepting this date with a guy who’d asked me about a dozen times whenever I

bumped into him at the gym. The only reason I’d said yes was because I figured

at some point I’d have to hear about Jack’s dates with another woman.

“I’m not letting you

walk out this door knowing you’ll be with some douchebag this weekend. He

doesn’t get to touch what’s mine,” he growled, making my pussy quiver at the

possessiveness in his tone.

“And what exactly do

you consider to be yours?” Yeah, that was my raspy voice taunting him with my

question when we both knew what he meant. I couldn’t help myself. He’d started

this, and I wanted to make sure he damn well finished it.

He crowded me closer

to the door, his hard chest pressed against mine while his big hands held my

hips. My heart raced as his lips traced a path along my cheek and up to my ear.

His breath was hot as he answered my question, his fingers tightening on me.

“You’re mine.”

“Oh, yeah?” I

breathed. “Prove it, honey.”

“I fucking love it

when you call me honey.” His voice was dark and dangerous, with none of the teasing

quality that was always there between us. “And I can’t fucking wait to taste

yours.”