They had chemistry. She had felt it last night. So had he. This was his revenge for the six-point-five comment. At least, she hoped it was. The alternative was that he had really felt nothing when their lips attached. And that seemed...beyond unfair.
She had all this attraction for Chase that she had spent years tamping down, only to have it come roaring to the surface the moment she had begun to pretend there was more going on between them than just friendship. And then she had kissed him. And far from being a disappointment, he had superseded her every fantasy. The jackass. Then he had kissed her, kissed her because he was angry. Kissed her to get revenge. Kissed her in a way that had kept her awake all night long, aching, burning. And now he was saying he didn’t have chemistry with her.
“It’s just that usually when I’m with a girl it flows a little easier. The bar to the bedroom is a pretty natural extension. And all those little movements kind of lead into the other. The way they touch their hair, tilt their head, lean in for a kiss...”
Oh, that did it.
“The women that I usually hook up with tend to—”
“Right,” she said, her tone hard. “I get it. They flip their hair and scrunch their noses and twitch at all the appropriate times. They’re like small woodland creatures who only emerge from their burrows to satisfy your every sexual whim.”
“Don’t get upset. I’m trying to help you.”
She snorted. “I know.” Just then, she had no idea what devil possessed her. Only that one most assuredly did. And once it had taken hold, she had no desire to cast it back out again.
She was mad. Mad like Chase had been last night. And she was determined to get her own back.
“Elizabeth was good at flipping her hair. Miranda gave you saucy interplay like so.” She stood up, taking a step toward him, meeting his dark gaze with her own. “But how did they do this?” She reached down, placing her hand between his thighs and rubbing her palm over the bulge in his jeans.
Oh, sweet Lord, there was more to Chase McCormack than met the eye.
And she had a whole handful of him.
Her brain was starting to scream. Not words so much as a high-pitched, panicky whine. She had crossed the line. And there was no turning back.
But her brain wasn’t running the show. Her body was on fire, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it was going to rip a hole straight through the wall of her chest and flop out on the ground in front of him. Show him all its contents. Dammit, she didn’t even want to see that.
But it was her anger that really pushed things forward. Her anger that truly propelled her on.
“And how,” she asked, lowering herself slowly, scraping her fingernails across the line of his zipper, before dropping to her knees in front of him, “did they do this?”
For one blinding second, Chase thought that he was engaged in some sort of high-definition hallucination.
Because there was no way that Anna had just put her hand...there. There was no way that she was kneeling down in front of him, looking at him like she was a sultry-eyed seductress rather than his best friend, still dirty from the workday, clad in motor-oil-smudged coveralls.
He blinked. Then he shook his head. She was still there. And so was he.
But he was so hard he could probably pound iron with his dick right about now.
He knew what he should do. And just now he had enough sense left in his skull to do it. But he didn’t want to. He knew he should. He knew that at the end of this road there was nothing good. Nothing good at all. But he shut all that down. He didn’t think of the road ahead.
He just let his brain go blank. He just sat back and watched as she trailed her fingers up the line of his zipper, grabbing hold of his belt buckle and undoing it, her movements clumsy, speaking of an inexperience he didn’t want to examine too closely.
He didn’t want to examine any of this too closely, but he was powerless to do anything else.
Because everything around the moment went fuzzy as the present sharpened. Almost painfully.
His eyes were drawn to her fingers as she pulled his zipper down, to the short, no-nonsense fingernails, the specks of dirt embedded in her skin. That should...well, he had the vague idea it should turn him off. It didn’t. Though he had a feeling that getting a bucket of water thrown on him while he sat in the middle of an iceberg naked wouldn’t turn him off at this point. He was too far gone.
He was holding his breath. Every muscle in his body frozen. He couldn’t believe that she would do what it appeared she might be doing. She would stop. She had to stop. He needed her to stop. He needed her to never stop. To keep going.
She pressed her palm flat against his ab muscles before pushing her hand down inside his jeans, reaching beneath his underwear and curling her fingers around him. His breath hissed through his teeth, a shudder racking his frame.
She looked up at him, green eyes glittering in the dim shop light. She had a smudge of dirt on her face that somehow only highlighted her sharp cheekbones, somehow emphasized her beauty in a way he hadn’t truly noticed it before. Yes, last night in the red dress she had been beautiful, there was no doubt about that. But for some reason, her femininity was highlighted wrapped in these traditionally masculine things. By the backdrop of the mechanic shop, the evidence of a day’s hard work on her soft skin.
She tilted her chin up, her expression one of absolute challenge. She was waiting for him to call it off. Waiting for him to push her away. But he wasn’t going to. He reached out, forking his fingers through her hair and tightening them, grabbing ahold of the loose bun that sat high on her head. Her eyes widened, her lips going slack. He didn’t pull her away. He didn’t draw her closer. He just held on tight, keeping his gaze firmly focused on hers. Then he released her. And he waited.
She licked her lips slowly, an action that would have been almost comically obvious coming from nearly anyone else. Not Anna.
Then she squeezed him gently before drawing her hand back. He should be relieved. He was not.
But her next move was not one he anticipated. She grabbed hold of the waistband of his jeans and underwear, pulling them down slowly, exposing him. She let out a shaky, shuddering breath before leaning in and flicking her tongue over the head of his arousal.
“Hell.” He wasn’t sure at first if he had spoken it out loud, not until he heard it echoing around him. It was like cursing in a church somehow, wrong considering the beauty of the gift he was about to receive.
Still, he couldn’t think of anything else as she drew the tip of her tongue all the way down to the base of his shaft before retracing her path. She shifted, and that was when he noticed her hands were shaking. Fair enough, since he was shaking, too.
She parted her lips, taking him into her mouth completely, her lips sliding over him, the wet, slick friction almost too much for him to handle. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. If it was the shock of the moment, if it was just that he was this base. Or if there was some kind of sick, perverted part of him that took extra pleasure in the fact that this was wrong. That he should not be letting his best friend touch him like this.
Because he’d had more skilled blow jobs. There was no question about that. This didn’t feel good because Anna was an expert in the art of fellatio. Far from it.
Still, his head was about to blow off. And he was about to lose all of his control. So there was something.
Maybe it was just her.
She tilted her head to the side as she took him in deep, giving him a good view of just what she was doing. And just who was doing it. He was so aware of the fact