Forbidden Heat:Between Friends Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Cici's POV

Sid kissed me goodbye this morning before heading to his "other job"—the bridge inspection that's been eating up every waking minute of his life. It was a dry, quick peck on the cheek, like he was kissing a doorknob. Routine. Boring. The kind of kiss that makes you wonder if he even notices you're there, let alone that you're his wife.​

As the door clicked shut, I didn't feel lonely. I felt… restless. An itch under my skin that I couldn't scratch, no matter how hard I rubbed my palms against my thighs. It's been there for months—since Sid started working 12-hour days, since he stopped asking how my day was, since he traded our weekly date nights at that little Italian place on Sunset for frozen pizza and Bruins reruns.​

I walked down the hallway to the full-length mirror, the floor cold under my bare feet. At 25, I was in my prime—yoga three times a week kept my waist snatched, my tits were heavy and perky (the kind that used to make Sid's eyes pop), and my ass was round enough to make strangers double-take. I was a Ferrari parked in a garage, gathering dust. Sid didn't know how to drive me. Hell, he didn't even know how to pop the hood.​

Last night, I'd worn that red lace set he'd bought me for our anniversary—sat on the couch in it, legs crossed, waiting for him to come home. He'd walked in, tossed his work bag on the floor, and said, "Nice. But I'm beat—gonna crash." No kiss, no touch, no "you look beautiful." Just straight to bed, snoring before his head hit the pillow.​

I traced my fingers down my throat, over my collarbone, to the edge of my tank top. The mirror reflected a woman who was hungry—for attention, for touch, for someone who looked at her like she was more than a to-do list item. Someone who looked at her like she was alive.​

Then I thought about Leo.​

Sid’s best friend. Tall, broad, messy brown hair, and hungry green eyes that lock on my chest like he’s memorizing every curve. Owns that tiny recording studio on Sunset—smells like weed, citrus, and raw, unapologetic masculinity. I’ve caught him staring a thousand times: at the grocery store, our wedding, the Bruins game last month when I wore that low-cut jersey. Saw the bulge in his jeans when I “accidentally” bent over to grab Sid’s dropped beer. Unlike Sid, Leo looks at me like he wants to eat me alive. Like he knows exactly what I need.A shiver runs down my spine. The itch burns hotter, sharper, centered low in my belly.

I checked the time on my phone: 10:17 AM. Leo would be coming soon.

I turn on my heel and head to the bedroom. Yank open the top drawer, shoving aside the bland beige cotton undies Sid likes—“practical,” he says. Once told me lace was “too much trouble.” I laugh under my breath. Trouble’s exactly what I want.

Stripped down to nothing—no bra, no panties, just skin warm from the morning sun. The air hits my nipples, hardening them into little peaks, and it’s like breaking a rule that’s been begging to be shattered.