Forbidden Heat:Between Friends Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Leo's POV

I choked down the watermelon slice, juice dribbling down my neck like I was a kid at a cookout.

Cici's thumb was still burning on my chin—warm, soft, and totally off-limits.

Dude, this is Sid's wife, since we were cramming for finals at UCLA.

But here I was, hard as a rock, thinking about things that'd get me punched in the face if Sid ever found out.​

"Thanks," I mumbled, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

My voice was all gravelly, like I'd been gargling with sand.

The AC kicked on again, blowing a cold stream over my overheated skin, and I swear I saw Cici's nipples tighten even more through that damn tee.

She didn't move away from the coffee table—just leaned against it, one hip popped out, her legs crossed like she was posing for an Instagram pic.

"Relax, Leo," she purred, that grin still playing on her lips. "I gotta finish my yoga. Sid got me this fancy mat, and I ain't gonna let it collect dust."​

Before I could say a word, she sauntered back to the corner of the loft where her yoga mat was laid out—bright pink, of course, with little logos all over it.

She rolled her shoulders, her tee riding up just enough to show a sliver of pale skin above her hips, and I had to look away.

For two seconds. Then my eyes were right back on her, like magnets to steel.​

She dropped into downward dog first, her ass sticking up in the air like a target.

That oversized tee stretched tight over her curves, and yeah—definitely commando.

I could see the outline of everything, and my dick throbbed so bad I thought my jeans might split.

"Hell yeah," I whispered to myself, then wanted to slap my own forehead. Creepin' on my best friend's wife? Real classy, Leo.​

But Cici didn't care.

She flowed into cat-cow pose, her hips swaying like she's in a music video, not just doing yoga in her husband's studio.

Every time she arched her back, that tee rode higher, and every time she rounded it, her tits pressed against the fabric like they were begging to break free.

I shifted again, my jeans now feelin' like they're made of barbed wire.

I was bustin' at the seams—literally and figuratively.​

"You think I didn't notice you staring?" She called out, not even opening her eyes.

She dropped into child's pose, her voice muffled but sharp as a tack. "Your eyes are practically burnin' a hole through my shirt, cowboy."​

My face went hotter than a Texas summer. "C'mon, Cici—you're walkin' around half-naked! A guy can only take so much," I snapped, defensiveness oozing out of every word. I sounded like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and we both knew it.​

She popped up into a standing pose, turning to face me with that same damn smirk.

Her hair was messy from the yoga, strands sticking to her neck, and she looked even hotter—wild, unapologetic. "Oh, so it's my fault?" She laughed, sauntering over to me again. Her bare feet padded across the hardwood floor, and when she stopped, she was standing right between my knees, close enough that I could smell her vanilla lotion mixed with watermelon.​

Her eyes dipped down to my crotch, and I swear my dick jumped. "Nice try, though," she teased, tapping my thigh lightly. "But you ain't foolin' anyone. That jeans is about two seconds from bustin' open."​

I gritted my teeth, embarrassment and desire warring inside me. "It's a natural reaction!" I protested. "You can't just—just walk around like that and expect me not to react!"​

She leaned in, her lips inches from my ear. Her breath was warm, sweet with watermelon, and her voice dropped to a purr that made my skin crawl—in the best way. "Who said I'm expecting you not to, Leo?"​

My heart stopped. For a second, the only sound in the loft was the AC humming and my own ragged breathing.

Dude, this was wrong—so wrong it should've made me run for the door.

But when Cici pulled back, her eyes dark and hungry, I knew I wasn't goin' anywhere.

I was so fucked, and for the first time in my life? I didn't care.