Forbidden Heat:Between Friends Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Leo's POV

The belt buckle clinked loud as a gunshot in the quiet loft—AC humming, traffic distant outside the loft windows, and Cici's breath coming in little hitches. I fumbled with the button on my jeans, my hands shaking like I'd had too many IPAs at the dive bar down the street. Dude, what the hell am I doin'? This is Sid's wife. But when I glanced up at her, her eyes were glued to my hands, dark and hungry like a cat watching a mouse, and I couldn't stop.​

I pulled the zipper down slowly, and her breath hitched again, a little gasp that made my dick throb even harder. The jeans were tight as hell, so I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and pulled 'em down just enough to free myself. My dick popped out, hard as a construction nail, and Cici's eyes went wide—wide enough I could see the whites around her pupils.​

"Holy shit," she whispered, reaching out like she was gonna touch it but pulling back at the last second. Her voice was all shaky, no more that confident purr from a minute ago. "Damn, Leo… you weren't lying when you said you were packed."​

I grunted, half-embarrassed, half-proud. My face was still scorchin'—Arizona desert hot—but when she looked at me like that, like I was the best thing she'd ever seen, the shame melted away faster than ice cream on a LA sidewalk in July. "Told you I wasn't scared," I growled, even though my heart was still slamming against my ribs. "Now you gonna keep your word?"​

She didn't answer—just bit her lower lip and grabbed the hem of Sid's old tee. It was a faded UCLA Bruins shirt, the one Sid wore to every football game back in college, and watching her yank it over her head felt like a punch to the gut. But when that shirt hit the floor? I forgot how to breathe.​

No bra. Just those full, round tits, nipples pink and hard from the AC, her skin glowing like honey in the afternoon light streaming through the loft's blinds. She had a little mole right above her left breast, and I'd never noticed it before—never let myself notice it. But now? I couldn't look away. My eyes drifted down, past her flat stomach, to that little patch of black hair I'd caught a glimpse of earlier.​

Commando. Just like I thought.​

"Jesus," I muttered, reaching out without thinking. My fingers brushed her hip, warm and soft, and she shivered—this time, not from the cold. "Cici, I—"​

"Shhh," she said, putting a finger to my lips. Her eyes were dark, no more teasing, just raw desire. "You held up your end. Now let me hold up mine."​

She climbed onto the couch next to me, her bare thigh pressing against mine, and I could feel her heat seeping into my skin. Her hand drifted down, brushing against my dick, and I grunted—loud, unapologetic. Her touch was soft but firm, wrapping around me like a glove, and I swear I almost came right then and there.​

"Fuck," I hissed, grabbing her wrist to slow her down. "Wait—we can't just… not here, not like this." But my words were empty, my body leaning into her touch like a dog begging for scratches.​

"Why not?" She leaned in, her lips inches from mine, and I could smell that vanilla lotion mixed with her natural scent—sweet, musky, all woman. "Sid's not comin' back. No one's gonna find out. And look at you, baby—you're dyin' for it."​

She was right. I was dyin' for it. Dying to feel her skin against mine, dying to be inside her, dying to stop fighting this thing that'd been building up between us since the day she walked into the studio. I let go of her wrist, and she smiled—this big, victorious smile—and started moving her hand up and down slowly.​

The loft was quiet except for the AC and the wet sound of her hand on my dick. My eyes were glued to her tits, bouncing a little as she moved, and I couldn't help myself—I reached out and cupped one. Soft, heavy, perfect. She moaned, a low, throaty sound, and pressed her chest into my hand.​

"Harder," she whispered, her hand speeding up. "Squeeze it harder, Leo."​

I did—squeezing gently but firm, rolling her nipple between my thumb and finger. She gasped, her hips grinding against the couch, and I could see her pussy glistening—wet, pink, and so damn inviting. My mouth went dry, and I leaned in, kissing her neck, her jaw, her cheek—anywhere but her lips, like I was still holding onto some last shred of decency.​

But she didn't let me. She turned her head, crashing her lips into mine, and it was like a dam breaking. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, hot and wet, and I kissed her back—hard, greedy, like I was starving. Her hand was still on my dick, her other hand tangled in my hair, and I could feel her grinding against my leg, her pussy soaking through my jeans.​

"Leo," she moaned into my mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe. "I need you. Now.​

Dude, this was wrong. So wrong it should've made me run for the hills. But when she looked at me like that—eyes glazed, lips swollen, body begging for it—I didn't care about Sid. I didn't care about the studio. I didn't care about anything except getting inside her.​

I grabbed her hips, lifting her up, and she yelped—surprised, but laughing—and straddled my lap. Her pussy was right there, inches from my dick, and I could feel her heat, her wetness, through the thin fabric of my boxers (wait, no—jeans were pulled down, so just skin). She grabbed my dick, lining it up, and I held my breath.​

"Ready?" She whispered, her forehead pressed against mine.​

I nodded, because I couldn't trust my voice. And then she sank down.

"Holy fuck, Cici," I groaned, grabbing her waist to steady myself......