I take the bra, toss it into the other room, and grab her hips. I lift her up on the counter and drink in the view.

Skirt, heels, and apron. Her breasts are barely covered, and for a man obsessed with breasts, you’d think I’d be fondling them right now. But I’m also not twelve. I want to savor the view. I want to admire my girl. I want to experience every fucking glorious second of this night, imprint it all on my brain, feed every memory cell I have.

I reach around her neck and tug at the apron tie. Her breath catches, and she trembles. A shudder runs through her body.

It gives me pause. “You okay?” I ask, because I can’t not. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m good. Just very, very good,” she says, tipping up her chin. Her eyes meet mine, and in a flash I see so much vulnerability, so much longing in them, it nearly knocks me to my knees. It almost makes me want to spill my whole heart to her, to tell her what I realized at Max’s garage. But if there’s a recipe for killing a friendship, that’s it, right there. When you add love to the mix—when you openly declare it—you might as well say good-bye to the friendship. We can be friends and we can have benefits, but anything more is playing with fire. I know this, and she surely does, too.

Tonight, we’re lovers.

That’s what I zone in on as I undo the apron tie.

The knot loosens. The straps slide. The fabric ties fall down her chest.

Dear God, she’s gorgeous. Her breasts are as magnificent as I imagined. Soft, creamy, gorgeous globes with rosy nipples, tipped up. I bend to her chest, draw one delicious peak into my mouth, and suck.

“Oh God,” she moans, and her hands grab the back of my head, clutching me tight.

Just when I think a moment can’t be more perfect, it proves me wrong.

This is beyond compare.

I cup the other breast in my left hand, squeezing, then pinching her nipple as I suck. A throaty groan meets my ears, then an anguished “please,” chased by a breathy “God, that’s so good.”

Yes, it’s so good. It’s so fucking good. It’s absolutely fucking amazingly exquisite to have my face buried between Josie’s tits. I could spend the next day, or week, or month here. In fact, when Mercy comes looking for me because I missed my next several shifts, they’ll find me squirreled away in the land of absolute bliss.

Here.

I make no apologies for my obsession. I don’t consider this a guilty pleasure, either, because I don’t feel a shred of guilt about something that drives both of us crazy. Judging from the way her fingers are locked around my skull, Josie loves the attention I’m lavishing on her chest as much as I love giving it. Her breath comes fast, and her hips wriggle on the counter as I lick and suck and kiss her breasts. She moans and sighs and murmurs.

At some point, maybe in the next century, I wrestle myself away and meet her gaze. I don’t let go of these beauties, though. I fondle them as I look at her, all flushed and sexy.

“Jesus Christ, Josie,” I say, just in awe of her. Everything. How she looks at me. How her lips fall open. How her eyes are guileless. The way she inches closer to me.

“I’m in love with—” I catch myself before I screw things up with her. “Your tits. They’re fucking perfect. I hope you don’t mind my adoration of them.” I flash her a lopsided grin.

She laughs. “I don’t mind it at all, and I’ll give you free rein with them if you do something for me.”

“Name it.”

She brings her hand to my chin, pulls me close, and then dusts kisses along my jawline that drive me insane. My dick is knocking on the door of my jeans, begging to be free.

She finds my ear and whispers, “I’m dying for you to go down on me, but I want you to fuck me more.”

I groan. “That’s so fucking sexy what you just said.”

“Is that a yes?”

I adopt a frown. “Why can’t I have both?”

She runs her finger over my bottom lip. “You can. But right now,” she says, wriggling closer, “I need you inside me.”

And that’s it.

Done.

Ready.

The woman has asked, and the woman shall receive. I push up her skirt to her waist, shaking my head. “I should be devouring your pussy right now. You distracted me with your perfect tits, so I had no time to go down on you. And then, what do you do to me? You ask me to fuck you. Which is basically the hottest thing in the entire universe.”

She laughs. “I like asking for what I want. It turns me on.”

I slide my hands under her skirt. “I like it, too, knowing what you want. And I love when you ask. Though, I can also tell . . .”

My eyes roam to her legs, to that decadent land at the apex of her thighs. She’s soaked. Her panties are so wet, it’s nearly criminal. And I’m a cocky bastard because pride surges in me. I did this—I got her this turned on. I love that she’s so aroused from the way we kiss and touch and grope that she’s soaked through. I drag a finger across the wet panel, and she shudders against me.

As I slide off her panties, she grabs the hem of my T-shirt and yanks it over my head. Then her hands are on my jeans, tugging at the button.

“Damn, woman.”

“I want you,” she says, firmly. “I want you now.”

“Trust me, baby. You’re going to have me. And I’m going to make it so fucking good for you. But first we need this.” I dip my hand to my back pocket, grab my wallet, and take out a condom. “Hope you don’t think I’m a cheapskate, but I got it at work.”