That would be fucking wrong. I know it in my gut, but I still entertain the idea.
“I have a hard time believing you didn’t date much in college, Belle,” I say through the husky rasp of inebriation, calling her by the nickname I gave her all those years ago. The nickname only I get to use on her. At least I think that’s still the case. Leaning in close to her, I inhale deeply, eyes pulled shut as I breathe in her sweet, citrusy scent that reminds me of all the time we spent together as kids. Except now, instead of wanting to play punch her arm like I used to, I can’t stop imagining how amazing she must look under all these clothes.
“How come? It’s not like I had a bunch of guys chasing me in high school.” Isabelle flips her hair behind one shoulder, exposing the slender lines of her neck and collarbone. I wonder if she knows how fucking sexy she looks when she does that. I’d like to believe that she does, but it’s wishful thinking. Isabelle’s too innocent to flirt. But fuck, my dick doesn’t care whether she means to or not. It’s hard as slate, straining against the zipper of my dress slacks. One part of me, the decent part, is desperately not to cross a line here, but the other part, my beast, it wants to charge across that line and take Belle in the most sinful, vicious way.
“But the reason they stayed away was mostly because of me, remember?”
“You might have a point.” She slides her tongue along her bottom lip. What I wouldn’t give for those lips to be wrapped around my shaft, trailing along my length right this second. It’s so unfamiliar, thinking this way about the girl who knows what I’m all about and still remained friends with me. But I don’t want to stop my brain or these urges from taking us somewhere we probably shouldn’t go. Not while I gaze down from those lips, along her neck to those slender shoulders that draw my eyes to the pale flesh of her full cleavage...
“Are you really all that convinced that you scared them off?” she asks, drawing my eyes back to hers. “It’s possible they weren’t that interested, you know. It’s not as though I looked like a supermodel or anything.”
“I’m sure. I really did.”
“Like, intentionally?”
“I don’t think so, no… but I can’t imagine any of those guys having the balls to ask you out knowing I was in the picture. Even if I was only a friend. And fuck, I can’t believe you won’t admit how fucking gorgeous you are. Since the second I got to your side tonight, practically every man in here has been lusting after you with their eyes popping out of their heads and their tongue hanging out of their mouths like the dogs that they are.”
“Hmm.” Isabelle purses her lips, and my dick throbs.
I want her. And I’m used to taking what I want. Back all those years ago, I might’ve kept my hands to myself, but then again, I saw Isabelle as a kid, and I had so few people who really knew me or had my back that I wouldn’t have dared to jeopardize our friendship. But we don’t really have that closeness anymore. There’s nothing left to risk, and fuck, I’m sick of holding back. Every instinct wants to reach forward, pull her tight against me, and claim every inch of her for tonight. I don’t know or care about tomorrow. If Isabelle was just some random chick I would’ve done that hours ago, but something’s stopping me. The truth is that if we cross this line, when we do, there’s no going back. And I have no fucking doubt in my mind that when that happens, I will break her.
“There was one guy I was interested in for a while,” Isabelle slurs through her tipsiness. She’s oblivious to the lust and sexual longing that are dripping off of me. “But as it turns out, he was into a different type. Or types, rather. Let me think about how to put it…”
“He was a male slut?” I offer, pretty sure she’s referring to me. Because I was and still am. “I can imagine, with an interest in other ‘types’ as you put it, he’d have to be chasing tail solely for a quick fuck.”
“Something like that.” As Isabelle laughs, I’m sure she’s still as much of a good girl as she clearly was back then. That’s a relief. She has so much more to offer than just warming someone’s bed for a couple of hours. But the problem is exactly that. She’s a good girl. Which makes my idea of what I’d like to have happen next feel that much worse. I shouldn’t be thinking of my friend like this. I should be protecting her from someone like me. The truth is I’m not the guy for Isabelle. Settling down and cozying up to one woman isn’t the life I’d ever choose willingly. So why should she give a prick like me the time of day?
“What about you?” Isabelle asks me with some hesitation. “Are you seeing anyone special?”
Unfortunately, I can’t give her a reassuring answer. Not unless I lie. “I’m the same guy I was back then.” I shrug. “You know how it is.”
“I didn’t want to assume. Everyone can change.” She smirks and adds, “I figured you’d be married to some society girl by now. I wouldn’t doubt that they’re still coming out of the woodwork to throw themselves at you every chance they get.”
“That’s possible,” I say with
