Stand (Black Addiction Book 3) by T. Gephart Page B

moronic lazy pot-smoking brother.
    “You were not a terrible girlfriend.” His hands gently moved against the line of my jaw. “I’m trying to illustrate—probably badly because the drugs are starting to kick in—that I have a hard time being mad at you.”
    “Well that’s dumb; those excuses alone would be very valid. No one would blame you.”
    It was hard to look at him. Not because I felt bad—fine, not the only reason—but because looking into those brown eyes of his time traveled us back to the Bronx. Being in the house he shared with Joey, both of us broke and yet to realize our dreams. How happy he’d made me, how safe I’d felt. It was like being home.
    “I’m not interested in what anyone else thinks.” He moved closer, his hands holding my face so I had nowhere to go as he pressed his lips to mine, softly, a tease. My mouth parted for him without waiting for my brain to give it permission, wanting more of what he was giving me.
    “No one is watching this time,” he whispered against my lips. “And the only person able to stop me, is you.”
    He didn’t wait for my reply, his mouth owning mine as his arms brought me closer. His tongue desperate like it couldn’t get enough. And it had my sympathies because I couldn’t get enough either. I wasn’t sure what the kiss meant or what was going through his mind, but at that moment, I didn’t care.
    My hands grabbed his ass and pulled him close, the evidence of his arousal hitting my stomach—I guess I knew one thing that was going through his mind—as my body flicked into autopilot.
    A moan escaped my lips as his knee parted my thighs. His hands moved across my body and landed at the base of my dress, the hem finding its way to my hip as his leg pushed against my core. The heat in between my legs felt like I would combust if he didn’t touch me more, his body reading my cues as his hands palmed my ass and he lifted me off the ground. The ridge of his rock hard cock stroked me through his jeans while my fingernails bit into his back.
    If I thought I’d spent some time in the gym, it had nothing on what he had been doing. My constant tugging saw the shirt he’d been wearing very quickly removed. Well done, hands , I silently thanked them for their efficiency.
    And if I’d been impressed before the removal of the shirt, then I had no hope dealing with reality. His firm body of chiseled perfection enough to make Chris Hemsworth jealous, my fingertips glided along the contours of his back while he yanked at my zipper.
    Stopping would have been a good idea, or at the very least slowing it down. But I didn’t want to stop, my body craving him more with every kiss and touch. He lowered me only for a second, just enough for my dress to pool at my feet, his battle with my zipper conquered as my skin goose pimpled under his hands.
    We were both adults, I rationalized. It wasn’t our first time and I had spent more time in a relationship with Max than out if it. He probably knew my body better than I did; this was totally not like a one night stand. Not that I assumed it would go on longer than tonight. So what if it was only for pleasure, no one was getting hurt. All valid. No reason at all to stop.
    Except.
    “Hey, are you okay?”
    His mouth had stopped kissing, his lips opening and closing with no real rhythm. His motor skills were also off, his hands anchored at the base of my spine using my body more for stability, than for the erotic rendezvous I’d assumed we were moving toward.
    “How many of those pills did you shove into my mouth?” His eyes had a hard time staying open as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
    “Ummm. A couple?”
    It happened so fast I couldn’t be sure. That stupid packaging had been the work of the Devil and I was trying to get them out quickly, I can’t be positive of how many. Two, maybe three? Definitely not more than three. God, did I give him too much? No, no one was that stupid. There was no need to panic.
    “Let