Hotter Than Ever

He choked on the breath he’d just drawn into his lungs, then burst into a fit of coughing. Next to him, Aidan barked out another laugh.

When the coughs subsided, Dylan cast a frazzled look at the curious redhead. “Neither of us is the bottom,” he sputtered.

“So you’re both the top?”

“We switch off,” Aidan said helpfully.

Dylan turned to glare at his buddy. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Why not? This is highly entertaining.”

Unfortunately, Claire hurled out another question before he could inform Aidan that his definition of entertainment was all sorts of f**ked up.

“So if you had to choose, which would it be, men or women?”

“It’s not that simple,” Aidan said in a gruff voice.

“Sure it is. Just pick one, desert-island style. You can only bring one person with you, and that’s the only person you can sleep with for the rest of your life. ’Kay, you ready? On the count of three, pick a gender. One. Two. Th—”

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed,” Dylan interrupted, bolting to his feet.

“But it’s still early!” Claire’s gaze moved to the red numerals on the Blu-ray player. “It’s, um…” She squinted. “Well, it’s blurry, but I think that says eight o’clock.”

“Well, like you said, you’re very tired.”

As he reached for Claire’s hand and hauled her to her feet, he sensed Aidan’s dark eyes watching in disapproval. Fine, so maybe he was trying to get rid of her, but he refused to spend the rest of the night being interrogated about his sexual preferences. He’d performed his good-guy duty today by whisking her out of the country club, and that was as far as he was willing to go.

To his surprise, Claire didn’t launch any protests as he practically dragged her to the corridor on the other side of the apartment. She just kept chatting away—about the same topic he’d been trying to squash.

“Chris told me you’re kind of a slut. He said you sleep with a ton of women. So I’m guessing if you had to choose, you’d pick the va-jay-jay over the cock.”

Dylan burst out laughing again, and regretted it instantly.

Goddammit. He really needed to stop doing that.

“How is it you can say the word cock, but you use a euphemism for pu**y?” he said with a sigh.

Her cheeks turned bright crimson. “I don’t know. I just don’t say that word.” Her tone grew haughty. “I grew up in a strict household where you weren’t allowed to talk about sex or be crude. So sue me. Anyway, what was I saying?”

“Nothing. You were saying nothing.”

“Oh, right, how I think you’d choose women.” She paused. “Actually, no, I changed my mind. Maybe you’d pick men. You live with a man, so…”

Ten more steps and they’d reach his bedroom. Just ten more steps.

Sadly, they were a measly three steps in when Claire decided to come to a full stop in the middle of the hall.

“What now?” he demanded.

She was staring at him, pensive again, except now there was an indecipherable gleam in her eyes that gave him a really bad feeling.

“Unless you were lying to Chris,” she said slowly.

She was clearly vocalizing a conversation she’d been having in her own head because Dylan had no f**king idea what she was talking about.

Her expression turned shrewd. “Did you make up the whole manwhore reputation so Chris wouldn’t know you were really into dudes?”

Aggravation clamped around his throat, making it difficult to get out his next words. “No, I did not make anything up. I’m sorry to inform you, but I really am a manwhore. I’ve slept with a lot of women, okay? So now let’s get you nice and settled in your room, and I can go back to enjoying the football ga—”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence, because the next thing he knew, Claire was grabbing him by the front of his wifebeater and forcing his head down for a kiss.

Jesus Christ, she was kissing him.

And not a peck, either. This was a kiss. A hot, passionate kiss with a helluva lot of tongue, and the second her mouth latched onto his, the manwhore they’d just been speaking of flew onto the scene like a bull bursting out of a chute.

He immediately took control of the kiss, hands sliding down to cup the firmest ass he’d ever had the pleasure of squeezing, mouth devouring hers like a man starved. Didn’t matter that he’d had an explosive orgasm a few hours ago—his dick was rock-hard and raring to go again, and it wasted no time in rubbing up against Claire’s pelvis and showing her exactly how much he loved women.

She whimpered, clung to the back of his neck. Her mouth tasted like peanut butter and alcohol, and her hair smelled like lavender, the sweet scent teasing his senses.

Dylan knew he had to stop this insanity, yet he couldn’t seem to wrench his mouth away. Claire’s lips were so soft, so warm. Her tongue eagerly explored his mouth, eliciting shockwaves of desire in his body. When she hooked one leg around his hip and he felt the heat of her pu**y against his thigh, he groaned with pleasure and started backing her into the wall behind her.

Their mouths were still locked, tongues tangling, and his hands moved from her ass to her waist, sliding down the sexy curve of her hips toward the hem of her dress, which he bunched between his fingers.

He was two seconds from ripping that dress right off her when a gust of reality swooped in and he suddenly realized what he was doing.