Maybe it was the first time when Lila wrapped her little pinky around mine outside of her grandparents’ grocery store.
Or maybe it was the time I woke up from a nightmare and found her sleeping beside me, the night she took care of me, pulling me out of the freezing tub, and didn’t leave my drunk ass behind – the same night I realized what it felt like not to be alone.
It could have been any time from the first moment I laid eyes on her, any moment we’ve had in between, until our last moment together – when I saw her with Lucien and I knew I was about to lose her forever.
I never could quite understand my own feelings. Lila wasn’t a monochrome in my black and white world, she was a kaleidoscope of colors. She had made my life less dull.
I didn’t know if I could call it love then.
Or if it was love now…
What is love?
When I was seventeen years old, Lila sashayed into my life with all the fierceness of a dragon, sassy and stubborn. Like an R-Rated Snow White, with an ass that should have been illegal and a mouth that tempted me to shove my dick down her throat.
At twenty years old, I realized that when we first met, Lila and I were two teenagers who were too young to understand what love was until we’d fallen too deeply into it.
“Just friends” was an easy way out, rather than accepting our growing feelings for each other.
It was around three in the morning when Lila fell asleep in my arms, breathless, sore and exhausted. She curled into me, pressing her soft, naked body against mine.
I watched her sleep, her pouty lips, her soft sighs and quiet snores.
Everyone has an addiction, mine just happened to be Lila Garcia.
My best friend
The same best friend I fucked last night.
There was no going back now; the line had been crossed, and now that I’ve had a taste of her, there was no way I was letting her go.
Lila was my favorite type of drug, and she was so goddamn addictive.
Her smell, her smiles, her laughter.
The way she moved, the way her face lit up whenever she talked about something that made her happy.
I breathed her.
Lila was so deep under my skin, digging deeper under my flesh, mixed with my blood, and pumping through my veins.
There was nothing calm and easy about what I felt for her.
My feelings for Lila were maddening. Like a storm that opens up the sky, violent and raging… all-consuming.
I couldn’t let her go, not after tonight.
I’d never forget the sound of her moans, her little whimpers as she begged me to fuck her harder, the sight of her pink sex, glistening with need – for me. I’d never forget how she felt in my arms, naked and without restraint.
No, I couldn’t let her go.
Not now. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever.
Wrapping my arm around her hips, I pulled Lila closer. Her scent was all around me, on my skin, on my hair… on my lips…
I could still taste her on my tongue.
If I knew Lila, as well as I’d like to think I did, then…
Come tomorrow morning, she’d wake up and try to escape. We might have been a bit drunk last night, but we both knew damn well what we were doing and the consequences of it. She was going to overthink this and try to put more distance between us.
Too bad.
Too. Fucking. Bad.
She was mine now.
I woke up to Lila leaving the bed. I peeked up at her through hooded eyes, half-asleep, watching her as she silently freaked out.
I waited – hoping she’d climb back in bed.
I was no longer drunk and could think with a clearer mind. And so could she.
Face me, Lila. Face what we’ve done and don’t. fucking. leave. me.
She stumbled toward our discarded clothes and pulled on her robe. Lila sniffled, casting me a quick glance, but she didn’t notice that I was awake… watching her walk away from me.
I waited for her to change her mind, waited for her to stay.
Make me your first choice.
When she reached the door, I sprang off the bed, my fists clenching.
Hell no.
Enraged and disappointed at her choice, I stalked forward and slammed the door shut. My heart thumped in my chest. Lila gasped when I gripped her arm and shoved her away from the door, caging her between the wall and my naked body.