Winona Halbach is some vengeful goddess sent to earth to torture mankind. 

Specifically, me.

How else can you explain that short little skirt she’s wearing, the way her sweater clings to her curves, the wild, dark hair flowing down her back—it’s usually leashed in a smooth bun. It’s like she knew exactly what to wear to drive me insane.

I could kill Garrett right now.

If he hadn’t decided to invite a bunch of people over last minute for a party, we’d be on the couch right now watching a movie. Winona would be sitting next to me instead of hovering in the kitchen. I’d have an excellent view of all that exposed skin of her thighs. Fuck, she’d probably even let her knee lean against mine. 

Jesus Christ. I’m a mess.

Her knee?

She’s my friend.

Friend, asshole.

I grit my teeth. This is exactly what I told her I wouldn’t do.

But that was before she texted me the first time after I gave her my number, and my heart fell into my ass. Before I noticed the mischievous twinkle she gets in her eye when she calls me Flower Boy. Before she snuck me into the studio after hours, and I watched her dance for the first time. Before I realized she was so bravely herself. Before she gifted me a photo of an obscure cloud formation I’d one-off mentioned was my favorite weeks ago.

Before she wore that skirt. Fuck.

A hand claps down on my shoulder.

“You’re in deep,” Garrett chuckles, shaking me.

My attention snaps to him, standing across from me in our crowded hallway. “Hm?”

“I just said I think your mom is hot, and you didn’t even flinch.”

“Fuck you.”

His eyes flick to Winona. Lingers a beat too long. “You haven’t stopped staring at her.”

I scowl and force my gaze to the glass in my hand, tipping the amber liquid side to side. “Not true.” 

But I’ve never been a good liar.

“C’mon.” He drops his hand, his shit eating grin tipping sideways. “She already rejected you once.”

It’s one of her favorite details to tell my friends about how he met. He said about five words to me, then asked if he could take me home to meet his mom. When you say it like that, of course it sounds a little insane. And maybe it was a little insane. Every atom in my body lit like a match—it was instant, burning attraction, in a way I’d never felt before. I wasn’t thinking straight when I said that, and she’ll never let me live it down. Little shit.

“I’m revoking this.” Garrett snatches my bourbon.

“What the—”

“I’m reminding you that she rejected your ass, and you’re smiling?” He tips the glass to his lips and downs the liquor.

I wipe a hand over my mouth, scattering the evidence. I don’t have a decent comeback; he’s right. She has me thoroughly wrapped around her pretty little claws. A merciless cat playing with her prey before she puts it out of its misery. The worst part is, I don’t even think she’s doing it on purpose. Winona has no idea how magnetic and captivating she is. Instead, she moves through the world like she’s bracing to be disliked; she’d probably kill me in my sleep if she ever figured out that I’ve picked up on this.

Garrett shakes his head. “You can stop pretending like you’re listening to me and go talk to her, if you want.”

He does the gracious thing and wanders off, waving to a redhead across the room who’s come home with him before, saving me from pulling some fake politeness out of my ass—no, sorry, keep going, I’m paying attention. He’s a good friend. Mostly. I squeeze behind a group of guys and make my way to the kitchen. Winona’s tipping a beer into the sink, shaking out the last few drops of liquid, as I lean against the counter next to her.

“I feel bad,” I say.

She side-eyes me. “For what?”

“I had no idea Garrett was planning…all this. I can tell you’re not having fun.” It’s something about the set of her shoulders, her jaw, the guarded look in her eye. She’s different when it’s just the two of us or around a few people she actually knows. More relaxed.

“No, I’m fine. This is great.” She turns on the faucet.

“You’re cleaning, Win.”

“I’m fine, Charlie. Really. Don’t worry about me.” She flashes me the most bullshit smile as she rinses out the bottle.

I can feel it—she’s about to bail. She’ll make up some excuse about studying or dance or her roommate or being tired, and she’ll leave. And that is the last thing I want. I have to save this. I’d feel like an ass if I were the reason for her ruined night. 

“Have you met my friend Malcom yet?” I ask. “I think you’d like his girlfriend. They’re just in the—” 

“I guess I’m not really in the mood to be social.” 

Holding the bottle, she pivots, probably to toss it in the bin on the other side of me, but my body moves faster than my brain. I intercept her, covering her hand with mine as I try to grab it from her. She sucks in a tiny breath, gaze falling to our touching hands. We’re standing so close, I can feel the warmth of her body. Smell the subtly spicy floral musk of whatever her perfume is, or her shampoo. 

“What are you in the mood for then?” I ask, voice lowered, too weak to force myself to stare anywhere but her mouth. Her perfect pink lips. The way they’re just barely parted. Her hazel eyes flick up to mine, my stomach flips over, and because she’s my friend, I look away.

Fucking hell.

What are you in the mood for? I’ve lost my goddamned mind. Bourbon makes me too bold. I need to get myself in check before I piss her off. Garrett’s right; she already turned me down. She was explicit in what she wanted from me. And it’s nowhere near close to what I want from her.

She drops her hand, letting me take the bottle, and when I turn to toss it, I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth. Get it the-fuck together. Be a friend.

“You want to get out of here? We can do something else. Or I can walk you back to your form, if that’s what you want,” I say.

My throat dries immediately at the thought. Walking her back to her dorm room. Alone together. At night. It’s chilly outside. Maybe she’d let me offer her a jacket. Maybe she’d forget to give it back to me right away. Maybe a week or two would go by before she remembers, and when she finally returns it, it’ll make my whole closet smell like her.

She’s staring at me so hard I wonder if she can see right into my head. Into all these reckless thoughts I shouldn’t be having about her. If she can read how fucking desperate for her I am all over my face.

Winona’s completely quiet. Maybe figuring out the most ruthless way to tell me to go fuck myself and never talk to her again. A single tendril of hair hangs loose over her shoulder, the rest of her waves corralled behind her back. What I wouldn’t give to push it behind her ear. To graze my fingertips across her cheekbone. To see how she might react to me.

She teases me, sure. Sometimes I even catch her looking at me. We have this insanely amusing innuendo-spiked back and forth I’ve never had with anyone else that, I swear to God, I’m addicted to. If she feels even a fraction of what I do when we’re around each other, then I know she has to want me in some capacity.

But she said she wants a friend.

Excited cries erupt in the other room, and as Winona’s eyes slide sideways, distracted by the chaos, I’m one more annoyance away from kicking every single person out of this house except her. Even Garrett. I want those eyes back on me. Always on me.

But a grin spreads on her face as she grants that wish.

The kind that says I’m about to be in deep, deep shit.

“Dance with me,” she says.

I wince. “Ah, but I don’t—”

“Of course you don’t.” 

She grabs my hand, and the resistance in my body drops off. It’s so soft. So warm. So delicately wrapped around mine. My stupid dick twitches in my pants. This hold she has over me—it’s too powerful.

“Everyone dances, Charlie.” She leads me into the living room, through the sweaty crowd as the lights flare red, then blue, then purple, and the deep, heady bass hums. 

She’s wrong, of course. I definitely don’t dance. Unless it’s something with rules and steps to follow, I get too in my head. I overthink every little thing, which I’ve proven on multiple attempts, completely ruins the vibe.

But as she drops my hand and starts to move, I’m entranced. Everyone’s so crammed into mine and Garrett’s tiny living room, she’s standing hardly a foot in front of me as she sways. As she swings her hips, lifts her arms, tips her head back, I can’t help myself from studying every slope of her body.

Friends can look.

But they definitely can’t touch.

She watches me, those gorgeous eyes goading me—c’mon, Charlie. I turn down my smile and shake my head. She takes my hands, smiling as she raises them. I commit to the bit, letting them hang like dead weight as she maneuvers my limbs, and I let her have her way with me. Laughing, she drops one and spins herself beneath my still-drooping arm. We’re surrounded by so many people, and yet this moment, playing with her like this, it feels like it’s just the two of us.

Her back to me, she drops my hand.

And—God, help me—she keeps her back to me as she tortures me with her moving hips all over again.

This beautiful woman. This gorgeous woman. This smart, hilarious, infuriating fucking woman. 

She gets off on making me suffer. I just know it.

Garrett and I threw open the windows hours ago, letting in the cool night air, but I’m still sweating bullets. Her ass is so dangerously close to pressing against exactly where I want her. I fidget with my belt, distracting my hands from the aching desire to touch her.

Winona tosses her head back, all that thick, dark hair cascading between her shoulder blades as she runs her fingers through it. “It’s not illegal to move your hips,” she teases. “You’ve seen Dirty Dancing! Don’t overthink it.”

I lean in so I don’t have to shout, and her shoulder grazes my chest as I say, “You make it look much better than I could.”

She looks back at me, gaze hooded and two front teeth sinking into the bottom curve of her devilish smile. “Don’t play like you don’t know how good you look.”

I laugh because I’m a nervous idiot and the most stunning woman I’ve ever met, in a roundabout way, finally admitted she finds me attractive. I feel like I could run a fucking marathon right now. “Thanks for the compliment. I still don’t dance.”

I don’t know if it’s me moving or her, but somehow the twelve or so inches between us has shrunk to maybe five. And that’s generous. 

“Why do you have to be so boring, Charlie?” With a flat look, she conjures up a ridiculous pout, bottom lip pushing out a tiny bit further than the top. I want to push it back into place. With my teeth. “If you don’t want to dance with me, I’m sure someone else will.”

In a quarter of a second, an unfamiliar fury tightens a fist in my chest, and suddenly it’s not just me and Winona in the room. There are dozens of other guys. One of which is only a few paces away and hasn’t stopped gawking at her since she pulled me into this mess. The thought of someone else with their hands all over my girl—

Not mine.

She starts to move away, and I jerk her hip back, her ass pressing into my body. “This what you want?”

“Yeah,” she gasps, layering her hand right on top of mine. 

I smash my teeth together, swallow back the tightness in my throat, as I dig for every shred of self-control I have. Goddammit. She smells so good. The spicy musk is definitely perfume; her hair smells like vanilla. My fingers dig into her.

She tips her head back, an evil little smirk playing on that mouth I want to cover with my own. I drown in her scent; I never want to come back up for air. “Does that make you jealous? The thought of someone else touching me?”

That’s when I see it. The thrill in her eyes. 

She likes this.

She likes the idea of me being jealous. 

Friends my ass. 

I don’t know what kind of game she’s getting at here, but I’ve always enjoyed playing with her. She thinks it’s fun to toy with me and drive me crazy? Maybe I do too. 

Mutually assured destruction.

“Yeah,” I growl, bringing my other hand to her stomach. I follow the shape of her breath, sliding my palm up as she inhales. “That makes me fucking jealous, Winona.”

“What?” She sounds astonished as her body melts back a little more fully against mine. Ridiculous. How could she not have known? I told her I wanted to bring her home to my parents after five seconds; it’s branded on my forehead how much I crave this girl.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.” I drop my head, mouth hovering just over her skin. “Fuck, Win. These mixed signals are killing me.”

Her back arches, and I only notice the blaring music because she rolls back against me in perfect rhythm with the way it slows. I bite back a groan as I tense my hips, fighting the instinct to match her pressure with my own. Her hand slides up, delving into my hair. I don’t even dare breathe. She’s trying to pull my restraint out by the root.

“Friends dance, Charlie,” she singsongs, her head turning so her nose butts up against my jaw.
 
She’s aiming for cavalier. But her voice is light and breathy, and maybe I’m an arrogant son of a bitch, but I swear I can hear it—she’s turned on right now. And fuck, it makes me so hard.

“You’re so full of shit,” I huff a tortured, broken-off laugh. There’s no way she’d do this with any of her other friends. No, this special brand of punishment is solely for me, whether she can admit it or not. 

Gripping her hips, I snap her body completely flush against mine. I’m done being polite. Closing my eyes, I commit it all to memory, in case I never have another chance to get this close to her again. She feels like heaven and sin all wrapped up in a tight little sweater as I slide my palms over her hips, down her thighs, grazing the exposed skin just beneath the hem of her skirt. 

“You think I touch all my friends like this, sweetheart?” I murmur.

“Maybe for a night,” she breathes.

“I’d want you for more than one.”

I’m so thoroughly on my way to hell, every inch of me is already burning. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. She rejected me. She said she wanted to be friends. But goddammit, she hasn’t stopped flirting with me since the very first time I laid eyes on her. And now this? I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

I’m waiting for her to stomp on my foot, elbow me in the ribs, and say she never wants to see me again. I’m waiting for her to snarl that she was right about me from the jump: I’m only being her friend for a shot at feeling her up. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but the way I’m touching her says otherwise.

But instead, as the music builds and thrums around us, she tightens her fingers in my hair and grinds her ass against me in a way I can only read as fully intentional. There’s no way she can’t feel my aching dick.

Then she spins.

Her hands clasp behind my neck, and mine move to the small of her back, and she’s staring at me so wide-eyed and hungry I think I might melt.

She’s so pretty.

Her lips part as her heavy-lidded gaze falls to my mouth and my heart’s churning behind my sternum. This can’t be real. 

She almost looks like she’s about to kiss me. 

“You’re drunk,” I rasp.

She shakes her head, practically purring, “I only had one.”

“What’re we doing, Win?”

I thought she’d been screwing with me. Toying with our chemistry like a scientist, stretching the bounds of a hypothesis. Testing when it breaks. But this, this moment feels so fucking real I can’t even breathe. 

Then she tangles her fingers in my hair and presses her lips to mine.

Her soft, sweet, perfect lips.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I cup the side of her face as I kiss her back. She’s so pliant for me, all her usual sharp-edged fight stowed away beneath this electric want. I lose it when she gives me her soft side; it feels like something special, just for me. Her lips part and, god help me, I don’t hesitate to slip my tongue in her mouth. 

I’ve been such a shit friend, because I have thought about this before. So many torturous times.

The real thing is so much better.

I groan into her mouth as our tongues slick against each other with a fury. Gripping the back of her neck, I pull her closer, and she tilts for me, inviting me deeper. She feels so good. Tastes even better. Her muscled dancer’s body pressed against mine is all I’ve ever wanted. Fuck, I never want to stop kissing her.

But not here. Not in this sea of sweaty bodies where everyone can see us.

I want her all to myself.

I pull back from her, twine my hand with hers, and lead her back to my bedroom. I close the door behind us.

“Jesus, Winona. What was that?” My head’s still spinning. My dick’s having a field day. This still feels like a dream I’ll wake up from any second.

She snorts. “What? You never kiss a girl before?” 

I cross to her, turn her to face me.

And, dear God, she looks incredible. Her halo of dark waves mussed from my hands. Her pupils blown so wide they swallow the color of her eyes. Somehow her mouth looks even prettier when it’s swollen from my kisses.

A goddess. No doubt in my mind.

“No,” I say, a little dazed. “Never like that before.”

And I mean it with every fiber of my being. I’ve never met anyone quite like Winona before.

We crash into each other again in the same breath, all hands and heaving chests. I fight so hard not to devour her. To take my time and feel every. Single. Thing. 

I slide my hands down her back, savoring the lines of her, before swooping to cup her ass. I pick her up and set her on my dresser. Her legs immediately open to make space for me. Skimming my fingertips up the smooth skin of her thighs, I drop my mouth to her throat. As I exhale across the fluttering pulse there, she shudders. My smile ticks up crookedly before I press my lips to her. I layer kiss after kiss along her neck. My teeth sink into her delicate skin, and she moans as I soothe the bite with my tongue.

I pull back enough to look at her. Swallowing, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, grazing her cheekbone. And there’s my answer to how she reacts to me: her dark brows pull together as a breath hitches in her chest, and her eyes are practically glittering as she watches me.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous it hurts to look at you sometimes,” I admit.

Winona draws me back to her mouth again with force, kissing me with unexpected intensity. 

“What’re we doing here?” I murmur, forehead on hers.

“Thought you aced biology,” she teases.

“Not what I meant—”

“Charlie,” she whispers.

My name in her soft, smoky voice. It makes me so fucking weak. Our eyes meet, and my chest explodes as her thighs tighten around my hips. I have never wanted someone like I want her. I’d sacrifice a lot of shit just for the chance to kiss her again. For a chance to tuck my nose against her jaw and inhale the intoxicating smell of her perfume. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. I want to hear her say my name on repeat forever.

Forever.

If a spontaneous make-out is all she wants from me, I’ll accept it. Of course I will. I’ll be a good friend and pretend like this never happened if she asks me to.

But it’d also kill me.

“You ask a lot of questions, Flower Boy.”

Before I can even process the physiological reaction my body has every time she calls me that, she peels her sweater over her head and tosses it on the floor.

She’s wearing a lacy white bra. So thin and sheer it may as well not exist. Through the floral pattern, I can just barely make out the tightening pink flesh of her nipples. Fuck.

I hadn’t considered this.

At all.

Clothes coming off was nowhere even near my radar. And now Winona’s sitting on my dresser topless, her pert little tits heaving with each ragged breath as she looks at me expectantly. I’m frozen in place. I don’t know where the boundary is. And no way in hell do I want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable.

She takes my hand and presses it to her sternum.

Embarrassing, but I could probably come from this alone. Her eyes on me. Her racing heartbeat beneath my palm. Her nipples half-visible through this godforsaken fabric. My cock could bust through a brick wall right now.

“I want this, Charlie,” she says softly.

I shake my head even as I crowd closer to her, as I make an indulgent sweep of my thumb to graze her breast. “But you’re waiting,” I practically whimper.

The idea of her kissing me was incredible enough. The idea of more has me reeling. 

Her pretty mouth tips into one of her evil cat grins. “There’s other stuff we can do.”

That’s all I need to hear. I crash my mouth against hers again, starved for more, as I jerk her forward. The dresser shakes and something crashes on the floor but—Jesus Christ—I couldn’t care less right now. I kiss down her throat again, licking, sucking, biting, muttering tell me if you want me to stop against her heated skin.

“Fuck, Win,” I groan against her collarbone. “I want to get you off so bad.”

It’s as honest as I’ll let myself be. I’m too ashamed to admit I’ve imagined it before. I’ve wondered how she’d taste. If she’d like two fingers or three. What she’d sound like when I’d make her come.

I catch her nipple with my lips, sucking it through the thin fabric of her bra. She arches her back, pulling me firmer against her by my neck as she lets out a delicious breathy moan. I lower a strap and cup her exposed breast as I keep swirling my tongue around her tightened flesh. Another gorgeous sound as I pinch her nipple between my thumb and finger, twisting it gently.

I unsnap her bra, tossing it aside, and inch my hand up her thigh. Slow enough she can stop me if she wants to. I slip beneath her skirt, still teasing her nipple with my mouth. “Hands ok?” I ask, and she nods. I suck on her again. “And my mouth?”

“Yes,” she gasps.

I’ve never gone down on a girl the very first time we hooked up; I usually move a lot slower. But even the thought of my face between her thighs has my dick leaking from the tip.

I don’t think, I just act. I haul her to my bed, set her back on the mattress. She reaches for my shirt, yanking it up, and I tug it off from the back collar as she runs her nails over my stomach, and god, add that to the list of best feelings on earth. Holy shit. I want her claws all over me.

But as I’m toying with the zipper at her hip, discolored spots inside her knee catch my eye. I reach down and brush them, frowning. “What’s this?”

“Just dance bruises,” she says.

“And you didn’t ask me to kiss them better?” I tease. But she stares blankly at me. “Just something my mom used to say when I got hurt as a kid.”

“Oh.” My brow tightens, then softens again almost immediately. “Now I know for next time.”

“Mhmm,” I hum as I press my lips to all three spots, fighting so hard to keep it cool. Next time. Next time. Next. Time.

I look up at her, twining our hands together. “You sure about this?”

She nods.

“How’d we get here?” I ask softly. It’s both rhetorical and earnest. I know exactly how we got here. But I also have no idea.

“I kissed you.” The faintest pink tints Winona's cheeks as she smiles, soft and sweet and—dare I say—a little bashful. It’s so unlike her usual brazen persona. This. This is who she really is. The side of her I’m not sure she even recognizes in herself. The one she only shares when it’s just us two and she can fully let her guard down.

It makes my chest ache to know she feels so safe with me.

“Right. You did.” When I finally manage her zipper, she lifts her hips, and I slide the skirt down. “You stole my thunder.”

“You weren’t going to kiss me,” she says, down to only her underwear. Simple black with a lace trim.

I hook my fingers around the waistband, smirking at her. If she feels comfortable enough to play her cards, maybe I can play mine too. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day since we met.” I drop my voice as I even admit, “And I almost did earlier. I thought about it, at least. After you gave me that gift.”

“Really?”

I keep my eyes on her as I lower the last scrap of fabric standing between us. “You act like you’re so aloof, all sarcasm and deadpan jokes. And then you go and do stuff like that.” I lift her right leg, peppering languid kisses along her inner thigh as I sling it over my shoulder. “I’m the only one who gets your soft side.”

I haven’t known her for long, but I’m already certain I like all her sides. Even the ones she hasn’t shown me yet.

Sinking to my knees on the floor, I exhale a long, steady breath as I try to keep it together. God, she’s glistening. She’s so fucking wet. For me. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t come in my pants before she does. I’m hanging on by a thread.

I lavish her with my tongue, slow and soft, at complete odds with how wild and out of control I feel. She’s so responsive—little breaths catching in her chest, sharp moans ringing out like my new favorite song, needy fists clenching in my hair. I band an arm across her hips to pin her in place as I slide a finger inside of her, then another, working into a rhythm that has her legs squeezing my head and my name snapping off in her throat. 

Her whole body tenses as she sucks in a sharp breath, and she digs her nails into my forearm across her hips, the other knotting tighter in my hair. She goes quiet as I gently suck her sensitive clit, and her legs start to quiver. Then all at once, she’s stuttering out whimpers and clamping her thighs so tight I can’t breathe, and she’s falling apart so fucking thoroughly I can’t help myself—I smirk against her.

When she relaxes, she’s panting. 

“Come here,” she whispers.

I crawl back up her body, cock aching as it strains behind my zipper, and fuck—she looks so good like this. Eyes ravenous and lust-blown, skin dewy from sweat, completely naked beneath me, nipples pinched into tight little beads, thighs damp.

Bet she’d look even more beautiful with a white dress hiked up around her hips and my dick deep inside of her.

It’s an insane thought. I know. But, goddamn, I cannot help myself when it comes to this girl.

“That was nice,” she whispers as my face hovers over hers, then lets out a bona fide giggle. 

“Nice? What’s that? Like three out of five stars?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Two and a half, if I’m being generous.”

Laughing, I brush my hand over the crown of her hair, gaze searching her face in awe. “You really get off on making me suffer, don’t you?”

She hooks her legs around my waist, absently twirling a piece of my hair around her finger. “You finally caught on?”

I roll my smirk between my teeth. “That why you were moaning my name when you were suffocating me with your thighs?”

A sharp laugh bursts from her chest, and she claps a hand over my mouth, which I promptly kiss. “Not fair. You’re not allowed to have better comebacks than me.”

I chuckle against her palm and ease my weight down onto her. Her breath hitches as my hips settle between her legs, and I’m certain she can feel my needy hard-on pressing into the crease of her hip. So fucking close to where I wish it could be.

“I’ve never done that before,” she says softly, fingers curling into my shoulders.

“Never?”

She shakes her head. Then even softer, she adds, “It was a lot more than just nice, Charlie.”

Pride radiates all through my chest.

If making her come is the secret key to exposing the tender heart she’s always guarding, then good lord, I will live on my knees forever for this woman. 

I like her sharp edges. But god, I love her gentle ones.

But as quickly as she shared them with me, she snatches them right back. With a swift move that catches me off guard, she has me flipped on my back. Those dance muscles are not to be underestimated. She bites into her grin as her palms inch down my chest, and my stomach hollows with a sharp intake of air.

“You’re not the only one who can do nice things with your mouth, Flower Boy.”

My heart gives out for several seconds.

Holy hell.

Friends dance, Charlie.

What utter bullshit.

I don’t know what she’d call us now. But we are sure as hell not just friends anymore. Whether she knows it or not, I am determined: Winona Halbach will be my girlfriend. 

Maybe more one day.

I knew it the day I ran into her in the dressing room.

This girl.

She’s it for me.

Charlie

Six Years Ago