Hungry to comply, I stripped out of my clothes and got myself ready. When I returned to the bedroom, Sam was standing beside the bed, the blankets turned down, his jeans open and his hand wrapped around his shaft.
Rooted in place, I watched as his forearm rippled with each stroke.
"Get over here," he barked, gesturing to the space between his legs as he sat on the bed. I went, dropping to my knees and waiting until his hand fisted in my hair. It was then, and not a second sooner, that he wanted my mouth.
I took him in, savoring the weight of him on my tongue. But I wasn't allowed to savor long. Sam released a heavy, impatient growl as his hips started jerking forward, and his grip tightened around my hair. His free hand moved from my shoulder up my neck, his fingers grazing my cheek with all the tenderness his bucking hips lacked, and this was how I loved him most. Wild and rough, and never more than a blink away from flat-out adoration.
He rocked into my mouth with a punishing pace, and his body became taut and restless under my palms, his words turned more impatient, more filthy. There was nothing he wouldn't say when I was here, and I craved every growl and command like it was a favorite old song, one I knew by heart and that had my body swaying with the beat at the opening chords.
My fingertips moved over his muscular thighs and between his legs, back,back, stroking and teasing, and wringing another snap of pleasure from him. With a gasp, he released my hair and slowed his thrusts until he was lazily jabbing into my mouth. He was backing away from the brink.
"Oh, my pervy girl," he growled. "What am I going to do with you?"
I smiled up at him, leaning into the hand cradling my face, and offered a shrug packed with as much coquettishness as I could gather with a dick in my mouth. He responded in kind with a sharp jab into my mouth before pulling all the way out.
He liked to force me, just a bit and only when I liked it, too, and he stuttered out an obscene string of curse-laced groans when my lips stiffened, offering the thick head of his cock some resistance as he pushed into me.
"If you don't want me coming in your mouth, your ass needs to get on that bed and your legs need to be spread for me because I'm not interested in waiting." His fingers stroked over my hair, slow and gentle, as if he was trying to remind me that his sweetness was lurking in the background while his greediness took charge. "I love you," Sam whispered.
"The sheets," I said. "Let me put down a towel, or—"
"Don't care."
And with that, he pulled me onto the bed, wrenched my legs open, and sank inside me. The only response I could manage was a slurred, sloppy amalgam of incomplete words.
"What was that?" Sam asked, and the glint in his voice told me that he was fully aware of his cock's brain-scrambling powers.
The light, wiry hairs on his chest scraped over my breasts, taunting my nipples with not enough friction while he drove into me, his fingers digging into my thighs as he pinned my legs wide. His skin was hot to the touch, and his hold was nearly painful, but that bite of pain only accentuated the deep, drugging pleasure of his cock as it pounded into me. He shifted up on his knees, drew my legs back toward the mattress, and gazed at where we were joined.
This angle didterriblethings to me. It always felt like a new depth, a territory previously uncharted, and the one word I could only ever manage to broadcast my praise was Sam's name, over and over again.
And I knew it was the same for him, too. The sweat beading on his forehead and sharp, determined set of his jaw told me he was working hard to prolong the moment, but his increasingly frenzied hums and groans told me it wasn't working.
Sam's breathing faltered, coming out in a choked huff before he was bringing his eyes up my body to meet mine. "Get there, Tiel," he said.
"I can't— I can't—"
"Yes, you can."
I was gasping, hiccupping when Sam's hand slid down the back of my thigh to caress my ass before winding up to deliver rapid-fire blows.
"I'm not waiting for you, drunk girl," he snarled.
That was a lie, but my orgasm didn't understand that—never did—and it uncoiled, slow like a summer sunset, then too fast and weighty for me to do anything but cry out as it engulfed me. I stayed lost in that fog as Sam cornered his own release and eventually dropped to the mattress.
"That was incredible. Really fucking incredible," he said. He reached out, blindly groping beside him before his hand connected with my belly. "Yeah?"
I hummed in agreement.
"I want to know exactly what you were drinking because I'm buying several cases of it tonight."
Covering my face with my hands, I laughed. "Oh no. I'm on the No-More-Mimosas plan."
"Not sure I can support that initiative," Sam said, his fingertips drawing circles between my belly button and bikini line. "It worked out favorably for me."
"If you want to get me drunk and silly, I'm willing to oblige you here, at home. Not at lunch with the girls. I really did fuck things up with Shannon," I said.
"My dick is still wet," Sam said, his face buried in the pillow as he groaned. "I don't want to talk about my sister right now. I just want to hold you for a little while and maybe rub your tits, and then, later,much later, we can sort out Shannon's issues."
