I close my eyes as the fantasy grows. I picture steam curling around her face as those big blue eyes look down at me. She watches as I run my tongue along the seam of her entrance, tasting her.
My hand jerks faster and my balls curl upward, tight and ready to burst.
A soft sigh makes me stiffen. I snap my eyes open, suddenly realizing that I’m in bed stroking my cock to fantasies of the girl sleeping peacefully next to me.
What the fuck are you thinking, Olly?
Guilt should make me sick with remorse, but lust is a heady sensation, impossible to ignore.
Sleep will never happen with my cock this hard.
Slowly, I ease the blanket off my legs and try to slide to the edge of the mattress, but Lacey shifts again. I look over at the new angle of her top, the white cotton now stretching so tightly across one breast that a dusting of pink areola peaks out. Just the slightest movement will set her nipple free.
A best friend would cover her with a blanket, find the will to ignore the ache in his balls, and sleep. But the depraved side of me turns back onto the bed, holds his breath, and waits.
Each rise of her chest pulls the cotton tighter, but the seconds tick by at a slow, torturous pace.
Before rationalizing why this is a bad idea, I pluck the cotton between my fingers, careful not to wake her, and gently pull it to the side. Rosy pink flesh pops out, pebbled on her breast like a cherry-topped sundae, ripe and ready to taste.
I palm my cock, rubbing the aching length through fabric as tension and arousal burn in my core. He twitches in an angry demand for more attention, but the distance from the bed to the bathroom feels cavernous and too far from that sweet pink candy.
Without thinking, I slip my hand beneath the elastic of my boxers and curl my callused fingers around my length.
The soft skin of my hand touches the steely heat of my cock. Air hisses between my teeth in relief. I drag my fist up and downslowly, careful to keep my movements shallow to avoid rocking the bed.
A thrill hums through me at the depravity, wishing it was something I could share with Lacey. She’d salivate over writing a scene like this and pull out her favorite purple toy.
It’s the excuse I tell myself because I can’t stop.
What would Lacey do if she opened her eyes right now?
The dirty author in her would paint a picture more vivid than reality and cause a visceral reaction in my body when I read it—just like every other scene she’s written.
Excitement sprints up my spine at the thought of her waking up any second and seeing my fist swallowing my cock.
But there’s a sudden fear that her response wouldn’t be as eager, that she’d see me for the sexual deviant I am, and I’d lose her.
I should stop.
But I might never be this close to her again.
She’s going to eventually meet someone she wants to spend more than one night with, and where will that leave me? Horny and alone, wishing I’d taken the chance to know what it’s like to come with her scent in my nose and her supple body only inches from my cock.
I’ll deal with the guilt and the consequences later.
I pull my boxers down, giving myself more room to pump.
I grip my shaft harder, and each downward stroke pulls in my abdomen and tingles in my thighs, drawing me closer to damnation.
My eyes slide to her breasts again. Every breath Lacey takes brings her nipple closer to my mouth.
Or is my mouth moving closer to her nipple?
I shudder as I realize it’s me. My lips are a breath away from touching her flesh.
My hand stills around my cock, and my eyes flick up to her face. She is peacefully asleep and blissfully unaware of what a perverted bastard her best friend is turning into.
Even as I tell myself not to, I lean closer, hold my breath, and lick the tip of her nipple. Her flesh is a hard puckered berry bursting in my mouth like the sweetest dessert.
