My heart slams against my ribs as his muscles bunch with the movement, strong enough to dominate me as he pushes me against a wall with his body.
I flatten my palms, focusing on the cold roughness of the bricks as an anchor—this is reality, not some fantasy I’ve dreamed up in my head and spilled onto paper.
Olly rests one hand on the wall near my head and slides the other beneath my skirt.
Air stalls inside my lungs, the mechanics of breathing forgotten as his skin touches mine.
He hesitates. Is he waiting for me to tell him to stop, that we’re just friends and this is a bad idea?
I let out a ragged breath and spread my legs.
His nostrils flare, and he slides his fingers higher until they find the edge of my panties. Pushing the elastic to the side, he slips two fingers beneath and touches me.
Is swooning a real thing? Because I’m about to.
He swirls his fingers around my slick entrance with teasing strokes, the tips of his fingers dip and retreat but never slip inside.
My head knocks against the bricks as I arch my hips, telling him what I need without words.
He reads my meaning.
Two fingers part my lips and connect us in one smooth thrust.
My knees buckle.
Olly grips my hip with his free hand, holding me steady as his fingers slide in and out in slow, deliberate strokes.
“You’re so fucking tight.” He moans, wetting his lips with his tongue as he struggles to keep his breathing even. “How long has it been since a cock stretched this pussy?”
“Too long,” I whimper.
I reach for the button on his jeans, pop it open, and drag his zipper down.
Everything about the situation screams stop—we’re in public, anyone can walk past, and we’re friends… just friends.
But his fingers curl, touching a spot that makes my insides liquefy, melting all rational thought. The reasons we shouldn’t do this don’t matter; he just needs to keep touching me like that.
My fingers are clumsy as I reach into his briefs, touching his solid flesh for the first time.
I’ve heard Olly talk about his cock when recounting his hookups. I’ve seen the photos and watched thick ropes of cum shoot from the tip in a video call, but nothing compares to the silky glide of his erection in my fist.
Laughter rumbles in my chest at the absurdity of our situation. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be holding my best friend’s cock and riding his fingers against a brick wall in the middle of the day.
My stomach knots in arousal, and my walls flutter as his cock fills my palm. I drag my hand up and back, stroking. Olly’s grunt is loud and guttural in my ear.
His fingers find my clit and press, the threat of my laughter dwindles to a moan, and I melt against him.
We move in sync, my fist pumping him faster, his fingers pulling me closer until the head of his cock brushes the inside of my thigh.
“Oh, fuck, Lacey.” His teeth graze my neck. “I didn’t plan this when I touched you.”
“I know.”
“We should stop.”
“We should.”
His hips rock closer, brushing the length of his shaft against my thigh.
