“Oh?”
“Thinking about us being friends. I know you want it, Hendricks, but I’ve decided that doesn’t work for me anymore. And I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
“Story,” I croak, only for her to push into me, my dick nestled between us, and my words vanish with a low groan.
“And this doesn’t feel very friendly.” She presses again. “Or the way you’re looking at me.”
She’s got me there. I know my eyes are on stalks. “No?”
“No,” she replies, pushing me until I tip back and I’m sitting on the end of the bed.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know I’m not strong enough to stop it. When she straddles me, her tits are centimeters from my face, and I might get my wish after all. I’m so thankful I jerked off in the shower because that tiny movement creates enough friction that I would have blown in my pants.
“Put your hands on me, Hendricks?—”
“Stor—”
“Put. Your. Hands. On. Me.”
When I do, they’re not steady. I can’t even find it in myself to be embarrassed. I’m shaking as I take hold of her hips, my fingers digging into the supple flesh of her arse, creeping under the thin satin elastic of her knickers, touching her how I always dreamed of touching her. My heart is working overtime, pumping harder than it did the day I lost my virginity.
“I’m real, Hen.”
Even though I’m not entirely sure any of this is real, I reply, “I know you are.”
“But you don’t treat me as real. You’ve neverseenme as real.”
“I have.”Fuck, of course I have.
“You never looked at me like I wanted you to.”
She slowly flexes her hips, gently rolling herself over my thighs until she’s positioned rightthere, on the tip of my throbbing dick. The only thing separating mefrom her pussy is the flimsiest strip of lilac fabric and a pair of cotton pajamas.
“Well, I’m fucking looking at you right now,” I grit, holding her still before I explode. “Story, what are we doing? What areyoudoing?”
“Showing you what you’re missing.”
“You’re drunk?—”
“I’m not.”
“Story.” It’s a plea, all I can manage, because as much as I want this, I know there’s a cognitive imbalance between the two of us right now. “We’re not doing this until you’re sober.”
“Hendricks.” She draws out my name, and I can smell mint on her breath. “I don’t believe you. You’ll brush me aside again.” She grinds so hard in my lap, my pulse roars in my ears. “Haven’t you ever wanted to know how good we could be together? How it would feel being inside me?”
The sounds I let out as her lips reach my neck are part prayer of thanks, part frustrated garbled moan.
I’m so fucking hard.
Her fingertips dig so deeply into the muscle on my shoulders that I wince. “I know you have, Hen. I have too, and it gets mesooo wet.”
Who the fuck is this person on my lap, punctuating each sentence with the slow drive of her hips?
I’m on the brink of snapping, an elastic band pulled so tight it’s see-through, and it’s a whisperedpleaseshow methat finally breaks me.
“Fuck it.”
My fist thrusts into her hair, and I pull her back. Puffy lips, pupils blown wide, and full, roundedbreasts pushed into my face. She’s absolutely glorious. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I’m lightheaded looking at her.
