Leaning forward, I trail my lips across her chest, tasting the faint traces of her perfume. “Is this what you want?” My tongue follows the swell of her breast, across the delicate hem of her bra to the point of her nipple. Air sucks through her teeth, sharply. “Is this?” I ask, grinding my pelvis into her, my dick slipping between her soaked thighs.
“Yes.” Her eyelids flutter closed, and her back arches as she takes another pass. “Oh yeah.”
Her voice is gruff and so fucking sexy it takes me closer to my breaking point. I want to do nothing more than sink inside her. The patience I’m exhibiting is nothing short of saintly, but I can’t do it. When she attempts to move my hand between her legs, I grip her hips tighter.
“I’m not touching you, Stor. Not doing anything you’ll regret when you sober up. If you want it, you take it.” Her lips are inches from mine. I’m sucking in her carbon dioxide, waiting for her to make a move.
She leans away from me, and I immediately miss the heat from her body. Her breath matches mine, shallow and sharp, but she raises an eyebrow to me nonetheless, accepting a challenge I didn’t realize I’d set.
Her hands trail up, nails scraping through my nape and into my hair. It’s a sensation I feeleverywhere.
Her hips tilt, and she grinds harder, doing exactly as I instructed and taking what she needs—the alcohol making her brave. In the process, she gives me exactly whatIneed.
Satin knickers bunch in my fist. “Fuck.”
The friction, the pressure and precision of each movement. My lap is soaked in her. Mydickis soaked in her.
“Jesus, Stor.”
“Tell me how good this feels.”
It’s a struggle to get words out. “So. Fucking. Good.”
Arching back, she shifts forward, searching for more friction. Her breathing turns ragged, and so does mine. Our eyes lock in a silent confirmation that we’re both so close.
She grinds so torturously slowly, it’s fucking mind-blowing. “Tell me more.”
I imagine her clit, swollen and wet, her tight pussy spread open and desperate for my cock. The feel of her clenching around me, squeezing me.
I grip her hips, positioning her so my dick hits exactly where she needs it. “I remember the first time I made myself come thinking of you.”
Her pupils flare, and her breath catches. Her nipples harden further, twisting to viciously sharp tips.
“We’d been swimming in the waterfall, my teenage hormones were out of control. I only had to think about you and I’d get hard”––I drag her slowly up my dick, and her jaw slackens—“but we were friends, and I wasn’t ready to admit to myself that I loved you more than that . . .”
Her pelvis jerks, and it sets off a series of sparks twisting my balls.
“. . . but holding my cock and thinking about you naked . . . kissing you . . .” I flick my tongue on her lower lip. “Fucking you . . .”
It happens out of the blue.
“Hendricks,” she cries, and then she explodes on my lap.
Watching her shuddering orgasm, and riding out her pleasure with a series of uncoordinated thrusts, is all it takes. I come harder than I ever have before, white lights blinding me. It’s a painful punch to the gut that would double me over if I were standing.
Story becomes a rag doll in my arms, head resting on my shoulder until her breath settles down. I’m not convinced she hasn’t fallen asleep.
“Stor?” It takes all my strength to push to standing so I can twist her around and put her back into bed, trying not to stare at the dark, damp patch between her legs.
Her eyes are wide open, looking at me when I stand. “Don’t go, Hen. Don’t ruin this by leaving.”
I look away, her face, her eyes, they’re what got me into this in the first place. “Stor, I can’t stay.”
But she pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed and pats the white cotton sheet. “Just for a little while.”
A deep sigh escapes me because I really don’t want to stay.
I can’t risk having Max wandering about in the night, looking for me and finding us. I need to clean up. I need to sleep in my own bed, with my own thoughts, and figure out what the hell I’m going to do now.
