I'm getting close, too close, but she comes first. Always. I slip a hand between us and rub lightly on her clit. Liz's pussy tightens immediately.
"Dean, I'm … I'm about to?—"
"Come on my cock. Give it to me."
Liz bows off the bed, a low, long moan tearing from her throat. The sight of her coming apart, her pussy pulsing around me. It's too much.
Pleasure collects and coils in tight spirals; a sense of desperation builds. Closer and closer until … an explosion of sensations tears through me, blinding sparks lighting the darkness behind my eyes.
"Fuck, Liz. Fuck!"
She continues to cling to me in shuddering spasms while I empty myself inside her, coating her walls with my seed until I soften.
We stay like that for a few minutes or a few hours, I don't know anymore.
The silence stretches. Liz stirs and breaks into laughter again, pointing at the laptop screen. Maura is frozen, seemingly in mid orgasm; her eyes wide, mouth forming a large 'o'. Guess she couldn't stand the sight of her sister's pleasure.
Just once, we said, we agreed.
Just once to get it out of our systems.
Except now that I've had her, all I want is more.
This didn't get anything out of my system. It made everything worse.
Because now I know what it's like to be inside her, to hear her say my name like that, to watch her fall apart because of me.
And I have to go back to being just friends?
I'm so fucked.
===
4
LIZ
We're at a table with twelve people. My mother is three seats away, explaining the ceremony timeline to anyone who'll listen. Maura is at the head of the table, laughing too loudly at something her fiancé said, even though there's no way Ted is that funny.
That guy has zero sense of humor.
Dean is touching me like this morning didn't just happen. Like, we didn't just obliterate every rule we set not even forty-eight hours ago.
Like "just once to get it out of our systems" actually worked for him when it absolutely did not work for me because all I want is more, and I can't have more. I knew this was going to destroy me when it ended, but I wasn't prepared for how unmoored I'd feel, like standing on a boat adrift with no compass in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
My body remembers exactly what it's like to have him inside me and wants it again despite every rational thought screaming that this is a terrible idea that will only end with my heart in pieces.
Someone asks about the cake—my mother's friend, I think, though I can't focus enough to remember her name—and Maura launches into an explanation about French pastry techniques and imported ingredients and how she had to special-order the edible gold leaf from some boutique in Paris because nothing local was good enough for her vision.
My world has tilted on its axis, but at least two things remain consistent—Maura and Mom.
I'm drowning in the memory of Dean's mouth on me, his tongue, the sounds I made that I'd be embarrassed about if I could think past the desire coiling low in my belly. It hasn't stopped since this morning and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.
Mom claps once. "Liz? Did you hear me?"
"Sorry, what?"
"The processional order. Were you listening?"
