And it’s a hell of a show. He rolls it on without missing a beat, one handed. It’s quick and confident and strangely sexy. Worthy of a Pornhub video. Except this one’s for my viewing pleasure only.
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Like what you see?”
“You’re very good at that.”
“That’s not all I’m good at.”
He rejoins me on the bed, stretching his big body out next to mine.
“Spread your legs.”
The rough command surprises me, not that that stops me from complying. And then he’s on top of me, his mouth on mine as his cock slides through the slick heat between my legs, prodding at my entrance but not penetrating.
Tease.
I arch my hips, silently begging him to do it already. When that doesn’t have the desired effect, I reach around and grab his ass, pulling him into me. Finally—finally—he rolls his hips and plunges into me, filling me so fully, stretching me so completely, that I gasp at the sensation and wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his back.
“Oh, yeah.” He’s panting as he thrusts and withdraws, thrusts and withdraws, hard and fast, quick and dirty. He looks like a dark conquering hero looming above me, braced on his corded forearms, his sex-mussed hair flopping over his forehead with each new invasion. “Just like that. Take me deeper.”
The heat and friction between us build quickly, and I feel another orgasm rising within me. As it hits, my calves clamp on his ass and my muscles clamp around his cock. A wave of pleasure ripples through my body, starting at my toes, rolling over my legs and chest, tingling its way to my fingertips and the ends of my hair.
Connor calls out my name and pushes into me one last time. I see his climax break across his handsome face at the same time I feel him pulse inside me as he comes.
“Fuck,” he grunts out.
His eyes lock with mine, dark and demanding, not letting me look away even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Because Connor mid-orgasm is seriously one of the most stunning sights I’ve ever seen. His strong jaw slack with lust, lips parted, chest heaving with exertion.
When we’re both spent, he collapses on top of me, his face buried in the crook of my neck and his dick still hard inside me. I loop my arms around his shoulders, holding tight to him, and we stay that way for a few minutes, happy and sated, our breathing evening out, until he rolls to one side and flops onto his back. My pussy practically screams in protest when he pulls out.
As much as I hate to, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Reality is creeping back in, and along with it the realization that I just had possibly the best sex of my relatively young life with my brother’s best friend. Who might not be so thrilled that he shagged his BFF’s little sister now that the sexual endorphins are beginning to wear off.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’m dying of thirst. I could use a glass of water.”
He sits up next to me. “Oh, no, you don’t. Remember what happened last time?”
“You hauled me over your shoulder like a Cro-Magnon man and kissed me.” Not a bad outcome, in my not-so-humble opinion.
“Before that. I like my coffee mugs. I don’t want to lose another one.” He drops a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Stay here. I’ll get the water.”
Okay, so I guess remorse hasn’t set in. At least not yet. Maybe those endorphins are stronger than I thought, and he’s still on a post-coital high. Like me.
He disappears into the master bath—presumably to dispose of the condom—then heads for the kitchen. He comes back with two glasses of ice water, hands one to me, and sits down on the bed. We both sip silently, the awkwardness I expected starting to set in.
“About Jake—” I say finally, broaching the elephant in the room.
Connor chokes mid-sip on his water and lowers his glass. “I thought we agreed not to talk about your brother while we were naked.”
“I was only going to say that I don’t see any reason for him to know about this.”
“Agreed.”
“And if he doesn’t need to know what just happened, I don’t see any reason why he needs to know if it should, maybe, happen again—” I let my voice trail off, leaving my implication hanging in the air, like the last notes of a Stephen Sondheim song.
He takes my almost empty water—I wasn’t kidding when I said I was thirsty—and sets both glasses down on the nightstand. “Are you propositioning me?”
I tilt my head to one side and look up at him seductively from under my lashes. “If I were, what would you say?”
