The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

I watch his head roll in rapture, his stare fixed on me like the hunting hawks inked on his body.

If this is what it’s like to be his prey, never let me be anything else.

Pressing my tongue just under his swollen head, I carry on, taking as much of him as humanly possible—and it still isn’t close to half.

He curses.

I gag.

He fists my hair.

I whimper.

He flares, his whole body tensing, a rough gurgle trapped in his throat.

I brace for the hot eruption in my mouth, winding my hand to his balls to help massage it out, knowing I don’t have a prayer of swallowing all of his—

“No,” he grunts, pushing my face off him.

I look up, confusion swirling, wondering if I did something wrong.

“Not the first time. We both know where I’m meant to come, Shel,” he says, sliding his hands under my shoulders to help me up. “Hands on the wall, baby. Turn the fuck around. Legs open.”

Oh, God.

It seems like a small eternity passes in the drawn-out seconds between hearing a noisy, metallic crinkle and feeling his size at my entrance.

A powerful hand wraps around my thigh, diving upward, rubbing at my clit and spreading me open for—

“West!” His name comes through clenched teeth, hissing like steam as he enters me.

All the countless times I imagined this moment can’t compare to the reality.

He’s slow, but urgent. There’s a forcefulness in his hips, an impact, a filthy demand to lay down the law on every square inch of me.

For a second, I’m scared he’ll be too big, my walls struggling to accommodate him.

But his fingers go to work on my clit, vigor in his brushstrokes, a growl darker than a lion’s against my ear.

“You ready?” he whispers, holding himself deep inside me, nipping at my neck.

It would be sweet if I weren’t shaking.

“Please. Please, West. Take me. Take everything.”

Yes, I’m begging. Asking to be ruined in ways I didn’t know were possible, and if he does, I know he’ll be there to rebuild me too.

So I just press my forehead to the wall as he rears back, gathering his strength before he thrusts into me again.

As his hips become a quaking machine, digging pleasure out of me, snatching wild noises from my throat.

As his strokes become fiercer—angrier—almost like he’s mad that we waited this long to seal a pact in sweat that was always inevitable.

As he fucks me so good I like that it hurts, as his hand yanks at my hair, as our bodies go to war for less than five minutes and my pussy hugs his cock for dear life.

“Shelly, come!” he orders, hurling me over the ledge. “Dammit, girl, I want this. It’s all I’ll ever fucking want if you just—”

I never know if his own release chokes him off mid-sentence or if I’m just too far gone to hear.