The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

“You sure that’s all, West? The locks? Because, um...” She pauses, blinking too long, the redness on her cheeks deepening again. “I could use a little more finishing.”

For a second, I just stare, mulling my options.

Obviously, I’m on a one-way trip to hell after wrecking my best friend’s little sister. So what do I have to lose? Why shouldn’t I give her that psycho-sounding promise to use her morning, noon, and night?

“Hang on to the clothes,” I say, the only warning she gets before she’s in my arms with the whole bundle.

We’re butt-ass naked, stomping down the staircase and out the back door, her squealing questions as I guide her to the back of my truck.

It’s a miracle I’m able to throw the tailgate down with a blanket spread across the back before I’m hoisting her up again.

How many times did I dream about this when I was trapped in hell overseas?

How many times did I hate-fuck my own hand to her memory? Stuck on what it’d feel like to take Little Miss History Geek on a cool sunny day with a kiss of wind?

Today, the fantasy ends.

Today, I live out every filthy desire that’s ever corrupted my head—starting with blowing her back out right here in my truck.

“West? What’s gotten into you?”

I wish I fucking knew.

She whimpers as I tumble her onto the blanket, an impatient hand spreading her legs apart. It’s barely been minutes since I erupted inside her, and I’m still hard enough to drive nails.

I must be insane.

Or maybe it’s just the fragile, beautiful lunacy of her spread out like a fucking offering before me.

Silk-soft red curls and lush green eyes splashed across the dark-grey blanket.

Rosy nipples I could suck till the heat death of the universe pebbled, begging for my tongue.

Her hellfire lips pursed, curious, surprised.

Legs with just the right plumpness hooking around me, helped by my hand shoving them to my hips as her body arches to meet mine.

We kiss like we need each other’s tongues more than oxygen.

My cock drags against her wetness, building a slow momentum, each stroke of my swollen head against her hot pussy lips almost hypnotic.

“Oh, that’s good,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “So perfect.”

I growl my agreement, inwardly admitting that it’s also pure torture.

Nothing has ever felt so good, so right, and yet so much like I’m forever fucked in the head.

We kiss for what feels like an hour, hands stalking each other’s bodies, my furious dick gliding in deeper and retreating, but never pulling all the way out.

Her pussy makes that a little harder with every minute, clenching my cock so greedily I nearly lose it again. It’s a miracle I remember to pull the other condom out and throw it on.

She’s clueless just how good she is.

How she could make me lose it with a single swivel of her hips, and I want this to last.

Hell, screw the swivel.

The sounds she makes alone turn me inside fucking out.