LUST (Dirty Brothers 2)

Sam pulls me to the edge of the counter, and kisses me, the taste of chocolate, cherry, and me on his tongue. He’s tall, taller than I am, and perching on the counter like this puts us at a perfect height for what he’s thinking. His cock is rock hard again, and he slips it inside me in one smooth stroke. I wrap my legs around him to draw him closer—I like him close, and I love that now we’re at eye level.

There’s no condom and it feels entirely different, the texture of his skin on mine is delicious. My body is primed and ready to go, flooding with feeling and pleasure right away. Like everything that’s happened tonight has made it ready to orgasm. Sam is right there with me, thrusting fast, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and he holds onto my hips. I feel like I’m clinging to him for life, wrapped around him as I am, and I just might be. It feels so good, impossibly good, and I think I might break apart if I wasn’t holding onto him.

“Fiona,” Sam says, voice rough, “I’m close. I can’t last.”

“Then don’t.”

Even barely hanging on, he manages a smirk. “You first.” He kisses me, a consuming, powerful kiss, and it’s enough. I crash into an orgasm with a dazzling speed that makes me cry out. I can feel my orgasm dripping down onto Sam’s cock, and I’m crushing him against me, unable to control the flow of pleasure through my body. Is swirls like a tornado, destroying me and putting me back together before evaporating.

Sam pulls out of me, stroking his cock as he comes, his orgasm splashing across my skin, groaning as he comes. I can’t take my eyes off him, taut forearms working his cock like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Everything about him is rigid as cum spills out, and he presses his head against my shoulder as he finishes.

“Your dessert really knows how to make an impression,” I say, and he laughs.

“You know I always want to make an impression.”

“Do you?” The words are out there before I can think and realize that they kind of break our goal for the night. But the Sam that I knew in high school never wanted to draw attention to himself, despite the fact that he was talented and rich. He always preferred to fade into the background. Other than making a dynamic sexual impression, it doesn’t seem like that’s changed.

“Maybe,” Sam says. “I guess we’ll see what you’ll say in the morning.”

I smile. “I guess.”

“Care for a shower?” He’s actually asking, but I can see the glint in his eyes that tells me that it won’t be just a shower. The idea of seeing his body dripping wet ironically makes my mouth go dry.

“Only if you promise to clean up the mess you made,” I say, gesturing to my body and the remnants of his dessert and orgasm on my skin.

“Oh,” Sam says, “I promise.”

10

The first thing I feel when I wake up is luxury. Sam’s bed is soft, and the blankets are silky. I’m wrapped up in them naked and I love the feeling. The second feeling is like I’ve gone to the gym and pushed myself way too far. Holy shit, I never knew that sex could make you ache. It’s not a bad ache, the feeling of having been used, but I’ll definitely be wincing for a couple of days. I can’t say I regret it, though.

I roll over and find the bed empty. The light coming in the windows still has an Eastern slant, so I haven’t slept too late. I don’t have a shift today, so I have time, but I am supposed to meet Rose later. Bride’s maid dress shopping.

We didn’t exactly bother cleaning up last night, and my clothes are still strewn across the floor where Sam discarded them when he peeled them off me. I dress gingerly, testing to see just how sore I am. It’s not as bad as I thought, and I’ll be able to deal with it. Still, I’ll probably skip the gym for a few days so I don’t add to the soreness. You know you’ve had a good sex workout when you decide to skip the gym.

I wash the smudged make-up off my face, noticing my lips are swollen from kissing Sam, and I head downstairs. The minute I leave Sam’s bedroom I can smell that he’s cooking. It smells like bread and sugar, and when I come into the kitchen, I see that he’s making pancakes, a stack already set on the bar in front of the stool that I’ve kind of taken ownership of. “Good morning,” I say.

Sam spins, smiling that smile that makes the day seem brighter. “Good morning. How are you?”