Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

Hollis moans when I softly caress her boobs, the pads of my fingers slowly stroking, brushing over the tips, barely making contact with her skin.

She covers my hands with hers. Then.

Leans her body down and finds my mouth in the dark.

Our kiss is open-mouthed and hot—tons of tongue. Frantic, but with a languid approach. Wet, for sure. Kind of dirty in a This is our first kiss but we’re dry humping in your parents’ guest room kind of way. Hot and heavy but tentative and hesitant, if those things can be combined.

Feels taboo.

We’ve been holding back since we met—she’s lying to herself if she doesn’t agree. Hollis Westbrooke has wanted to stick her tongue down my throat—if even to shut me up—since the pool party at Noah Harding’s house, or my name isn’t Trace Wallace.

Her mouth tastes like heaven. Her tits feel like heaven in my hands. Her pussy rubbing against my cock? Heaven. No other word can describe it, and I won’t even try because I’m borderline brain-dead at this point, all the blood having drained into my dick.

I am a brainless, spineless puddle of hormones.

On top of me, Hollis grinds. Grinds her hips, hands braced on the carpet for support, head lowered, hair brushing the side of my face. I can hear her soft moans, the frustration in her breathy sighs. She wants a release. She wants her panties off. She wants to fuck me, but won’t let herself.

Especially not in my parents’ house.

My hands are still on her hips. And if I reach down and pull her underwear aside so my cock is one step closer to being inside her, well—so be it. I’m not hearing any complaints from her, just

whimpering and whispers and unsatisfied groans.

Hey, it’s not my fault we’re not having sex right now, but this is a girl I haven’t put the moves on. I’m not about to ruin it by asking if I can slide inside.

One more thrust.

Two.

Hollis moans louder, head collapsing on my chest, and I lie there, stunned.

“Did you…just come?”

She seems to be hesitating. “Yes?”

“From dry humping?”

“Yes.” She sighs again, her body a limp mass on top of my chest. “Did you?”

“Uh, you would know if I came because there would be jizz all over my boxers.” To my own ears, I sound jealous, because I am. I wanted to come, too! It’s not fair that she’s the only one to have an orgasm! It’s not like I can beg her for a blowie to finish me off.

Hollis grunts. Lays her head on my chest and exhales another sigh. I give her a gentle nudge.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t move. Only gives me a suspiciously sleepy-sounding, “Hmm?”

“Are you falling asleep?” I poke her rib cage.

No response.

“You are not seriously falling asleep.” I say it to no one, because just then, a soft snore escapes her throat, indicating that she has, indeed, fallen asleep. We didn’t even have sex and she’s pulling a guy move on me by passing out? This gets worse and worse.

What the H. “Unfuckingbelieveable.”

I lie here a few minutes, debating my next move: lie here and let her sleep on top of me, or roll her over and onto the floor. Or…I can try to scoop her up and put her back on the bed, where she’ll have a better night’s sleep than she will on the floor.

I lie here.

Longer still, enjoying her breathing and the steady rhythm of her heart beating against my chest.

Then finally, I roll to my side, taking her along with me, gently resting her beside me on the carpet, reaching for the blankets and comforter, pulling those up and over us.

She snuggles into my body, ass crushed against my crotch, little-spooning me in her sleep.

I rest my hand on her hip, atop the blanket. Give her hair a whiff and lay my cheek on my bicep, because I’ve slid the pillow under Hollis’s sleeping head.

Every so often, a snore escapes her lips. Not the chainsaw ‘I can’t sleep’ kind of snore, but the soft, steady, cute kind. A cute snore—what does she do that isn’t adorable?

I get comfortable, although it’s hard—pun intended. I didn’t come the way she did from dry fucking, so my dick is semi-stiff, poking into her ass cheeks, straining for some kind of relief. But I can’t rise to use the bathroom, and I can’t very well finish myself off here while she’s passed out. ‘Cause. That. Is. Creepy. As. Fuck.

I content myself with peacefully cradling her while she rests, knowing she may never let me get this close to her again. I wonder what possessed her in the first place, to get down out of the bed practically naked and straddle me.

Boredom? Curiosity?

Did the dark give her courage she doesn’t have when she has to face me in the light of day?