Guy Hater (Fisher Brothers 2)

“God, Frank, harder.” I pulled at him, wanting him to go deeper than was physically possible. His dick was a thing of beauty, hitting all the right places like he was made for me. Maybe he was?

“You feel so fucking good,” he said, his breathing labored as he moved in and out of my body, thrusting so hard and deep, I thought I might fall apart in his arms.

I moved with him, against him, our bodies crashing into each other in a sweaty, hot mess of ecstasy. I came once, and then just when I thought it wouldn’t happen again, my body reacted with his, the two of us finding our release in unison. I’d heard about that kind of thing happening, but had never experienced it before.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, our limbs entwined, the sheets a tangled mess.

• • •

When I woke up early the next morning, I had to gather my bearings to remember where I was. The heat of another body wrapped around mine should have been my first clue. The utter soreness of every part of me should have been the next.

I pulled myself out of Frank’s arms and tiptoed quietly across the wood floor. He groaned but didn’t wake as I made my way into the bathroom for a quick shower. My plan for making us both breakfast before I had to leave for work was thwarted when the glass door of the double-headed shower slid open and Frank stepped inside.

“I can’t escape you.” I eyed his naked body, taking note of every hard part.

“Were you trying to escape?” His eyes were wicked in the morning, and before I could answer, his mouth was on mine, stealing my words and my breath. Hot water splashed off our bodies, ricocheting around us.

“I don’t know, Fisher. Not sure how long I’ll keep you around.”

“How can I convince you?” He licked his lips and dropped to his knees.

“I’m just waiting till Christmas so I can see what kind of gift-giver you are,” I said before his tongue found me.

“I’m an amazing gift-giver,” he mumbled, then devoured me like I was his last meal.

I struggled to stay standing, struggled to form words that made sense in response. “Says the person giving the gift,” I managed to get out between breaths.

He stopped worshiping my body and looked up at me. “I’m rich, Claudia. That automatically makes me a great gift-giver.”

I swatted his shoulder because he was right. And then I dug my nails into it as he brought me to my release. When I could catch my breath, I panted, “Well, mine will be more romantic or more thoughtful than yours, because I’m not rich.”

“We’ll see about that.” He winked before grabbing the soap and lathering up my body.

“Yes, we will.”

It gave me pause for a minute, wondering how on earth I could ever compete with him in that way, but then I realized that Frank would never expect me to. It was ridiculous for me to even think that he would.

Frank pressed my naked body against the shower wall, and I gasped at the coldness of the tile. Taking advantage of my open mouth, he kissed me like he owned me, as if every sore and aching inch of me belonged to him.

“I’m going to fall in love with you,” he said between kisses. It was a declaration, a promise of what was to come.

“I’ll probably be okay with that,” I whispered back, knowing I was already falling.

He held me suspended as he entered me slowly at first, inch by excruciating inch. It wasn’t until he reached the depths of me that he started working me harder. The warm water still fell around us as I tightened my legs around his middle, taking him as deep as the position would let me.

Wild, we moved and bucked against each other, his biceps flexing as he held me up e

asily, as if I were weightless. And when I came, I yelled out his name over and over again, like there would never be another name I’d speak in my entire life. Because I knew deep in my heart that there wouldn’t be.

There was only Frank.

There would only ever be Frank.

And nothing in the world felt more right.

Epilogue

Frank