The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Good thing I’m too lost in the pleasure to be ashamed of the moan slipping out of me.

I have to mash my thighs together at the way my body reacts.

“N-no, you don’t. Um, feel free to play with mine all you want...”

I’m rambling so pathetically it’s a wonder he doesn’t pivot around and march out the room.

Instead, he laughs softly. Even his laughter smolders.

“Believe me, I will. You can also believe I’m about to fuck you up against the wall,” he adds. “This may be dirty and reckless as shit but I’m not about to defile my aunt’s bed.”

I burst out laughing at his perfectly Weston comic relief.

“Keep it up, buttercup,” he grumbles. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

I’ve left the ground.

It takes a second to realize it’s not just my imagination as he lifts me up, carries me outside to the hall, and pins me against the wall like I’m under arrest by the bad cop. A rough hand climbs up my thigh and tears off my bottoms.

“What about the rest? You ready to have me play with that too?”

“I hope you do,” I reply, barely audible.

That’s all he needs as he stands, urging me to face him as he squeezes my ass.

Lord, how he plays with me.

His hungry mouth does overtime, lips and teeth and tongue, sucking on my nipples until they’re soft and burning, branded with his tongue.

He reaches between my legs, skimming those rough fingers up my thigh, another inch higher with every kiss.

When his thumb brushes my clit, I’m so gone I don’t think any atlas ever made could ever bring me back.

I’d say he fingers me, but the aching want pulsing between my legs comes on so intensely he hardly gets a chance to stroke me at all before I’m on knife’s edge.

Oh, shit.

I’m about to come on his thieving hand.

I’ve never felt so free.

My mind decouples from everything but the harsh ecstasy he’s pulling out of me with every growling pull of his teeth and piston-swipe of his fingers deep inside me.

A chaotic O that feels like it might split me in half builds like a thunderhead brewing in my body.

When his other hand cups my face, he pulls my hair, his eyes pooling hot and deliciously cruel like molten glass.

“Look at me when you come,” he grinds out. “I want to see those eyes roll when you give it up—and give it fucking now.”

Oh, hell. Oh, here we go.

My mouth pulls into a silent, helpless O as his thumb slaps my clit, literally hammering me out of my own body.

I’m definitely not earthbound when the explosion goes off, fueling the fire in my core, the blinding release that lifts me up like a fifty-foot wave and hurls me down on my head.

Coming!

My first orgasm with the boy—the man I’ve obsessed over for a decade—scorches parts of me I never knew existed.