Best Man With Benefits (McCade Brothers 3)

Sick and wrong of him to cast his best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister in his X-rated dream, but hell, it was just a dream—a rules-free zone where there was no point denying the attraction that had lassoed him by the dick the second he’d seen her in those ass-hugging pants. Besides, dream Sophie wasn’t shy at all. At all, his dazed mind reiterated when she boldly went after the bull’s-eye.

He slid his fingers into her silky hair and sank deeper into the dream. Those soft, plush lips closed over him, and slowly descended his shaft, sucking him into the hot haven of her mouth. No point minding his manners in a dream. He fisted his hand in her hair and lifted his hips, thrusting deeper. And because it was a dream, she rewarded the ungentlemanly behavior by grabbing his ass with both hands and taking him deeper. Her little moan of pleasure vibrated along his throbbing cock, and he couldn’t resist groaning, “That’s so fucking good.”

Oddly, what he heard sounded more like, “…sofuckingood.” Huh?

But he didn’t have time to think about the disconnect between what he’d said in his dream and what he’d heard with his ears because now she was getting down to it and all he could concentrate on were those incredible lips sealed tight around him, and the suction of her mouth pulling at every nerve in his body. Her fingernails dug into his ass, and those little points of pain only added another dimension to the mind-numbing pleasure. Then her tongue joined the fray, and, Jesus, her teeth.

His heart pounded like a fist against his ribs. His lungs worked like bellows, and a jolt of white-hot energy shot up his thighs, into his balls…

He clamped his hand along the back of her head and rocked his hips, helpless to do anything but obey his body’s imperative to thrust for all he was worth. She moaned. Her lips loosened, and even though it was his dream, he wondered if her moan was one of protest or surrender.

“Harder,” he whispered, or maybe he just thought it. But she sealed her lips around him again, and ran the tip of her tongue down the back of his shaft while he bucked and strained like a bull rider determined to go the full eight seconds. She kept her hands as busy as her mouth, trailing down between his legs to cup and squeeze his balls. The energy gathered there surged straight into his cock. “Jesus. Fuck me, I’m going to—”

The flat, slurred sound of his own voice hurtled him into full consciousness at the same moment the orgasm tore through him. He had enough time to open his eyes, jerk his head up, and watch his best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister annihilate him with the most incredible blow job of his entire life.

Guilt should have been his immediate reaction—a flood of it—but the only thought filling his mind as he watched her gently release his extremely satisfied cock from her deceptively innocent mouth, was My turn. Fair enough, he decided. Guilt would have been misplaced, and belittling to Sophie. She was an adult, and what went down—so to speak—between two consenting adults was nobody else’s damn business.

She knelt between his spread legs, slid her hands off his thighs, and finally looked up. Swollen lips and flushed cheeks greeted him, as well as a stirring mix of defiance and contriteness in her huge brown eyes. She swept the hair back from her face, and said, “Good morning.”

There he lay, sprawled out naked on the bed, with her saliva drying on his dick, and she greeted him with a polite, civilized good morning? He laughed and resisted the urge to bundle her into his arms, hug her just for being her…and then toss her on the mattress, throw her legs over his shoulders and show her a good morning.

“Shit, Sophie. Good morning doesn’t begin to cover it.” He sat up, enjoying the way her eyes widened as he closed in on her. “And we’re just getting started.”

A knock at the door froze them both.

“Who—who is it?” Sophie called as she scrambled off the bed.

“Guest Services, Miss Brooks,” came a feminine voice in reply. “I have y

our dresses.”

Logan tied his robe while Sophie dashed to answer the door. A short murmur of conversation later, the door closed. He walked to the entryway and lifted the Beaver Creek garment bag from her fingers.

“All present and accounted for?” He hung the bag in the closet.

“Yes.”

“That’s a relief.”

But she didn’t look relieved. She looked nervous. He had just the cure. Hooking two fingers into the belt of her robe, he tugged her closer. When they stood toe-to-toe, he flattened his palm at the small of her back, bringing her even nearer. Her fingers latched onto the front of his robe. Her terry-covered breasts settled against his chest like they’d been made to rest there.

Pupils as wide and dark as eternity locked on him, and then dropped to his mouth.

Her lips parted. “I have to—”

“Yes?” He squeezed her ass—the one he’d been dreaming about.

She blinked up at him, like a woman coming out of a trance. “I have to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

Next thing he knew she’d wriggled out of his arms like a double-jointed escape artist and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Well, hell. That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected her to say. He sat down on the bed and waited.

She emerged a couple minutes later with her hair neatly brushed, cheeks glowing from a quick scrub, smelling like mint toothpaste and a light, sweet fragrance he recognized as her perfume, and he realized she’d primped for him. The self-conscious thoughtfulness of the effort melted his heart at the same time it tightened his groin. He reached out and pulled her to him, positioning her until she stood between his knees.

Leaning in, he rested his forehead between her breasts and inhaled. “You smell good enough to eat.”

Her fingers tunneled into his hair. “Thanks, but that’s not really me.”