by JC Harroway
Without breaking the kiss, Oliver releases my face to work on the knot of my sarong. My lips cling to his like limpets, my arms so tight around his neck, I might inadvertently strangle him. But if I let go he might change his mind. I might change mine. That he wants me, that he’s actually fumbling to get me naked and it’s not just a figment of my rampant libido and overactive imagination, already makes this the best sexual encounter of my experience.
His mouth tears from mine, his head bent closer while he struggles with the knotted fabric.
‘Let me,’ I say, swatting at his fingers. ‘Take off your shorts.’ I’m almost too afraid to see him naked—the experience will likely be life-threatening. And he’ll see me—uncharted territory.
He abandons the knot in the sarong and steps back. ‘Oh, no. There’s no way we’re rushing this.’ He lifts the hem of my T-shirt at the same moment I free the knot around my waist. With a whoosh of falling fabric, and a tantalising glide of his knuckles over my waist and ribs as he divests me of the T-shirt, I’m back to just my tiny red bikini—my lucky charm. For all the heat in his stare as he eyes me up and down, I might as well be naked.
My knees knock. I’m going to let Oliver see me naked.
‘We’ll get to the good stuff,’ he says with a hint of his teasing smile. He grips my face once more and slides his mouth over mine. ‘But first you need warming up.’
I thought men couldn’t multi-task, but Oliver is a pro. His lips never leave mine as he manoeuvres me, inching me back to the bed. My thighs hit the mattress and I collapse backward, clinging to his waist to pull him down on top of me.
It’s a ‘sprawl of limbs, clash of teeth and grunt of laughter’ moment, but then his arm scoops my waist and he rolls me on top of him, my body in contact with his hardness from breasts to thighs.
I drag my mouth from his, every inch of me on fire. ‘I’m warm, trust me.’
‘Good,’ he says, his hands gripping my buttocks.
Laid under me, his hair desecrated by my hands and his eyes dark with desire, he doesn’t look like my Oliver. But he’s never looked hotter. And, considering he rocks business suits like a Hollywood heartthrob, wears jeans and a T-shirt well enough to make designers weep and struts his board shorts like he’s modelling surf wear, that’s no mean feat.
I push up onto my haunches, kneeling astride his thighs for a better view of his sculpted chest and abdomen. That’s when I see the thick rod of his erection for the first time I actually whimper behind the hand pressed to my mouth.
‘Oh...’ My words dry up as I salivate, blatantly staring at the object of so many of my fantasies. A taboo object, which until now has been as shrouded in mystery as the Bermuda Triangle.
His sensual mouth, slightly swollen from our kisses, stretches. ‘It’s showing off—ignore it.’
That he talks about his penis in the third person makes me want to laugh, make jokes, start some of our usual banter, but I want him too much for levity. The fact that he’s here with me with that snake in his shorts, and that he’s mine to touch and kiss as I please, starts a series of body-racking trembles.
Desperation makes me a little fractious. ‘I thought the whole point of this was that, for once, I didn’t have to ignore it. In fact, I thought I could lavish all my attention on it.’ I deliberately lick and then bite my bottom lip.
His pupils dilate, his breath coming faster. ‘You’ve had to ignore it in the past?’ The look of mild incredulity on his face confirms my excellent acting skills.
I shrug. ‘I’m a woman, you’re a guy... Not that I’ve ever seen it showing off before, of course.’
He smiles, a hint of his friend smile hidden behind the lust transforming his features into those of a man I don’t recognise. ‘Well, you can lavish all the attention you like on it,’ he says. ‘Just not yet.’
My sulk evaporates when he reaches up and unties the bikini strap at the nape of my neck. ‘The first thirty minutes are all about you.’ He peels down the triangles and my breasts spill free, just like that, my nipples peeking out, as if they don’t know we’re supposed to be just friends.
‘Thirty minutes...?’ I croak. Won’t it all be over after ten? We’ll probably be snorkelling in thirty minutes...him satiated and me still wondering if there’s something wrong with me...
No. I trust that he’s good at this. He’s had enough practice. All I have to do is surrender to his plan.
‘Mmm-hmm. Lean forward,’ he says.
I brace my arms on either side of his head on the bed, my freed breasts dangling. I have a fleeting thought that it’s not the most flattering angle, but then Oliver does two things that blank my mind. One, he cups my aching breasts in his warm hands and, two, he jerks his hips up from the bed, as if he can’t keep still, the thick ridge of his erection bumping my clit and making my eyes roll back.
‘Argh...’ I love this plan. Best plan ever.
‘Tell me.’ His thumbs rub my nipples in small circles, his big hands cupping and caressing. ‘Are you feeling turned on?’ Another tilt of his pelvis. Another nudge of my clit.
Turned on? I’m molten. He’ll feel my heat, my soaking bikini crotch. He’ll know it’s for him... But we crossed the line where I hide my raging attraction to him long ago.
‘Yes.’ I open my eyes to see him studying me with fascination. ‘I was turned on before you walked in here.’
His nod is lazy, his eyes hooded as if he expected that answer and is picturing what he interrupted in the bathroom.
‘What do you think about when you use those toys you love?’ he asks. ‘And don’t you dare say nothing, because I won’t believe you.’
I flush—I feel the heat spreading across my skin like a tidal wave. This is Oliver... He rolls each nipple between his thumbs and forefingers, the bite of pressure enough to make me forget everything but how good he’s making me feel. I’m so aroused by what he’s doing and the way he’s looking at me, as if he can’t wait to put that magnificent penis inside me, that my mind forges ahead with blatant honesty.
‘You.’ I realise my mistake immediately and bite down on my lip to engage some filters. ‘I imagine you making all your women come hard enough to release those screams I’ve heard through the walls.’
‘And?’ he says, his fingers stroking and pinching at my nipples in perfect synchronicity so that I’m gasping.
I want to hide from being this vulnerable with him, but I don’t want him to stop what he’s doing. I look deep into his eyes. ‘And I imagine it’s me you make scream. Me you make come.’
Fire rages through me, scalding, scorching. But there’s no room for shame or awkwardness because his pupils flare, his stare burning hot. ‘I will. More than once.’
I close my eyes. I love this confident side of Oliver. That his commanding conviction extends beyond business to the bedroom fills me with trickles of hope and excitement that, this time, I might just make it over the finish line.
My hand makes a dive for his erection, but he intercepts, gripping my wrist. ‘Twenty-seven minutes until you get anywhere near the contents of my shorts,’ he says, his voice gruff, body strung taut beneath me. He abandons my breast and grips my hips in his hands, grinding me over his hard length, meeting the helpless undulations of my hips with small thrusts. Teasing. Tempting.
I release a frustrated yelp and slide my lips down his neck to his nipple piercing, which I flick with my tongue until his fingers dig into my skin.
Oliver tugs the side ties on my bikini bottoms and peels fabric away from my backside, his hands grasping and massaging the bare cheeks of my arse. Then he pulls the front of the bikini until I push up onto my knees a fraction, the whole garment sliding between my legs with a scrape of fabric over my most sensitive parts.
He tosses the bottoms and releases the final tie on the top at my back, throwing it after its partner, so I’m now completely naked astride h
im. At the mercy of his fierce stare and exploring hands.
‘This isn’t fair,’ I choke out as he roams my nakedness freely with eyes and hands. I want to see all of him too.
‘Who said it had to be fair?’ Giving my hips one final grind onto his erection, he jack-knifes up into a sitting position with a crunch of his sexy abs so that we’re nose to nose. ‘Kiss me,’ he says in his husky voice.
No second time of asking required. I forget I’m stark-naked astride my friend’s lap, drape my arms over his broad shoulders, tangle my fingers in his hair and go to town on his mouth, my heart thumping that I’m allowed to kiss him, touch him. Will I ever be able to stop? To go back just to watching his mouth move when he talks and recall how it tastes?
No. No time travelling. Enjoy the moment.
We kiss for what feels like an hour, me naked and writhing in his lap and him displaying a degree of restraint and patience I hadn’t believed possible from my highly sexed friend.
If he wasn’t intermittently grunting and moaning, his cock rock-hard between my legs, I might have thought he was bored. I’ve never known a guy to turn down dick action. For thirty minutes!
‘Oliver...’ I moan, need building in me like steam.
‘Tell me how it feels.’ His familiar face is almost unrecognisable, slack with desire, his lips swollen and eyes hooded but penetrating.
I can’t keep still, my hips jerking on his lap. ‘I’m burning up. I need you.’ My mind clears from the lust fog and I realise I’m actually close. Amazingly, unbelievable close. As if a stroke or two of my clit could carry me over the edge. But surely not? It can’t be that easy.
But I’ve been here before, the high elusive, my orgasm building only to fade away again.
But he hasn’t even touched me there yet, only my breasts. And his kisses.
He must hear my thoughts, because he slides one hand between my legs, his other a vice around my back, as if he doesn’t want me to get away.
But why would I go anywhere? I’m exactly where I want to be. He’s still wearing his shorts—there’s been zero penetration—but already it’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
He stares at my face while his fingertips slide over my mons, my skin sensitive thanks to the full Brazilian wax I had for the holiday. I grip his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, anticipation coiling in my belly. And I can’t look away from his eye contact, even though I’m burning alive at the unchartered intimacy.
He grazes my clit with his fingertip, bolts of electrical current zapping along my thighs. ‘Tell me what you like.’
I nod, so desperate now to know if his skills, his boasts, are justified. ‘Touch me again. Like that,’ I say, beyond caring that my voice is a breathy pant and I’m barking sexual orders at my best friend.
Another glide of his fingertips, and then another. Delicate circles growing in pressure until it’s too much to bear and I throw my head back on a desperate cry.
He pushes a finger inside me, then a second, his thumb still circling my clit, and then his facial scruff scrapes the skin of my breast, his mouth devours my nipple and I clench in a violent spasm around his fingers.
‘Yes... Oliver...’
This is happening. It’s really happening... I’m so close, and not a battery in sight.
He sucks down hard, pressing my nipple flat between his tongue and the roof of his mouth before releasing it to the rapid lap of the tip of his tongue. I look down, watch his mouth on my breast, feel his hand doing incredible things between my legs, and the tension builds.
‘Harder,’ I say. ‘Suck me harder.’ And he nips at my nipple with the barest scrape of his teeth.
Fire races along my nerves, thick, languid heat pooling in my pelvis, a desperate empty feeling deep inside.
‘I want you inside me,’ I manage huskily.
‘Not yet.’ His tone is final.
‘Suck harder, then!’ I gasp, my hips joining the rhythm of his pumping fingers. He obeys, his mouth clamped down on my nipple, pushing a third finger inside me and pressing his thumb down on my clit.
And then he looks up, his eyes searing into mine while his mouth is at work, the contact bold and intimate, and the final catalyst igniting my pleasure.
‘Oliver...’ His name is all I can utter before I fall. The waves of sensation batter my weak body, spasm after miraculous spasm wracking my internal muscles.
I buck and jerk in his lap, both seeking and avoiding the heavenly pleasure, but his grip around my waist shackles me, so I’m his puppet until the last wave smacks my spent body and I slump forward with a strangled plea.
‘Enough...enough!’ I’m limp in his arms, collapsed against his broad chest, his scruff scraping my shoulder and neck as he nuzzles his mouth over my skin.
‘I’d say that’s one orgasm down, one point to us, wouldn’t you?’ I feel his heart thudding against mine, feel his smile against my neck. I can see it in my mind’s eye—smug, playful, those grooves bracketing his beautiful mouth.
I want to call his bluff, to pretend I faked it, to wipe away the arrogance I’m certain is on his face. But, even if I hadn’t all but snapped off his fingers with the force of my orgasmic spasms, I’m too wrecked to do more than offer a lame huff of protest.
I have nothing to say. My mind’s blessedly blank. I can’t believe what just happened. With Oliver, of all people.
But then another thought occurs to me, sending my heart leaping into my throat. Because before this one time is over I have a few more demands. I straighten and look him straight in the eyes—although he’s a little blurry because I’m not wearing my glasses—and test out my croaky voice.
‘Now I get to touch your penis.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Oliver
‘OH, NO, NO...NO.’ I check my watch behind her back. ‘You still have sixteen minutes of your time left.’ I hold her to my chest and turn my face into her mussed hair to inhale the scent of her shampoo. My brain battles the frantic rage of testosterone in my blood to make some coherent thoughts. What the hell has happened to my Neve? Was she always this hot, this sensual, provocative and demanding? I’ve been walking around with my eyes closed. For self-preservation. But how can I have missed so much for so long? Been so idiotically stupid?
Because she’s my friend and I was terrified I’d fuck it up. Because, unlike Neve, I’ve only had one relationship. As a teenager. Jane was a lot like Neve, except that she broke my heart. Then my father’s cynical take on women and love—and my own reckless behaviour—taught me to shut myself down to that kind of risk.
But I can do this—keep my friendship with Neve separate, sacrosanct, and enjoy the sex. Fuck, I gave her her first shared orgasm... And I still have sixteen minutes to touch and lick every gorgeous inch of her until she’s imprinted on my mind. I want to get up close and personal. I want to taste her and force her back into orgasm number two, now I know she’s had a rough deal from her exes. If I can reset the sexual imbalance she’s tolerated for way too long, the risk is worth taking.
I slide her languorous body from my lap and she collapses onto the bed, her face buried as she gifts me a vision of her sexy backside. My dick throbs, pushing at the front of my shorts in revenge for having to wait. But I’d walk around with blue balls for a week in order to show Neve the good time she’s missed out on.
I can’t resist touching her, though. My fingers trace her ribs and the tattoo of an infinity symbol she got for her twenty-first birthday. I’d held her hand, jealous as fuck of the dude inking her skin just to the side of one full, beautiful breast. Not that I’d fully seen them then. But, now I have, the delicious images will be scored on my memory for evermore. Although, somehow, I’ll have to try and forget the details once we return to being just friends...
Neve stirs, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow.
‘How did you do t
hat?’ she asks, her flushed face full of genuine awe.
Pride builds in my chest. I may be related to a man-whore who sucks at commitment, but I’ve given her something those other supercilious dick boyfriends of hers couldn’t. I shrug, stroking her hip with my thumb. ‘Sex is easy. You just have to be honest about what works.’
I lie on the bed facing her, my head on my bent arm, and caress her buttock, filling my hand with her pale rounded cheek. ‘Tell me. What was the best part of what just happened?’
She huffs, rolling onto her stomach again to hide from my question. ‘You don’t need your head to grow any bigger.’
‘Come on, I’m serious. Tell me. There’s a reward for the best answer.’ We’ve always been playful with each other, shared a similar sense of humour. That I get to combine one of my favourite parts of our relationship with one of my favourite activities—sex—makes me feel more alive than ever, and I haven’t even come yet.
Then an idea occurs. ‘You think about your answer.’ I rise from the bed and march to her suitcase, retrieving a toy from the bag—a bright-pink dildo—while she buries her face in the pillow and grumbles about being so candid. But I need to know. I have plans.
I place the toy on the bed, out of her line of vision, kneel astride one of her legs and brace myself over her back. While she mumbles excuses into the pillow, I push her hair out of the way and kiss her freckled shoulders and the valley between her shoulder blades.
‘If you want to replicate an outcome,’ I say, my voice thick with lust, ‘you must analyse how you arrived there. Consider it an audit, if you like.’ All the while my mouth is occupied with her satiny skin and my questions, my throbbing dick is distracted.
‘Mmm,’ she moans, her breath catching. ‘It was all good.’
I can see she’s going to need a little encouragement. If she’s allowed herself to be short-changed by her exes, talking dirty probably doesn’t come naturally. ‘Was I too rough with your nipples?’ I slide my mouth down the bumps of her spine, learning new things about her, like her sensitive, ticklish spots.