They’re perfect, just bigger than a handful, soft and full against my hands. Her nipples are hard, and I tweak one and then the other, enjoying the sound she makes against my mouth while we keep kissing.
It’s easy to forget about anything else when we’re doing this. I don’t think about our arrangement or work or anything. All I can focus on is how good her lips feel against mine and how I want her to make more sounds like that for me.
I set out to make that my mission, touching her again, pinching her nipples harder between my fingers and tugging lightly to pull them away from her body.
She arches against me, hips rolling forward, and I savor the muffled whimper and the way she twists slightly, not like she’s trying to get away but like she wants more.
I can definitely give her more.
Libby has never struck me as the type to really enjoy pain with her pleasure, but then, this is still new to us. There could be a whole list of things she likes that I don’t know about, and I want to find out every single one and then use them against her to make her fall apart.
I pinch her nipples once more, harder this time, and she breaks away from the kiss to cry out.
Her chest is heaving, and she’s flushed from the neck down, which is a very good look for her.
I pull back and smirk, not letting her go.
“You’re so responsive,” I say, amping up the praise. “I like that.”
“I like your hands on me,” she says back, leaning up for another kiss. I get close, like I’m about to give her what she wants, and then go lower so I can mouth at her neck and shoulder.
She moans, tipping her head back and to the side, and for a second I consider leaving marks, laying claim to my territory, but I back off.
There are other places I can leave marks, after all.
I’m half tempted to drop to my knees and eat her out right then and there, like dessert after breakfast, but the image of her bent over and taking my cock won’t leave me alone, and I know I have to have it.
I step back a bit, just enough so I can give her a stern look that lets her know I mean business. “Down,” I say, waiting to see if she’ll obey me.
Predictably, Libby raises an eyebrow. “What am I, a dog now?” she asks, but she doesn’t seem upset.
“No,” I answer her, still smirking. “Let me try again. If you get down from the counter, I’ll make you feel good.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you can go home a little wet, horny mess.”
Her cheeks flush darkly, and I know I’m right about her being wet. She responds so well to being kissed senseless, and if I put my hands down her panties, I know what I’ll find.
I’m hard already, and it would be hard to send her home without sating myself with her, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She looks like she’s considering, but then she slides down until her feet are back on the floor and gives me an expectant look.
I grin at her.
“Good girl. Now turn around and take your panties off.”
She’s wearing a lacy pair that match the bra she wore the night before, and when she flips the shirt up, I get an excellent view of the way the lace frames the peachy globes of her ass.
Libby has an excellent ass, it can’t be denied. Plump and pert and round, it was torture to watch it fill out that dress last night and not be able to touch her.
But here in my kitchen, I can touch her all I want, and as soon as she does what she’s told, sliding the panties down and kicking them off, I move in, palming her bare ass and squeezing it until I leave fingerprints in my wake.
I want her to see them and remember this, remember my hands on her and how good I made her feel.
I grab each cheek and spread them, giving myself an excellent view of everything she has to offer. Her asshole is pink and furled, and, just like I’d though, her pussy is wet.
It’s soaking, actually, slick to the touch, hot and ready for me, and I can feel my cock throbbing in answer, ready to sink into that inviting heat.
“You look so good like this,” I tell her, squeezing just a bit harder until she moans and pushes back for me. Her feet shift on the floor to widen her stance, and it pushes her ass even further back.
Fuck, she’s going to make such a pretty picture, bent over and stuffed with my dick.
I can’t tease her anymore without also teasing myself, so I let her go for long enough that I can push down my own sweats and free my cock.
It’s hard and hot, throbbing in my hand when I give it a slow stroke. The sensation is amazing, and I let out a slow hiss of pleasure that has Libby turning her head to see what I’m doing.
The plump flesh of her pussy is soft against the head of my cock, and I rub it there for a second, groaning at how good it feels. She’s wet and slick, and I when I sink into her, it’s a smooth, fluid motion, pressing in until I’m balls deep inside.
“Fuck,” she moans, head bent forward, elbows and forearms braced on the top of the island. She works her hips back in slow movements, driving me crazy with the slight friction. “You feel so good. You’re so deep inside me.”
I grab her ass and haul her back even further, making it so there’s no space between us, and then I pull out until just the head of my cock is in her and slam back in, forcing the rest of my length back inside.
Our bodies meet with a slap of skin on skin, and she cries out, shaking in my hold. So, of course, I do it again. I love her reactions and try to force more of them out of her. When I fuck her hard and deep, she squeals for me, moaning my name and arching her back. She rises up onto her toes with some of the hard thrusts, meeting me in the middle, and I love that, too. There’s no downside to sleeping with her. In the bed, on the couch, in the kitchen. She rises to the challenge anywhere, and I can’t help but want to see where else I can get her to come for me.
After all, if this is going to be the last time we have to spend together like this, I should make the most of it, right?
Ian
I grab a handful of her hair in one hand and pull her up so my cock is still buried in her, but her back is pressed to my front. I lift her leg with my free hand and thrust up into her, the change in angle taking my breath away for a second.
She’s tighter like this, and I have to let out a shuddering breath and steel myself so I don’t come too fast.
“Oh god,” she moans, head tipped back against my shoulder. “Oh god, oh fuck.”
I laugh breathlessly and thrust up harder. “You like that?” I tease her, already knowing the answer. “You like it when I take you like this? When there’s nothing else for you to do but take my cock like a good girl?”
She nods, almost frantic with it. “Please, Ian,” Libby gasps. “Please, more. Harder. I need more.”
I let go of her hair and push her so she stumbles forward and my cock slips out of her, bobbing wet and hard in the air. She looks confused, and I smirk at her before grabbing her arm and pushing her up against the refrigerator so her breasts are flush with the cold metal.
Libby shivers, and I waste no time in sliding my cock right back into that wet heat, going to town on her again.
I fuck her until I feel her inner walls starting to tighten up and her breathing comes in short, desperate pants. I know she’s close, and I’m torn between teasing her, pulling out and making her beg me to let her come, or seeing just how many times I can make her come in one afternoon.
The little voice in my head gives me a “why not both?” as an answer, and I grin, pleased that Libby can’t see it and has no idea what I’m about to do.
Just when I feel her getting tight like a vise, I pull my cock free and leave her wanting, much to her annoyance. She moans pitifully and turns her head to look at me over her shoulder. “I’m so close,” she pants. “Ian, please.”
“Not yet,” I tell her. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”
She scowls at me, and I laugh softly, turning her around and pressing her back against
the fridge now, so I can lean in and kiss her deeply.
At first, she doesn’t respond, still pouting, but I know how to open her up. I kiss her gently, little chaste kisses brushed against her lips while I run my hands over her hips and then back to grab her ass. I slide them up her back, over her shoulders, and then down in little sensual touches that end at her breasts. I cup them in my hands like I’m weighing them, watching the way the soft flesh jiggles and sways in my hold and then I trail my kisses down from her mouth to her neck and shoulders before working my way back up.
The kisses are hot and open mouthed, some with an edge of teeth and some without. I keep her guessing, playing her body like a fine instrument, and by the time I’m kissing her lips again, she’s like putty in my hands.
It’s probably not doing anything to make her want to come less, though, and I slip a hand between her legs to grab roughly at her pussy, checking to see how wet she still is.
She’s soaking, and I press a finger into her and then another, stroking at her clit while she shakes and moans against me.
“Ian,” she gasps, pushing her pelvis out like she wants more. “I fucking hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” I tell her with a grin. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re the worst. I’m dying over here. Please let me come. Please, please, please.”
Libby is so damn pretty when she begs, and I can’t resist her for long. She doesn’t even seem to know the kind of power she has over me. I sigh and decide to give in. For now. There’s still so much afternoon ahead of us, and I’m not nearly done with her yet.
I work another finger into her, until there are three buried right in her snatch. She’s so wet and hot, and she works her hips for me, practically humping my hand right there against the fridge. She’s uncaring and unself-conscious, and I’m wrapped up in it, caught by how gorgeous and free she looks like this.
When she finally comes, it’s with my name on her lips, and I can’t help myself. I lunge forward and kiss her hard, chasing those moans back into her mouth and laying claim with my tongue while my fingers keep working inside her.
She’s squirming against me, probably oversensitive, and I wait until I can feel her stop contracting around my fingers before I pull them free and take a small step back from her.
Libby looks dazed, mouth kiss bruised, shirt rumpled. Her thighs are wet from her own juices, and so are my fingers, which gives me an idea.
I hold up my hand and press the three digits to her lips, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re such a messy girl,” I tell her. “You should clean me up.”
Her eyes go a little wide at that, but she doesn’t pull away. Her cheeks are dusted with pink, but she opens her mouth and lets that pink tongue flick against my fingers for a second before she sucks one and then another between her lips.
I can feel her tongue laving at my fingers, working to get them clean, and she doesn’t look away from me while she does it.
Her blue eyes are dark with lust, and I can feel my cock throbbing while I watch her, turned on and very, very into it.
She puts on a show for me, before pulling off with a wet pop and licking her lips.
“There,” she says. “Satisfied now?”
“Oh, not by a long shot, baby,” I fire back. My cock is still hard and in need of attention, and I won’t be done with her until I get to come, too.
She looks down at my cock and then back up at me and smirks. For a second, I think she’s going to try to leave me high and dry, but then she’s turning back around to face the fridge and pushing her ass out, back bowed inward so that tempting curve is displayed to maximum effect.
Her legs are spread, feet planted, and her pussy looks so wet and inviting still, that it only takes me a second to shove right back into it and start thrusting again.
Each time I push into her it’s like her body is conforming to fit, stretching to make room for my cock and take me in. When I pull out, her walls drag against the sensitive flesh of my length, and I can feel it, like her body is trying to pull me right back in.
The rhythm is easy, in and out, in and out, and she moans, face pressed against the refrigerator while I take her.
I can feel my balls drawing up, and I know it won’t be long before I lose it.
I speed up, fucking her hard and deep, heart racing. I can feel how close she is to coming again, the way she gets tight around me, and my apartment is full of the sounds of us fucking. Harsh breathing, her moans, my grunts, the sound of skin on skin. Anyone walking by the door would assume we were shooting an amateur porno in here from the way we’re going at it, and my fridge will never be the same.
I’ll never be able to get a drink of orange juice in the morning without thinking about this and how good it feels.
She’s so tight around me, body bowed, ass pressed against my crotch every time I thrust in. My balls slap against her body, and I grab her arms from where she has her hands pressed against the smooth, shiny metal of the fridge and force them behind her back.
She cries out, struggling a bit, but not like she really wants to get away. I hold her in place, making her take every inch of my cock as I ram it home again and again, bottoming out all the way with each deep, powerful thrust.
“Ian,” she says, practically sobbing my name. “Ian, please. Oh my god. Oh my god, I can’t … I’m so—I’m so fucking close.”
“Come on, Lib,” I coax her, out of breath, muscles feeling the exertion. It’s like spending a whole day at the gym, and I know I’ll be feeling it tomorrow when I have to get up and go back to my life.
But that’s tomorrow. For now, I’ve got this girl in my hold, making her take everything I have to offer, and I don’t plan to stop until we’re both completely spent. Who knows how long that could take?
For someone who seems so sweet, Libby has a wild, uninhibited side to her, and I want to see more and more of it.
“You want to come for me?” I ask, panting. “Then come on. Come on this dick, baby. Let me see how good I make you feel.”
She nearly screams when she comes this time, body going taut all at once before the tension is released and her knees go weak. I keep my grasp on her, keeping her upright while I fuck her through it, not letting up for a second.
My orgasm is right there, I can feel it building, feel the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me, and I welcome it, not slowing down or stopping until right at the last second when I pull out and let my come splatter on Libby’s ass, painting a delicious picture of who she belongs to, at least for the moment.
She can barely hold herself up after that, and I’m wavering myself, but we don’t manage to make it further than the living room before we have to collapse and take a break.
Ignoring the perfectly nice couches I have (or maybe just to save them from getting messy), we lay on the living room floor together, naked and sweaty and catching our breaths. I stare at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in it with my eyes, listening to Libby pant beside me.
“Do you ever miss him?” I find myself asking when I have the faculties to talk again, and I immediately want to take it back because that’s a dumbass thing to ask someone about their shitty ex.
“Chris?” she says. “Sometimes.”
I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to answer me, to apologize for torpedoing the mood with a question like that, but instead I keep going. Like an idiot. “Why? He seems like a real jackass.”
It’s better than what I asked her last night, less accusatory and blamey, but not by much. But I’m curious. So far I know she’s been with Chris and that French guy from her office in Paris. Neither of them struck me as good dudes, and I wonder if I’m just a mistake on the list.
It’s not like me to feel insecure after sex, especially good sex like that, but I guess it’s just hard to not know where we stand currently. I want to ask her, flat out, what she wants our next move to be, but I don’t. I don’t want to know yet. I want to get through the rest of
the day thinking we can still have this and I won’t have to suddenly figure out how to not be as attracted to her as I am.
For a while, I think maybe she won’t answer me. She doesn’t like talking about him, I know that, but I want an answer if she has one to give, so I wait.
Finally, she sighs. “It’s not him really. Because you’re right; he is a real jackass. I don’t know what he said to you last night, but I’m sure it wasn’t anything good. That’s just how he is. How he’s always been. I don’t miss him, I just miss being with someone and feeling like I don’t have to do things on my own. I don’t have a lot of friends. Working as much as I do makes it hard to find time to meet people. I’ve got my family, and I had Chris, and I used to think that was enough. It felt like it was. But it was all in my head, really. None of it was okay, and nothing was really as good as I was making it out to be. In the end, I was better off on my own.”
“And now?”
She shrugs, turning her head to look at me. “And now at least I know better. That’s progress.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It definitely is.” I don’t tell her she has me now, because I don’t know if she’d agree with that. I don’t tell her everything’s going to be okay, but who the hell am I to make that claim. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future.
I do reach over and take her hand, pulling it up to my mouth to kiss the back of it.
“We’ve really got to work on our after-sex banter,” she says. “Emotional conversations while still sticky are so last season.”
I laugh and pull her closer until I can roll over on top of her. “Maybe we just have to have more sex until we can get it right,” I murmur against her lips before I’m grinding down on her, ready to take her again.
“I should probably go,” she says a few hours later, sticky and sore and sated. “I need to call my mom and make sure the rest of the party went off well. Make sure Chris didn’t cause a scene once we left and all.”
Off Limits: A Brother's Best Friend Fake Relationship Romance (Fake It Book 1) Page 13