Second Best, #1

by Noelle Adams

  “Your...” I had absolutely no idea what I’d been trying to say.

  “My ego.” He pushed against me, and I could feel that he was completely hard already, his erection big and firm as he pressed it against me.

  I grabbed for him eagerly. “Your ego,” I agreed. “It’s way too...”

  One of his hands had slid down my side to my hips and then snuck between my legs. Then his fingers were exploring in a way that made my whole body tighten.

  He’d tilted his head to kiss his way down my neck, but I could hear a smile in his voice as he murmured, “My ego is way too...?”

  My hands were still wrapped around his erection. “Way too... big.”

  “I’ve never had complaints about my ego before.” Then he lifted his head and kissed me on the mouth again, and I surrendered to it, to him. As we kissed, I stroked and squeezed him, and he rubbed me intimately with one hand at the same time. The water was beating down on his back, misting over onto me, and my body was slick and warm. Everything felt so good and hot and sensual that I was moaning helplessly into the kiss.

  I hadn’t had a lot of foreplay yet tonight, and our position didn’t allow him optimal access to the necessary parts of my body—whereas both my hands were working him over enthusiastically—so he got going first. After a minute or two, he jerked his mouth out of the kiss and let out an uninhibited groan.

  His body was tightening palpably, and he’d braced his free hand against the shower wall, pushing into it hard.

  I was quite familiar with his body now, and I knew what he liked. I picked up the speed of my pumping and watched as his face twisted in response. He groaned again and slammed his hand against the wall, as if he were trying to hold himself back.

  I was almost as excited watching him come as I would have been coming myself. I was flushed and panting and breathless, and my whole body pulsed with arousal. I couldn’t look away from his face.

  He’d had his eyes closed as he reached the edge, but he suddenly opened them again, meeting my gaze as his body started to shake.

  So he was looking at me as he came, and it was strangely unnerving. Exciting, but unnerving.

  He groaned in pleasure as I felt him pulsing beneath my hands, and then he came all over my belly.

  I wasn’t actually a fan of a man getting semen all over me, but since we were in the shower, it wasn’t unpleasant. As he gasped, muttering under his breath how good it had been and holding himself up against the wall, I moved under the spray to wash him off me.

  I’d just gotten clean again when he grabbed me and pulled me into a wet hug.

  I was surprised by the gesture, but I had no objections. It felt warm and good and real and not just because his body felt so nice against mine.

  “For a guy with an ego as big as yours,” I said in a lilting voice, “you sure do come easy.”

  He chuckled, his body shaking deliciously against mine. “I’ve been waiting for this for two weeks.”

  That was nice to hear. There wasn’t love between us, but there was mutual pleasure, and it seemed to get deeper every time we got together.

  “Me too,” I admitted.

  “Then let’s see how easy you can come.”

  His voice had changed—he was able to focus more now that he’d come the first time—and he turned my body around so I was facing the shower wall. He placed one of my hands and then the other against the tile so I was bent slightly at the waist, braced against the wall.

  My whole body throbbed at the position, and I stayed where he’d put me.

  But I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. “You’re not going to try something as crazy as shower sex, are you? Because that’s not going to be comfortable for me. If you’re going to fuck me, we need to get out.”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to fuck you all right, but I’m going to do it with my hands.”

  I’ll admit it. My whole body throbbed a few times at his words.

  He caressed me from my shoulders to my breasts and then down my sides to my hips. He spent a lot of time on my bottom, which was prominently displayed in this position.

  My butt has never been the best part of my body. It wasn’t nearly as nice and tight and firm as his was. But he seemed to like it anyway as he squeezed and stroked.

  I was aching with arousal and trying not to make embarrassing sounds by the time his hands finally moved between my legs.

  He penetrated me with two fingers—I wasn’t very wet because of the steam and hot water, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—and he used the other hand to rub my clit.

  I gasped and pushed against the wall as I felt a climax tightening.

  “There you go,” he murmured thickly. “You like that, don’t you?”

  Of course I liked it. It felt so good I couldn’t hold back whimpers. My hips were moving of their own accord, trying to intensify the sensations.

  “That’s right,” he was saying, sounding very pleased by my responsiveness. “Move just like that. Faster now. Let me see how much you want it.”

  I wasn’t just moving now. I was shamelessly riding his hand, my breasts and bottom jiggling with my eagerness. My eyes were squeezed shut, and I was making rhythmic little grunts.

  “You’re going to come so hard, aren’t you? Just from my hand. You’re going to be screaming by the time I’m done with you.”

  I was afraid he was right, but it felt like a challenge, so I bit my lip to try to hold back the sounds I was making.

  It didn’t work. It all felt too good. I was bouncing my body now, braced against the wall. My breasts were slapping against my chest, and it felt so raw, so naughty, that it intensified my pleasure.

  “You’re going to come when I say to, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t normally like that kind of thing. When I had an orgasm was my business—not some bossy man’s—and I wasn’t really keen to follow anyone’s commands. But I heard myself sobbing out, “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” in what was obviously an affirmative.

  I wanted to come so much. I knew it would be so good. My whole being was on the edge of a precipice, waiting for him to push me off.

  Then he did. “Now, baby,” he rasped. “Come now.”

  I might have screamed after all—just a little. The orgasm overwhelmed me completely, and there was no way biting my lip was going to hold it back.

  I kept riding his fingers, pushing my bottom back against his hand. I can’t imagine how I must have looked—naked and bent over and out of control like that—but I was too caught up in sensation to even care.

  My lungs and cheeks were burning as the last of the spasms finally worked their way through me. Sean was stroking me gently, and he didn’t stop until my grunts and moans had finally quieted and I’d grown still.

  I was still staring at the wall, but I knew he was smiling behind me.

  He was very pleased with himself.

  He liked how he’d gotten me to throw off my normal inhibitions. It had given him some sort of macho thrill.

  My body was still shuddering with the aftermath of pleasure, so I could hardly begrudge him his pride.

  He helped me straighten up, and I rinsed myself off again, smiling at Sean but not quite able to speak intelligently yet.

  After another minute, he turned off the shower and we both dried off. I was reaching for my pretty new pajama set when he stopped me. He was hard again, even though it hadn’t been very long since he’d come the first time.

  He took my hand and led me out to the bedroom, grabbing a condom on the way. Then he pulled me into a kiss, and we ended up toppling over onto the bed. He turned me over onto my back, positioned himself between my legs, rolled on the condom, and entered me.

  He fucked me slowly and rhythmically, my legs bent up against my chest. I’m not sure if I actually came again, but the whole thing felt amazing—raw and deep and intensely pleasurable. We didn’t talk the way we normally did, but it didn’t feel like we needed to.

  It just seemed like we were in sync. W
e knew each other’s bodies now, and so we didn’t need to discuss what worked and what didn’t.

  We knew what worked.

  We knew how we worked together.

  I was gasping with pleasure and rubbing my palms over his back when his motion finally grew more urgent. He was going to come. I knew the signs. I squeezed around him as he fell out of rhythm and huffed his way to another climax.

  Both of us were smiling and relaxed when he rolled off me. I was tired, sated, and a little bit hungry.

  We lay on our backs, side by side, smiling at each other until Sean finally got the energy to sit up and take care of the condom.

  “Steak tonight?” he asked me with his irresistible quirk of a smile.

  “Oh yeah.”

  That was another great part of our evenings together.

  It wasn’t just great sex.

  It was also great food.

  Can you blame me for looking forward to it every other week?

  Can you blame me for occasionally wishing we could do it a bit more often?

  WHEN I’D FINISHED EATING a salad, loaded baked potato, and a lot of my ribeye (Sean finished it for me), I got up to use the bathroom, and then I flopped down onto the bed, feeling tired in that pleasant satisfied way you only feel when you’ve had a really good time.

  Over dinner, we’d talked about a show on Netflix that Sean had told me he’d liked the last time we got together. In the past two weeks, I’d watched all three seasons, so we had a great time discussing it and speculating about what would happen in the next season.

  We’d fallen into silence now though, and I stretched out on the bed, my head on the pillow. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Our evening wasn’t over.

  I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly experiencing a strange heavy sensation below my belly.

  Not desire or anything like it.

  It was almost poignant, which didn’t make any sense at all.

  Sean had been checking his phone while I was in the bathroom, but now he put it down and stood up from the table where we’d eaten. He was wearing a pair of blue-gray sleep pants, and I automatically ran my eyes up and down his body.

  He must work out a lot. He was naturally lean, but no one was born with lovely, tight muscle development like he had. His stomach was perfectly flat.

  He had a small white puckered scar on his side—from the bullet that had shot him two years ago. The night his fiancée had died.

  I’d never mentioned it or paid it extra attention, but it was hard not to look at it occasionally.

  “What?” he asked, evidently noticing my stare.

  “I wish my stomach was as flat as yours,” I said. It was a silly thing to say, but I was trying to ignore that poignant feeling and not wanting him to know I’d been looking at his scar.

  He chuckled and lowered himself onto the bed beside me. “I’ve got to say that I’m glad you don’t have my body. I wouldn’t find it particularly enticing.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle at his words. I reached over to rub my hand over his abs, loving the feel of the firm muscles and tight skin, the way it rose and fell slightly with his breathing, the hair that trailed under his waistband. I avoided caressing his scar the way I wanted to. “I don’t want your body. I’d just like a perfectly flat stomach like yours.”

  My stomach wasn’t flat. It wasn’t particularly large, but it definitely curved outward.

  “I like that you’re soft,” Sean murmured.

  I frowned at him. “What?”

  “I like that you’re soft,” he repeated with an arch of one eyebrow. “Your body, I mean. I like it soft.”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “You say all the right things, don’t you?”

  “Was that the right thing to say?”

  “Don’t act all innocent with me. You know exactly what you’re doing, trying to butter me up that way.”

  He rolled over on his side and gave me a smile that was half-wicked and half-intimate—very appealing. “And what am I doing?”

  “You’re saying exactly the right thing.”

  “Very convenient then since it happens to be true.”

  I wondered if it was true. I wondered what the other women he’d been with were like—whether they were gorgeous model types with perfect bodies and hips that weren’t overly rounded like mine.

  Sean was a man very experienced with women, so he very likely knew exactly what would make women feel best about their bodies. He was also a decent man and more generous than most people would expect, so he might go out of his way to smooth over the insecurities of the woman he was presently fucking.

  But still... I wondered what the other women he’d been with were like.

  His fiancée had been gorgeous and slim—and she’d trained in ballet. She wasn’t anything like me.

  I wanted to ask him about her. And about the other women he’d been with.

  I couldn’t though. I’d signed a contract that said I wouldn’t.

  I felt that little twisting in my gut again and tried to ignore it. It didn’t matter that there were things I couldn’t ask, things I couldn’t know. I didn’t need to have a heart-to-heart with Sean to have a very good time.

  “How’s your mom’s back?” Sean asked, rolling over so he was lying on his back the way I was.

  “It’s better,” I told him, pleased and surprised that he remembered I’d mentioned my mother’s back had gone out a couple of weeks ago. “She’s moving around fine now. I almost wish she still had her back to complain about since all she’s talking about now is my sister’s wedding.”

  “Oh really? Your sister is getting married?”

  “Yeah. She just got engaged two weekends ago, and my mother is obsessed with wedding plans already. Every time I call her, that’s all she wants to talk about.”

  “Is she your only sister? Older or younger?”

  “Yeah. My only sister. Younger. By two years.” I sighed and tugged down the top to my pajama set. It was made like a camisole, and the slippery fabric kept inching up, baring my belly.

  “And how do you feel about her getting married?”

  I turned my head to check his expression, but his face was mild and interested. He didn’t seem to have an underlying motive for the question other than curiosity.

  I gave a little shrug. “I’m happy for her. Of course. I’m pretty reasonable about these things, and I’m not going to get all uptight about my little sister getting married before me. She’s never been very career-minded like I am anyway. All she’s ever done is try to get married. The guy she’s marrying is okay but nothing special. I sometimes wonder...”

  “You wonder what?”

  “It sounds kind of mean, and I don’t intend it to be that way. But I wonder if she’s mostly marrying him to get married. He’ll treat her fine, I’m sure, but she doesn’t seem very...” I shook my head. “She doesn’t seem like she’s head over heels about him. But he has a good job, and she wants to get married, and she’s twenty-six now, so she thinks it’s time.”

  Sean was studying my face, as if he were analyzing every little flicker of my expression.

  His fixed gaze made me a little self-conscious. I lowered my eyelashes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. I hope she’ll be happy.”

  “I think more people do that than we realize,” Sean said after a thoughtful pause. “Marry someone because they’re there and because they want to get married. A lot of those marriages work out just fine.”

  I nodded, letting out a long breath. “And a lot of couples who are passionately in love at the beginning end up in divorce in less than five years. I know. I’ll hope for the best for her.”

  “If it’s a mistake, you’ll have to let her make it. There’s nothing you’re going to be able to do at this point.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t even try. And I don’t have any reason to assume it’s a mistake. It’s what she wants, so I’ll be happy for her. And I’ll put up with months of her and my mom talk
ing about nothing else.”

  He chuckled. “Weddings do seem to overwhelm everything else. Lara was always—”

  I went very still at the sound of his fiancée’s name. He’d never mentioned her before in my presence—in casual conversation or in anything else. I only knew Lara was her name because of what I’d read in the newspapers.

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t prompt him to continue after he’d cut himself off. I felt ridiculously nervous—and a little excited—as I waited to see if he’d finish.

  He was staring at the ceiling, and his tone changed—softened, got slightly hoarse—as he finally continued, “Lara talked about the wedding all the time too.”

  I had absolutely no idea what to say, so I just murmured, “Yeah.”

  It felt like a wound in him had broken open—just a crack but enough to cause blood. He wasn’t trying to confide in me. He’d never do that. He’d just been into the conversation and a reference to Lara had slipped out.

  It seemed to bother him. I could feel a different sort of tension in his body—emotional, conflicted.

  I wanted to soothe it away, but it wasn’t my place, and I had no idea how to do it anyway.

  Finally I decided the best thing to do was change the subject, move us past it. So I said lightly, “My sister is all excited because they were able to reserve this old farmhouse and orchard for their wedding. It’s a really nice venue and doesn’t even cost a fortune.”

  Sean seemed relieved at the return to normal, and he turned his head to face me again. “Is the ceremony going to be outside?”

  “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

  “Where would you get married, if you had a choice?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Really? You haven’t daydreamed about where you and your jackass are going to tie the knot?”

  I gave him a swat on his belly at this teasing reference to my beloved John Cooper, but I couldn’t take it seriously. He always referred to John that way.

  He laughed. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I’m not some silly teenage girl!” I reached over to swat him again, but he grabbed my wrist so I couldn’t.