Between Brothers

by Lauren Gallagher

  I bent and kissed his cheek, then flicked my tongue across his earlobe. He exhaled against my neck. Into his ear, I whispered, “Unhook my bra.”

  He tensed and looked at me, his eyebrow raised slightly.

  “Unhook it,” I said.

  His hands shook as he reached behind me and struggled to unhook my bra. I grinned. He could unsnap a bra in his sleep most of the time, but not tonight. Indeed, I had him right where I wanted him. He cursed under his breath and a second later, my bra went slack around my shoulders. He started to pull it over my arms, but I leaned back and shook my head.

  “I just said to unhook it.”

  He released it and leaned back, chewing his lip and gripping the armrests again. “I want it off.” He was shaking, begging. And I loved it.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “Why do you want it off?”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed, then looked at me. “Because I want to see your tits.”

  I reached up and pulled one of the straps over my shoulder, keeping my other arm across my breasts. “You want to see them?”

  He chewed his lip and nodded. I let the other strap fall. He exhaled slowly, his eyes flicking back and forth between my eyes and my covered breasts.

  Finally, I lowered my arms and let my bra fall into his lap.

  “Oh fuck,” he whispered. Leather creaked beneath his hands as he gripped the armrests tighter.

  I leaned forward, but still stayed out of his reach. “If I let you touch me right now,” I whispered. “Where would you touch first?”

  He wetted his lips. “Baby, the second you let me touch

  you, I’m going to throw you down on that couch and fuck you.”

  I grinned, loving what I was doing to him. “But if that wasn’t an option,” I bent and kissed his shoulder before rising to look him in the eye again. “What would you do?”

  He swallowed hard and looked at my breasts, wetting his lips again as he struggled to speak. He raised his eyes to meet mine. “I’d have my hands all over your tits right now.”

  I cupped one of my own breasts. “Like this?”

  He nodded, breathing as if it took every bit of effort he could muster.

  Bringing my other hand up, I let him watch my hands for a long moment. “Or would you do it like this?” And I took my nipples between my fingertips.

  “Fuck yes,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t help the soft moan as I rolled my nipples between my fingers. I was close to asking him to throw me down and fuck me, but I wasn’t ready to let this end, not yet. “What would you do next?”

  A shiver ran through him. “I’d touch your clit,” he growled. “Until you came.” He drew in a long breath as he watched my hand drift down my side, across my hip, and over the garter belt towards my pussy.

  My fingers circled my clit once and I whimpered. For a moment, my self-consciousness came crashing back to the surface. I wasn’t really masturbating in front of someone, was I?

  But then I looked at his face, looked at the way he was looking at me, his lips parted and his eyes wide. “Jesus.” He looked into my eyes. I loved the barely-restrained desire in his voice, the unsteadiness. “I want to fuck you right now.”

  “I know you do,” I said. “And you will. But not until I’m done with you.”

  “You’re an evil woman.”

  “Then we’re a perfect match.”

  My fingers circled my clit, then again. A tremor rippled through me and I braced myself against the back of the chair with my other hand. I whimpered softly and kept working my clit with my fingers.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered. “I could watch this all

  fucking night.”

  I chewed my lip and looked him in the eye, watching him getting more and more aroused as I brought myself closer and closer to the edge. Then I turned my hand just slightly so that the back of it brushed his clothed erection with each rapid motion.

  Letting his head fall back, he groaned in surprise, clinging to the armrests for dear life. “Holy…fuck.”

  I wanted him, I needed him, I couldn’t wait to have him inside me, but I couldn’t stop. I was so close to coming, so close I couldn’t remember how to breathe. He looked into my eyes and he was as breathless as I was, his brow bunched and his lips parted as if he too was on the edge, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.

  With a cry of ecstasy I let myself go, bracing against the chair as my body shook, my fingertips still circling my clit until I couldn’t take anymore. I collapsed against him and his hands flew to my hips, holding me steady as I waited for the trembling to stop.

  “Let me fuck you,” he pleaded. “Oh God, please let me fuck you now.”

  I couldn’t speak. I could barely think. All I could do was nod, because I needed him like never before.

  He grabbed one of the condoms off of the table as we both stood. He didn’t bother getting out of his clothes, pushing his jeans just far enough out of the way to free his cock as he ripped the condom packet with his teeth.

  I started for the couch, but he grabbed my hips and turned me around. He bent me over the armchair and thrust his cock inside me. I held onto the armrests as he gripped my hips and fucked me, as he railed me. The room spun around me and everything went white as I came again.

  He wasn’t far behind. Just as my orgasm was tapering, he groaned, “Oh my…God.” He released a growl that turned into a roar and kept pounding me until he drove himself as deep as he could inside me. The roar faded to a moan.

  Pulling out slowly, he kept a hand on my hip. I’m not sure if he was trying to keep his own balance or keep me upright, but judging by how badly we both trembled, it may have been a little of both.

  “That was incredible,” he said, turning me around and

  pulling me into a kiss. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said with a grin.

  His eyes widened and he nodded. “That would be an understatement.” He ran his finger along the garter strap on my thigh. “That was easily one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced.” Just before he kissed me again, he whispered, “And believe me, we are nowhere near finished tonight.”

  Twenty Three

  I met Chris at a club downtown one Friday night. He was an incredible dancer, a spine-tingling kisser, and judging by the rigid bulge beneath his jeans, he wasn’t lacking in size. He had a gorgeous ass and beautiful shoulders; I couldn’t help but wonder if he was hiding any ink under that black shirt. It was barely nine o’clock when we decided to get the hell out of the club and back to my place.

  We were both a little lit, so we caught a cab. As soon as we were in the backseat and the driver knew where to go, Chris’ arms were around me and his tongue was in my mouth. I melted against him. My heart raced and my pussy ached with anticipation.

  We made out all the way to my apartment, in the stairwell, against the front door, down the hall, finally making it into the bedroom after God only knows how long. He undressed me quickly, but I only managed to get his shirt off before we tumbled into bed. I was mildly disappointed that shoulders that gorgeous were free of ink, but what he was doing to my mouth, my neck, and my breasts more than redeemed his lack of tattoos.

  He kissed his way down my stomach and I whimpered as his fingers drifted towards my pussy. His fingertips circled my clit gently a couple of times, then slid inside me, slowly at first.

  “You like that?” he said.

  I moaned softly. “Fuck yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because I’m just getting started.” With that, he suddenly thrust his fingers into my pussy and I yelped in pain and surprise. He continued in spite of my obvious flinch, apparently unaware that the sound that came out of my mouth was one of pain, not pleasure.

  I tried to draw my hips back, so that he wouldn’t go quite so deep, but his hand followed. “Slower,” I said. “Just, go easy.”

  “I know what I’m
doing,” he said. “Trust me, baby.”

  No, trust me, asshat, I know what feels good to my pussy. I gritted my teeth. He was really no worse than the clueless guys I’d had a lifetime ago, back before Darren showed me the light, but I was more frustrated than I’d ever been with any of them. Now that I knew what good sex was, I had very little tolerance for shitty sex, and even less for men who didn’t respond to my cues.

  I swallowed my frustration and grabbed his hand. “Really,” I said. “Not so deep, not so fast.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “Gently.”

  He nudged my hand away. “I told you, baby, I know what I’m doing.” He winked at me and resumed his two-fingered cervix jab.

  Christ, enough. “Stop,” I said, the firmness in my own voice startling me.

  He did, staring at me, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

  I closed my eyes for a second and swallowed. Just the lack of his jack-hammering on my cervix was almost orgasmic. “What you’re doing,” I said, trying not to sound as aggravated as I was. “It’s not comfortable.”

  With a snort of laughter, he said, “Come on, baby, I know how to do this.” He started again and I seized his wrist.

  It wasn’t frustration that flared up in my chest this time: It was anger. “No,” I said through my teeth. “You don’t.”

  He stopped, his jaw slack.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t like it. Please, stop.”

  Running his free hand over my thigh, his caress doing nothing more than piss me off, he grinned and said, “No woman’s ever objected to it before.”

  “Obviously I am.” I sat up, scooting back on the bed so that I was out of his reach.

  He stared at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Look, I like things a certain way, other women like

  things a different way.”

  He rocked back on his heels and furrowed his brow. “Why don’t we try something else, then?”

  “Such as?”

  He nodded towards the bed. “Lay back again.”

  “Why?”

  He leaned forward and kissed me. “I want to eat your pussy.” I hesitated, but it seemed like I had his attention, so I opted to give him another chance. I’d been dying to know what he could do with his mouth all night, and maybe he was better with his tongue than his hands. I couldn’t imagine that his tongue could be much worse. He laid me down on the bad and pushed my thighs apart gently.

  The first few strokes of his tongue were exquisite, swirling around my clit until the room spun. Indeed, his tongue was far, far more talented than his fingers. I was more than a little thankful that I’d given him another chance.

  That is, until he slid his fingers into my pussy. I tensed, anticipating the rough thrusting he’d done earlier, but he was slow and gentle. After a moment, when I was sure he had gotten the clue, I relaxed.

  I let my guard down just in time to be bombarded by, not only his two-fingered cervix stab, but the roughest, most painful contact a tongue had ever inflicted on my clit. I yelped and heaved myself backwards, out of his reach.

  “Come on, baby, relax,” he said, frustration tingeing his voice. He glared at me, infuriating me even more.

  Just what right do you have to be frustrated, jackass? I thought. I’m the one whose pussy is being treated like a fucking dartboard.

  I was done. A few months ago, I might have laid there and taken it, happy just to have a warm body in bed with me, but I wasn’t going to put up with his cocky attitude and clueless touch. Not when someone like Eric or Darren was a phone call away.

  “Look, forget it,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and reaching for my bathrobe.

  “What?” He stared at me, completely stunned.

  “You know where the door is.” I started towards the bathroom. Though it unnerved me to leave a strange man alone in my bedroom, I was afraid that if I stayed in his presence another second, my foot was going to give his balls a slightly exaggerated demonstration of how painful his “skills” were.

  “What the hell?” he called after me, his voice shrill with confusion and anger. “Every woman loves that.”

  I turned on my heel in the doorway and glared at him, folding my arms across my chest. “Of course, so since I’m not enjoying it, clearly something is wrong with me.”

  He blinked. “You just have to relax.”

  “Pain makes it difficult to relax, you know.”

  His lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. “Every woman before you came that way in no time.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Then clearly they were either masochistic or they were faking it.”

  His jaw dropped. The anger evaporated from his expression and I swore that he was about to cry. Part of me felt mildly guilty; nothing killed a man’s ego like stealing his thunder in the bedroom. It bordered on cruel. But then, my cervix was aching furiously and my clit was throbbing in a very unpleasant way, so I couldn’t have cared less about his ego. I wasn’t about to pretend I was enjoying any of that crap just to appease his ego. My pussy wasn’t a charity.

  “You’re a bitch,” he growled.

  “Be that as it may, I’m going to go take a shower, and you are going to leave.”

  Thankfully, he was still half-dressed, so all he had to do was snatch his shirt off of the floor and head out. I stepped out of his way and watched with no expression as he stormed out of my bedroom. He pulled his shirt over his head just as he was turning the corner into the living room, and I suppressed a laugh as he clipped his elbow on the corner of the wall and cursed.

  My front door slammed and I released a breath, leaning against the wall. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d tensed until the knots of fury in my shoulders relaxed.

  I went into the living room and turned the deadbolt. Chris didn’t strike me as the type to get violent or threatening, but I wasn’t going to take chances. He was likely waiting for a cab out in the parking lot, so he’d be in the area for at least a little while. The last thing I wanted was for him to come back up and try to apologize or—I

  shuddered at the thought—try again.

  I cursed under my breath. In spite of the soreness from Christopher McPussystabber, I was still horny as hell. I glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even ten.

  Darren was probably out, but he always had his phone with him. Eric was undoubtedly working, since it was Friday night, but I didn’t think I could handle him that night anyway. He was fantastic in bed, but I needed a somewhat gentler touch after what Chris had inflicted on my poor

  pussy.

  I fished my phone out of my purse and sent Darren a text message: Busy tonight?

  Fifteen minutes later, I was pouring myself a second cup of coffee when my phone beeped. I flipped it open and laughed at his reply: Just out trying to get laid. You? Before I could reply, a second message came through: I thought you were going out tonight too.

  I wrote back: Come over and I’ll tell you all about it.

  Within seconds: Be there in twenty.

  I laughed against the rim of my coffee cup. Men like Chris couldn’t take simple, direct instructions, but Darren could certainly read between the lines.

  Twenty Four

  “So what happened with this douchebag tonight?” Darren asked. He was laid back on my bed, one hand behind his head and the other playing with my hair.

  “Put plain and simple, he was an idiot,” I said, smiling in spite of thoughts of Chris. My anger from earlier had evaporated, replaced by that delicious post-coital bliss.

  Darren looked at me inquisitively. His blue eyes seemed more intense that night, the vivid color making my breath catch. I wondered if he ever wore colored contact lenses to make his eyes appear more blue, but I didn’t ask. He played with a strand of my hair and cocked his head. “An idiot? Do tell.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Evidently he thought that stabbing my cervix with his fingers should be a turn-on.”

  He laughed. “You’re joking.”

  “Nope. He insiste
d that he knew what he was doing, that he always made women come in very short order that way.” I paused, then suppressed an evil giggle. “When he told me that…” I snorted with laughter.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, snickering uncontrollably.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Don’t make me force it out of you.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, trying to stop laughing enough to speak. It had infuriated me hours ago, but now I found it hysterically funny. “I told him that they were either masochistic or they were faking it.”

  His jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have. I’d already kicked him out of bed, so that was just insult to injury.”

  Darren howled with laughter. “You kicked him out of bed?”

  “Hell yeah. Was I supposed to let him keep doing that?”

  “Absolutely not.” He beamed proudly. “I knew you had it in you.”

  “What?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t put up with shitty sex once you knew what good sex felt like,” he said. “And you wouldn’t put up with a jackass that couldn’t, or wouldn’t, figure out what he was doing.”

  “You’ve taught me well, Master.”

  “You’ve learned well, Young Grasshopper.”

  I elbowed him playfully. “Thanks for coming over and taking care of me.”

  He kissed me lightly. “The pleasure’s all mine.” He paused. “So, enough about bad sex. You mentioned that Casanova enjoyed your little lap dance?”

  “I think he did.” I ran my fingers along the smooth grooves that divided Darren’s sculpted abs.

  “The question is, did you enjoy it?”

  I considered his question for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I actually did. I wasn’t sure if I would, but it was fun. It was hot.”

  “Told you it would be.” He trailed his fingers over my bare shoulder.

  “You haven’t steered me wrong yet,” I laughed. “Where were you years ago?”

  “Learning all of this stuff myself.”

  I gave him a disbelieving look and he chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “You don’t think I was born knowing this, do you?”