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“Simo…”
His lips leave mine and he covers my mouth with his palm to keep me silent while he rises to his knees, pulling his shorts down with his free hand.
He shakes his head on a smirk. “If you want me to stop, just say no, JoJo. But from this point forward, you’re not screaming anyone’s name but mine. Do you want me to stop?” He takes his hand away and I grab him by the wrist and graze his knuckle with my teeth before slipping the tip of his finger between my lips and giving it a little suck.
Hell no, I don’t want him to stop.
His thick cock springs out of his shorts, and he presses the long, hot, velvety shaft against my bare stomach. My blouse rode up sometime during this spontaneous make-out session, and now Sage is tugging it further up to accommodate his cock, resting it on the little pink bow at the center of my bra, before reaching under me to snatch my bra, tearing it apart.
“Gonna tit-fuck you now. Been wanting to do that since your thirteenth birthday. Remember the day? Checkered baby blue dress, ham on rye in the meadow, showing me the first sign of tits…” He drags his tongue across my chin, closing in on my mouth with a sloppy kiss. A kiss with too much tongue. Too much saliva. Too much everything, yet not enough of him. My response is squeezing my breasts together around his thick cock. The pad of his thumb is rubbing my clit again, and my quivering thighs begin to jerk uncontrollably. He pinches my clit. I moan so loudly my ears ring. Pinch, pinch, pinch. After a dozen small pinches, I feel a tug on the invisible string of pleasure that connects us. I explode when he finally pinches harder, sending me over the edge. I writhe under my best friend, shouting his name with the kind of wild abandon I hadn’t felt since the day I ran toward him in the pouring hot rain.
I barely have time to come down from my orgasm before he starts fucking my tits, the tip of his cock poking my chin every time he grinds himself on my torso. He scoots up, sitting on my stomach with his knees on either side of me. His muscular thighs harden, holding most of his weight as he goes at it like a professional porn star.
“Look at me,” he growls like a wounded animal, his tone far from its usual playfulness. I raise my head. My hazels meet his blues. He smirks the most patronizing, jerk-fueled smile I’ve ever seen, cupping my cheeks with one hand.
“I want to come in your mouth.”
I nod silently. I’ve never given anyone oral sex. Not that I have anything against it, but I guess I never felt super comfortable enough with any of my past boyfriends. But Sage is not just a guy I went on a few dates with. He is the boy who kicked other boys’ asses when they disrespected me at school—despite my telling him that I could take care of myself—and tried (and failed) to bake me shortbread cookies every Christmas because he knew they were my favorite.
He is good enough to never mention it if I suck (not literally), and man enough to never say a word about it to anyone we know.
“Oh, fuck, so close. Jolie, my beautiful, gorgeous Jolie…”
He scoots up, slides his cock from between my tits, and shoves it into my mouth, cupping my head from behind and making me deep throat him. And I do. I fight my gag reflex and wrap my lips around his cock as he pumps the base, warm, thick liquid sliding down my throat in spurts. My hands are on his rear, and I’m squeezing hard, as if I’m the one who is milking him, and it feels dirty and wrong and so magnificently right.
When he collapses next to me, his salty taste on my lips and tongue, I close my eyes and breathe, trying to rearrange the jumbled mess that is my mind. My bra is torn, my pussy throbs and burns from the friction of the denim and the pinching, and I feel like a train wreck with smeared lipstick.
A big paw reaches across my stomach, rolls me over to my side, and embraces me into a hug. Sage kisses my temple—like a loving friend, not like a quick lay—and whispers something I cannot decipher.
“What did you say?” I murmur, allowing my head to rest on his iron pecs.
He doesn’t answer, and I don’t probe, falling asleep in the arms of the boy I pieced back together myself with a hug.
The next day, I tackle Mark to the ground in practice. My official reason? He’s a fucker. My real reason? Jolie is standing across the football field with Chelsea and a few of her other girlfriends, hugging her MacBook to her chest and laughing at something one of them said. That, in itself is not a problem. But the fact that Mark just ogled her for two straight minutes? Totally is.
