Page 13 of The Family Friend

The bed creaks louder. Once. Twice. On the third roll, the frame smacks the wall with a dull, echoing thud that seems to reverberate through the entire quiet house.

We both stop.

Her cunt clenches hard around my cock in the sudden, electric stillness, squeezing so rhythmically I have to bite back a groan. My heart thunders so violently I’m certain she can feel it where we’re joined, the thick vein along my shaft pulsing against her inner walls.

No footsteps on the stairs. Only the distant lap of lake water against the dock outside and the roar of blood in my ears. The night breeze slips through the cracked window, doing nothing to calm the inferno between us.

Harriet's breath fans hot and ragged against my collarbone. Her arms loop around my neck as I grip her thighs, thumbs sinking deep into the soft, yielding flesh, and shift us both to the edge of the mattress.

My bare feet hit the cool wooden floor, and I stand. Gravity does the rest, letting her sink even deeper onto my cock until I'm seated, her pussy stretched around my thickness.

She understands instantly. No words needed. Her legs wrap tight around my waist. Her face buries in the crook of my neck, lips brushing my racing pulse.

I spread my hands wide over her ass, fingers digging into the plush curves, and begin to lift and drop her. Hard. Deep. Her soaked pussy takes every inch of my cock.

She rides me like this, using my shoulders for leverage, nails raking down my back, while I meet her halfway—hips snapping up to bury myself to the root again and again.

When she comes, her teeth sink into my shoulder, the sharp bite of pain sharpening every sensation into crystal clarity. She shatters ion my arms in a torrent of soft cries and spasms.

Her walls flutter and squeeze in pulses that drag me right to the edge with her. I keep moving through it, fucking her through the orgasm, hips pistoning into her tight, spasming heat as her juices coat my thighs.

"Fuck, Harriet."

A surge of heat, violent and sudden, courses through me as my body responds to her in thick, liquid pulses, flooding her pussy until I feel it leaking out around my cock with every shallow thrust.

The pleasure whites out everything—thought, sound, breath—for one blinding second. There is only her. The hot, trembling clench of her cunt. Her frantic breath against my neck. The sting of her nails in my back. The way her whole body shudders in my arms.

We stay locked together, my cock still buried deep inside her as aftershocks ripple through both of us. Sweat cools on our skin. The faint scent of water and pine curls around us, grounding me back into my body.

I turn my head and kiss her hard, no finesse left, just raw need and relief and the taste of her on my tongue.

"That's my kind of alarm clock, baby. Your mouth around my cock, then your hot pussy."

Harriet lifts her head. Those eyes meet mine in the dark, that familiar dry spark flickering back to life even now. She shifts her hips once, making us both hiss at the raw overstimulation that shoots through my spent cock.

"Don't get used to it."

The corner of my mouth tugs up despite the way my chest is still heaving. I tighten my grip on her ass, fingers sinking deeper into the soft flesh, keeping her impaled exactly where she is.

"We'll see."

5

HARRIET

The cake van pulls up at two, and I have never in my life been so happy to direct traffic.

"Tent, not the porch," I tell the balloon guy, and Heath catches my eye over a wall of gold Mylar and grins like we're getting away with something.

We are, a little. Getting away with it.

The caterers arrive next with enough chafing dishes to feed a small army, which is probably what Gram's eightieth requires. Heath hauls the heavier ones, shoulders shifting under his t-shirt, and I point them toward the long tables we've set up on the lawn facing the lake.

The afternoon has turned into a choreographed dance of suppliers and rentals and people asking me where things go, as if I have any more authority here than Heath does. But Gram disappeared an hour ago—probably napping before her own party—so Heath and I have become the de facto coordinators.

"String lights go on the tent poles," I tell the rental crew, and one of them waves a thumbs-up. "The extension cords are by the back door."

Heath appears at my elbow, close enough that his arm brushes mine. "You're enjoying this," he says, and there's laughter in his voice.