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“Fuck, woman,” he groaned, his body twitching through the afterglow. “You milked me dry.”
Chuckling, she licked up every drop. There were a lot of them, slipping down his still partially hard cock like melting ice cream. “Normally I’m a tidy eater. But don’t worry. I always clean my plate,” she breathed, swallowing him again as he shuddered like an addict in the throes of detox. She eased back and licked the underside, continuing over his balls to collect the rest that had escaped. Each jerk of his muscles rewarded her, but she didn’t get to gloat for long.
“I’m about to eat mine.” He buried his face between her thighs and resumed devouring her, spearing into her sheath with tongue and fingers. No finesse, no patience. Just rough, wild fingerfucking that set a match to her kindling orgasm and blew it sky high.
She bit his thigh to keep from crying out, and his moan rumbled over her quaking flesh. He rubbed his nose over her clit while he coaxed her up again, pressing inside her, seeking the area that would send her into orbit and keep her there. Aftershocks rocked her simply from his touch. He shoved up her legs, bending her back, opening her up. Wide. Wider. The burn in her lower back couldn’t lessen the thrill of his lips finding her again, of his questing tongue flicking over her and tumbling her into another spiraling climax.
“Brad,” she whispered, half-blind from the sparks going off in her vision. “Fuck me. God, now.”
He was already on his knees and tugging her boneless lower half up on his thighs. “I need a condom. I brought one, but I think it fell off the bed.”
“Nightstand. Top drawer.” She was panting so hard she could barely speak. “Hurry.”
Dragging her with him, he swore and fumbled for the drawer, making her laugh. Making her whimper when he shut her up with an abrupt twist of her
nipple. “Remember that making you pay thing? I’m about to.”
“So sorry for letting you come in my mouth.” She still couldn’t breathe, and seeing him stroking that magnificent, newly hardening dick into performance condition didn’t help. Praise the Lord for young cocks. Was there a patron saint for them? If not, there should be. “It won’t happen again.”
“The hell it won’t,” he growled, practically slapping her thighs apart. “Just wait—”
A scream punctuated his statement, the sound cutting through the humid, sex-scented air in her bedroom. They stared at each other for one frightened, fragmented moment, then another cry sounded from downstairs.
Kim. Oh God.
They pushed at each other, scrambling to untangle their limbs. Damp, slick flesh rubbed together and caused a new flurry of groans. Was this their punishment for fucking in the dark—trying to fuck, finally—like a pair of desperate teenagers?
Somehow she managed to get up and toss Brad the clothes she found pooled on the floor. He hopped around, trying to force on his pants, muttering something about holes and blue balls. She didn’t understand what, because she was already hurrying to throw open the door. Once in the hall, she called Kim’s name, her sweaty hand sliding along the banister as she scrambled down the stairs.
At the bottom she saw her best friend, clutching her ankle and crying. Guilt cascaded over her like a tsunami, erasing her earlier arousal. Brad collided against her back and Kim stared up at them, her chin wobbling. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you both. I tripped.” She pointed at a loose hank of carpet. “Stupid rug. I don’t think my ankle’s broken.”
Kim looked from Brad to Sara and back again. “Boy, you two got down the stairs at almost exactly the same time. Were you guys watching TV or something?”
Or something. Sara held her breath, hoping Brad wouldn’t say anything. When his silence made it clear he was waiting for her to speak, she nodded. “Yeah. TV. That’s what we were doing. Uh, I mean watching. A good show on PBS.”
“Brad hates PBS. Everything except Antiques Roadshow.”
Shit. She hadn’t known that. “Yeah.” Sara nodded, hating the heat she could feel blooming across her cheeks. “That’s what we were watching. In his, uh, room.” Why had she said that? She couldn’t even be honest about what room they’d been in, for cripes sake? Too late now. “He has the better TV,” she added.
Kim rubbed her injured leg, grimacing. “His TV’s the same size as yours.”
“Oh yeah, but he’s got a nicer…screen. And fluffy pillows. Mine are all ratty.” Sara fought not to groan. Oh God. Could I be any more pathetic? Or less believable?
Her friend gave her an odd look and didn’t say anything further. Brad’s eyes, however, were doing enough talking for both of them. And what they were saying would’ve involved a lot of swear words, she would wager, had there been an audio soundtrack.
Brad eased around Sara and picked up Kim with the innate tenderness that attracted her almost as much as his Defcon-level sex appeal. “Can you put weight on your ankle?”
Kim tried and shook her head. “Ouch, no. Hurts.”
“Okay.” He focused on his sister while she took Kim’s other arm. “Guess we’re headed for the hospital.”
Spending the night in the ER with his sister and his almost-lover was not how Brad had expected the evening to go. Like the trooper she was, Kim waited without complaint for two hours for them to attend to her sprained ankle and barely even moaned in the back seat of his truck as they ventured to the all-night pharmacy to fill her prescription for pain meds. Once they were back home, they set her up on the couch with ice cream and a stack of novels, along with the TV remote. The sprain was bad enough she’d get a day or two off from work and wouldn’t be getting off the couch often for the foreseeable future. Which meant any nocturnal activities would either need to be kept to a minimum, or they’d have to invest in some gags, since he’d recently learned Sara was a screamer.
Hell, if he didn’t get to have all of Sara soon, he’d be a screamer too.
She kept shooting him wry looks, as if she knew he’d sported a hard-on for the first hour they’d been at the hospital. Hearing people hacking up lungs and seeing them shuffling along hallways dragging IV poles had killed the last of his desire, but now that he was following Sara up the stairs, her heart-shaped behind twitching with each movement, he had to give praise for his cock’s resiliency. It sure was bouncing back.
At the top of the stairs, she turned and held out a hand. He looked down at it and then up at her, unsure what she was offering. Sex? Companionship? Some kinky brew of the two?
