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“Your ass is so tight, Beck. It feels so fucking good.”
I groaned, jerking my cock harder between our bodies. “I need to come.”
“Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “Do it now. I want to feel it when it happens.”
He angled his hips just right, nailing my prostate once, twice, three times, and I erupted with a strangled cry, back arching, neck straining, everything strung tight until it snapped like a rubber band and I was flying apart.
Cum pulsed from my cock, shooting over my fingers and dribbling onto my abs, but that wasn’t even the most incredible part of the orgasm. No, that was in my ass, tightening and releasing with each wave of pleasure.
“F-f-fuck,” Wes stuttered.
He shuddered hard and collapsed on top of me, panting hot breaths against my neck. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight, not caring that I was sticky with sweat and cum. Not caring that his weight was impeding my breathing.
I needed his skin against mine to remind myself that this was real.
I needed his weight pressing down to anchor me in the moment.
I’d just let my stepbrother fuck me, and I’d never be the same.
But then, maybe I hadn’t been the same since that first kiss.
Or maybe I was lost long before that. The first time I imagined him when I was jerking off in the shower. The first time I’d looked a little too long when he ventured out of the bathroom in only a towel.
The first time he’d smiled, and I’d reflexively smiled back, simply because he was Wes, and if he was happy, so was I.
A thousand little moments had led to this one, and as complicated as it was, I’d never regret it.
* * *
WES
Beckett lookedup from the grilled cheese and tomato soup I’d whipped up and brought into the bedroom—not even burned this time, thank you very much!—and smiled quizzically. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“No,” I said. “But the blankets are covering your dick, so what am I supposed to look at?”
He smacked me. “Ass.”
“They’re covering that too.”
He rolled his eyes, but I saw the smile before he took a big bite of his sandwich, humming with delight. The noises he made while he ate might have turned me on, if not for the fact that they didn’t come close to the pornographic moans and whimpers I’d pulled from him in the act. Beckett was generally more reserved than me—though I tended to bring out his playful side more than others—but his guard vanished entirely when he gave his body to me.
And there was no mistaking it. Beckett didn’t just have sex with me, he invited me in, let me have control, and thanked me for the pleasure. And there was something incredibly touching about that kind of trust.
“Seriously, Beck, you’re beautiful.”
He ducked his head, letting his red bangs flop into his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Don’t hide.” I put a finger under his chin and tipped his face up. “It’s true.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled, his freckled cheeks reddening.
“Aw, are you blushing? You’re blushing!” I laughed in delight as he began to swear at me. I grabbed his jaw and kissed his hot cheek, then the arch of his brow. I brushed my thumb over his bottom lip as I pressed the tip of my tongue to one of the freckles under his eye.
“You’re such an asshole,” he said, though there was a smile in his voice. “Should I tell you all the ways that you’re sinfully sexy?”
I immediately sprawled back on my pillow, my body naked on top of the covers. “Hell yes. Tell me.”
He chuckled and set his plate on the bedside table. It was mostly empty, with nothing more than a crust lying beside a bowl holding a small puddle of red in the bottom. “I should have known your ego would enjoy stroking.”
