We lay together on my bed for at least fifteen minutes, our legs entwined, our hands occasionally wandering. We talk about nothing, but we’re thinking about everything. I know I am, and I can feel that he is too.
He’s probably afraid to make another move, and I can’t blame him, since I’m the one who asked to slow down so I can “catch my breath.”
That sounds so lame. I wonder if he believed me. All I can think about is when can I feel his hands on me again. My blood runs hot and I’m restless, my legs rubbing against his, my hands aching to reach out and touch him, really touch him.
Deciding I’m ready to make my first move, I press my face against his bare chest and breathe deep, inhaling his scent. His skin is so warm and smooth, and incredibly hot. His heart races; I press my palm where it beats, and I purse my lips, kissing him there.
An agonized groan sounds from deep in his chest as I continue to kiss him. His pecs, the center of his chest, his rib cage, his stomach. I kiss him everywhere, the smattering of hair tickling my lips, the salty taste of his skin making my mouth water. I lick around his belly button and he shivers. I curl my fingers around the denim waistband of his jeans, my knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath, and his hips twitch. Silently begging me to delve under the denim and touch him where he really wants me.
“You don’t have to—” he starts when I unbutton his jeans and I lift my head to meet his gaze, sending him a look. Is he for real? Is he actually going to say that? He swallows his words with a simple press of his lips, his gaze never leaving mine.
“I want to,” I say firmly, pulling the zipper down slowly to reveal black cotton boxer briefs, his erection straining against the fabric. I drift my index finger down the length of him, noting how his cock jumps beneath my touch.
My entire body goes tight as he lifts his hips, allowing me to pull his jeans off. I swiftly remove them so he’s lying in the center of my bed clad in only the black boxer briefs, and I shift away from him, fully taking him in.
He’s got a beautiful body. All lean muscle and sinew, he has the start of a six-pack, his legs thick and strong-looking, and I’m tempted to pounce on him.
But I don’t. Instead, I move slowly and deliberately. I drift my fingers along his thigh, then back up until I’m at his hips. I tease him with my fingertips, dipping them beneath his underwear, stroking there. He’s so hot and so big, and finally, my patience gets the best of me.
I tug his boxer briefs down until they’re around his thighs, and his cock springs free. I grab hold of him, wrap my fingers tight around the base as I stroke up. Down. Establishing a rhythm, I’m focused solely on his pleasure, on what he’s getting out of it versus what he can do for me.
His pleasured groans, the way he twitches and shifts, his eager hips lifting the faster I get, it’s all driving me on. But my mind wanders as it usually does when I’m having sex. I can’t help it. It’s like I get—bored or something.
A thought flickers in my mind, murky at first, until it grabs hold and doesn’t go away. Is it my own guilt that’s making me do this? I can give him an orgasm and…what? Does that absolve me from what I plan on doing to him in the future? I study his face, his flushed cheeks, his glazed eyes, and when our gazes suddenly meet, I shift down, brushing my lips across the very tip of him.
Another moan escapes him as I draw him deep into my mouth. The sounds he makes as I continue to lick and suck him electrifies me. Urges me to suck harder, tease the tip of him with my tongue, stroke the base of him with a firm grip of my fingers…
“Hell no,” he practically growls, sitting up so fast I startle away from him. “I don’t want to come that way.”
I stare silently at him, a gasp escaping me when he pushes me backward until I’m sprawled across the bed. He undresses me with ruthless efficiency, until I’m clad in a wispy pair of black-lace panties and nothing else. His hands and mouth move all over my body, his fingers sliding beneath my panties, and I part my legs, letting him test me.
“So damn wet,” he whispers right before he tugs my underwear down, and then his face is between my thighs, his tongue licking, searching, and eventually finding my clit. His skillful precision is intense, making me feel like I’m about to come out of my skin and I strain against him, my eyes tightly closed, my muscles clenched. He knows exactly where to touch me, but I want more.
“Higher,” I whisper and he does as I ask, shifting higher. “Faster,” I gasp, a cry leaving me when his tongue picks up speed.
And just like that, I come quickly, my orgasm slamming into me out of nowhere. My entire body shakes, a harsh cry escaping past my lips as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me, electrified jolts wracking my body. When I’m finally spent, my limbs are shaking so hard, it’s like I just ran a marathon in record time.
Again with the clichés, but seriously. No man has ever made me come like that. No man has ever made me come, period. I breathe deeply, trying to regulate my racing heart, and when I finally crack my eyes open, I see the satisfied gleam in Rhett’s eyes as he watches me. That look tells me he’s proud of what he just did to me, and I’m half-tempted to tell him to get that smug look off his face. But I’m too weak to even speak.
He slowly shakes his head, his gaze drifting over me, making me warm. “Damn woman, you came hard.”
I say nothing, the sound of my harsh pants filling the room. I watch as he climbs off the bed and grabs his jeans from the floor, pulling a condom out of his wallet. Unwrapping it, he goes to stand next to the side of the bed closest to me and slowly rolls the condom on. My gaze drops to his erection, and even though I just climaxed, my body clenches, already eager for more.
Without saying a word, he comes to me, climbing onto the bed so he can kiss me deep before he positions himself above me and thrusts his cock inside with one swift movement. I’m wet and loose after that massive orgasm, so he enters me easily, filling me right up. I go completely still, savoring the sensation of him buried deep, how his cock throbs in time like a heartbeat.
Reaching up, I tentatively brush my hands down his back, searching the muscles there. His eyes close as I touch him, and he braces his palms on the mattress before he starts to move. Slowly at first, his hips flexing, pushing, deeper and deeper. I grab hold of his shoulders and cling to him, wrapping my legs around his waist, sending him deeper, making us both groan in unison.
With every thrust, he drives me deeper into the mattress, all the while telling me how good I feel, how I’m so wet and tight, his constant stream of words conjuring dirtier and dirtier images in my brain. I wish I had a mirror so I could see how good we look together right now. So I could watch his butt and leg muscles flex with every push inside my body. He fucks better than any guy I’ve ever been with before, and I can feel it coming again. That subtle tingle in my belly, that hopeful rise within my body, taking me closer and closer to the edge…
Until I’m coming again, the orgasm like a giant wave of relief as it moves through me. He’s coming too—I can tell by the way he goes still, his body tightening and then releasing. He shudders as he moans my name, his movements becoming wild, totally out of control.
No one has ever moaned my name before. Not Jennifer or Jensen or even Jen. I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions that grabs hold of me and refuses to let go. The guilt and the shame and the pleasure and the tiny glimmer of happiness I’m experiencing all at once. What just happened felt so good, so right.
But it isn’t right. It shouldn’t feel right. What we just did, is wrong. He’s really my stepbrother.
My mother turned me into this. I’m a slut, a whore, a user, a manipulator, a woman bent on revenge. All because of her.
Rhett collapses on top of me, his heavy weight keeping me pinned in place, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. No, in fact it’s the total opposite. I like how he feels, our sweaty, sticky bodies entwined, the scent of sex and sweat lingering in the air. His mouth is on my collarbone, damp and warm as he murmurs against my skin, and I can tell his cock has already softened inside of me. I turn my head, my mouth on his temple as I breathe him in deep, and he flexes his hips. That one subtle movement makes my entire body tingle, and I can tell his cock is getting hard again too.
“Hmm, fuck, Jensen, I want you again,” he whispers just before he cups my cheek and kisses me, his tongue doing a thorough exploration of my mouth.
And I let him. I let him lead round two completely. I do nothing but take it, let him use me and fuck me until I can’t think straight. He doesn’t notice how passive I’ve become. It’s either he doesn’t realize or he really doesn’t care, because I’m putting zero effort into this now. It’s like I can’t function.
More like I don’t want to function. I’d rather feel him completely take over my body. I want him to derive as much pleasure from it as I can give. He sucks my nipples and licks my belly and eats my pussy and strokes me deep with one, two, three fingers at a time. He’s feasting on me, making me come again and again, and I am mindless. Helpless.
Vulnerable in the worst possible way.