“We’re going to go get her toothbrush. Be back . . . when we’re back.”
My sisters don’t even bother to hide their amusement.
The husbands are slow clapping as we head out the door.
We barely get the door to her apartment closed before I’m yanking her skirt up.
Shoving the soft material up to her waist and getting down on my knees, shoving my face into the V of her thighs and groaning over the sugary scent of her, the way the material is a little damp from anticipation, showing off the incredible shape of her cunt. I want in. I want in so bad that I’m on fire, but I’m going to fuck her hard—and that means making her ready first.
“Can you come with me on the road, Britta?” I suck her flesh through the thin material of her panties. “And can you bring this with you?”
“I never travel without it,” she gasps.
“I’m trying not to fuck this up like I did last time. I’m trying not to say a bunch of shit too soon, so I’m just going to focus on your body.”
“You’re going to objectify me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Dead ass.”
She’s giggling as I pull her panties down to her ankles, but she stops pretty quickly when I drag my thumb through the wet split of her sex, pushing down easy on her clit while tilting my head back to make eye contact. “Did you take care of this for me while we were apart?”
Her eyelids are beginning to sag, tits heaving. “M-maybe once or twice.”
“Mmmm.” Still looking her in the eye, I spit on her pussy, watching heat build in her expression when I lean in and tunnel my tongue into that slick valley, using my saliva to drench her, to give her friction where she needs it, on that swollen little bud that makes her gasp, her fingers spearing into my hair, her hips jerking and tilting. “What about your nipples? Did you play with those while you were thinking about me bending you in half?”
Her right hand leaves my hair, the palm sliding down over the mound of her tit, and she nearly kills me when she pinches her nipple through her shirt, leaving it hard and pointed. “A little. Mostly I thought about how much you liked sucking them.”
“Britta, ” I say raggedly, delving my tongue a little rougher now, sawing it wetly over her clit, my fingers trailing up her inner thighs, so I can press my middle and index ones inside her, deep, making her whimper, a shuddering passing through her midsection. “Get them out. Let me see how bad they want to be sucked on again.”
It’s almost like her arms are too heavy to function—and I can relate.
So badly. I don’t know how I’m going to get my legs to work well enough to stand up and fuck her, but this is where it’s happening. Right here against the door, come hell or high water.
God bless America and Canada alike, because she strips off her tight shirt and unsnaps her nude-colored bra, those pretty tits bouncing out, and I go for them like a hungry animal, lunging to suck those rosy nipples while she moans my name, holding my head close, my fingers pumping in and out of her drenched cunt, and I’m so hard, my zipper is going to break before I get the chance to pull it down.
I was born to fuck this girl. I require nothing else as long as I live.
“Sumner,” she says haltingly, pulling on my hair to make me look up.
“I want to get on my knees for you too.”
Lust zigzags through the lowest region of my stomach, deep and sharp. A vision of Britta sucking me off pops up into my head, and I banish it immediately. Too much. “No.”
“Why not?” She slides down the door, half-naked, like some kind of mind-blowing siren, purring, “I really, really want to . . .”
I’m actually starting to shake thinking about it. “Britta, no.”
“Stand up.” Her knees hit the ground, and she starts to work on my fly.
“If you take your shirt off, I’ll suck it harder.”
Maybe later I’ll be embarrassed about the hoarse grunt that comes out of me. Or the way I stagger to my feet and rip my shirt off over my head.
Right now, though, I’m not. I’m just grateful to be alive. I’m also not confident whatsoever that I’ll be able to last ten seconds in her mouth without climaxing, especially after she just said the words suck it harder, so this is going to be interesting—and oh, God, it’s out, she’s stroking me in a fist, on her knees, wetting her lips, nipples all perked up.
Don’t look.
You have to look.
“Britta, I really don’t think you should . . .”