She rocked her hips gently against my face, and a whimper shuddered past her lips. She started to get still. I always knew when she was on the cusp of an orgasm: her body would harden like one tense muscle, and it felt like she was suppressing her breath. So I seized her thighs tightly with my hands, knowing she would try to crawl away from my mouth when the orgasm reached its apex. She let out another moan as her legs began to shake and her sex began to pulsate against my lips.
She tried to crawl away, but I held her still and licked her with furious intensity, her thighs clamping around my head. She gasped and let out a small noise I had never heard her make before, and then her body collapsed on top of mine.
I just breathed on her lightly while she tried to catch her breath.
Moments later, she was facing me again, our chests pressed together, her lips mere inches from mine. I could feel her heart beating in time with my own. I kissed her softly. On the mouth. On the tip of her nose. Underneath her eyes. Her forehead. I could feel my c**k in her hand below, and even though I knew she was about to put it inside of her again, I focused only on her gaze.
“You don’t have to—” I started to say, but she shook her head gently and touched her lips to mine again.
While I ached to get off, I never wanted her to feel that my need was as necessary as hers was to me. I would make her come again and again without expecting her to return the favor, if that was what she wanted.
But something always told me that she felt the same way.
She slipped off her shirt and unfastened her bra before laying her bare chest against mine. Instinctively, I reached down a hand and found her, moving my fingers against her softly, before she finally slid herself back onto my cock.
I arched my head back a little against the floor. “Oh goddamn….”
“We could’ve been doing this for seventeen years,” she said in a soft voice as she rode me with slow, precise movements, her br**sts heaving against my chest.
I thrust my hips upward, burying myself inside of her, my hands fitted firmly against her ass. I nudged her chin up with my mouth and dragged the tip of my tongue upward to the center of her throat and found her lips. “We’ll make the most of the next seventeen,” I said and took her bottom lip between my teeth, tugging on it before I kissed her hungrily.
I pulled out of her moments later, every muscle in my body hardening by the intense pleasure searing through every nerve. My eyelids were closed, but I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head as I came, both of our hands moving against my cock. My body shuddered and trembled, and Bray’s breath was hot against my lips. And when I began to calm and my muscles began to relax, she kissed me before lying down, her cheek pressed against my chest. I speared my fingers through the top of her hair.
We fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
* * *
It was a tight squeeze by the time we made it to Miami. Tate and Jen occupied the front seats while Bray and I shared the back with Caleb, Grace, and Johanna. And it became clear to me that Bray did, in fact, have bones in her ass somewhere, despite me always assuring her that she didn’t have a bony ass.
Tate and Jen were an enigma, needless to say. After that so-called fight they had in the hotel, the very next morning it was as though it had never happened. They were like an entirely different couple. Jen was all smiles and flirtatious with Tate, and they couldn’t keep their hands—or mouths—off of each other.
Liam, Tate’s roommate, was a hardcore-personality type with a Mohawk who reminded me of Mohawk Guy. Except Liam wasn’t your average systems engineer who made the ladies “swoon,” as they call it. No, Liam Foster was another kind of animal who enjoyed making the ladies come. Worse than Caleb Roth ever thought to be, Liam was the reigning king of womanizing.
He was screwing some chick on the couch when the seven of us walked into their apartment in Miami.
The light-haired girl looked up at us in horror and tried to worm her way out from underneath him, but Liam wasn’t having it and pushed her back down.
“Fucking be still, girl,” he said, thrusting in and out of her.
“Liam, there’s people in the f**king room!” she said through her teeth.
“So what?” he said. “They’ll get over it. I’m almost done.”
“Fuck, Liam!” she shouted.
“That’s what I’m trying to do!” he said in return.
“Ugh! You know what I mean!”
Liam stopped midthrust. He looked over at us.
“Is this bothering any of you?” he asked.
“Fucking yes it bothers me!” Jen spat. She pushed her way through us and went into the kitchen.
The rest of us pretty much shook our heads and averted our eyes. Tate waved it off and headed into the kitchen after Jen. Bray and I started to follow, while Caleb sat down in the recliner and brought Grace down in his lap. Johanna just stood there.
Liam looked down into the girl’s aghast face. “Are you satisfied?”
“Hardly,” she said with a sexually sarcastic undertone.
“Well, you will be soon, but you’ve got to let me finish.”
As if that was enough reason for her, she said “Fine” and dug her fingernails into Liam’s back.
We entered the kitchen before he returned to business.
“Sorry, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but doesn’t he have a room?” Bray spoke up.
“Dammit, Tate,” Jen snapped, “that’s f**king nasty. Why do you let him do that shit?”
Tate opened the fridge and leaned over inside. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll talk to him.” He looked at me then. “Yeah, he does have a room. But Liam is… well, he’s hard to explain.” He came out with a bottle of mustard and a package of sandwich meat and set it on the counter.
“Liam’s a sick man-whore. Simple to explain, really,” Jen retorted, got a bottle of water from the fridge, and left the kitchen.
“He’s moving back to Phoenix in a few months,” Tate said. He reached inside the bread bag that had been pushed up against the toaster and pulled out two slices. “I love Liam and all, but I look forward to having this place to myself.”
“Does Jen live here?” Bray asked, probably trying to imagine how that would work with Liam’s broadcasted activities.
“Want a sandwich?” Tate cut in real quick.
Bray shook her head and I did, too, when he glanced at me.
“No, Jen has her own apartment not far from here. We can’t live together. Tried it once. Didn’t work out. She can’t stand my shit bein’ all over the place, and my biggest fear is getting so used to each other that she thinks it’s OK to take a shit with me in the bathroom. Not. Fucking. Sexy.” He pointed the mustard bottle at us to emphasize each word.