She gasps, and it turns into a long, lingering groan. “Oh God. That feels so good. You do make me feel good.”
“Good. That’s what I want.”
Except, for her, this might merely be an exploration. An exercise. A test.
But as I flick my tongue across her nipple, I decide I can’t fucking care about the why right now. All I care about is that this doesn’t stop.
I bite gently then switch to her other breast, lavishing attention on it too.
She wriggles as I touch her, bowing her back, seeking out my mouth.
I answer her movements, licking and sucking and kissing as the girl next door writhes on top of me. As I play with her breasts, she moves up my body, straddling me now, rocking her hips against the outline of my cock.
“Oliver,” she whispers, a needy plea. “More, please, give me more.”
I thrust up against her as I kiss her breasts, licking as she gasps, as she seems to chase her pleasure.
And soon, her hips are rolling, her pelvis rocking, her tits bouncing in my face.
Her breath comes in short, sharp bursts.
“Don’t stop.”
“I have no intention of stopping,” I murmur against her chest as my hands guide her, gripping her, working her over as she seeks her release.
Because that’s what she’s doing.
And this is a fucking revelation.
Summer loves it when I kiss her breasts.
Summer gets wildly aroused from me biting her nipples.
Summer is so turned on, she’s panting, moaning, and riding me clothed, looking perilously close to climax.
And then she does.
Her mouth falls into an O.
Her moan rises higher.
Her body rocks, thrusts, then shudders.
Beautifully.
“Oh God, oh God,” she pants, then cries out, collapsing onto me. The sight of her coming is honestly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
So hot that I flip her to her back, strip off her jeans, then meet her gaze, my fingers stopping at her pale-pink knickers. “Summer,” I say.
“Yes?” Her tone is feathery. She’s still floating on her orgasm, it seems.
“I need these off. I need to be inside you. Tell me you need it too. Please fucking tell me you need it too. I’m desperate for you.”
She nods, blinking, then sits up, grabbing at my jeans. “Take these off. Now.”
Maybe we ought to be having a conversation about what this means, or what happens next, or how we navigate friendship and fucking.
But I don’t want to ruin the moment.
She yanks at the button on my jeans, and I fumble at the zipper, working it open. Before I push my pants down, I grab my wallet, fish out a condom, and set it on the bedside table. Then I shed my jeans as she helps us along by slipping off her pink lace.
She’s naked, and she’s gorgeous.
And I’m so damn hard. My cock throbs as I push down my boxer briefs, freeing my erection.
She licks her lips, her eyes never straying from my dick.
And hey, I don’t mind the eye-fucking.
I don’t mind the ogling at all.
I grip my cock, sliding a fist over it, showing her what she’s doing to me. “You are so fucking sexy.”
“So are you,” she says, her eyes hooded, her tone so sensual. She moves her body like a cat stretching out, then she glides her hand down her pelvis. “I don’t think you’re bad in bed so far, but I think you should prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
And there it is—I was right about what she’s after. Why she’s doing this.
Proof.
