Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

30

Brody

“So,” I say, when we’ve wiped out dinner. “What’s for dessert?”

“Let me do the dishes first.”

“Nope. I’m doing the dishes.”

“You cooked! I do the dishes!”

“Nope.”

I get up, cross to the sink and start washing.

She gets up, strides toward me, and tries to body check me aside. Needless to say, with probably fifty pounds of muscle on her, I don’t move.

She stands behind me and sticks her arms under mine, grabbing a dish and soaping it.

“Seriously, Rachel?”

But the feel of her breasts on my back is so distracting that my protest is limp. Okay, wrong word choice. My protest is solidly upright and begging for more. I shut off the water and turn in her arms, kissing her.

It goes from zero to sixty in about three seconds. Rachel’s mouth does that to me. Apparently, mine does it to her, too, because it doesn’t take long before she’s panting, clutching, riding my thigh. I lift her up, planning to carry her to my bedroom, but she stops me. “Wait. Let me get dessert first.”

“What?”

She pulls away—not my plan—and retrieves the Rush to Read Books bag from where she left it on the counter. She opens it and removes the contents.

One small bullet vibe, one fleshlight, and a bottle of warming gel. Strawberry flavored.

“Oh, wow,” I say, going from hard to harder. It’s hot enough, thinking about using that vibe on her, but… “Have you been thinking about this all night?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she says happily. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“I’m not sure where you got your good girl reputation, but it’s totally shot.” I grab her hand, leading her. “Kaput. Wait. Give me a second.” I make her stand in the hall while I neaten things up. Luckily it’s not a total pigsty in there. My sheets are clean, there’s only a few days worth of laundry tossed on the floor, and my own bottle of lube, which has been getting more than its fair share of use since Rachel came to town, is in the drawer with the box of condoms I bought yesterday.

“Okay, come in.”

She does, and sets the bag on the bed.

I kiss her, stopping only long enough to strip off her shirt. I resume, managing to unbutton, unzip, and slide her pants down without interrupting the tangle of our tongues or our co-mingled groans of pleasure. Then my hand is between her legs. Her panties are damp. I reach for the Rush to Read bag, find the bullet vibe, and use my thumb to press the soft power button.

Then I hand it to her. “I want to watch.”

She blushes and shakes her head. “I want you to use it on me.”

“I promise. Later. Right now? I want to watch you use it.”

She hesitates, then drops to the bed and brings the vibe close to the plumpest part of her mound.

With her free hand, she pushes the bag towards me. “If you get to watch me, I get to watch you.”

She doesn’t have to ask twice. I shed my pants like it’s an Olympic sport. A moment later, I’ve got the fleshlight lubed up and am slowly stroking myself into it.

Not bad.

Not quite the real thing, but since Rachel has just pulled her panties off and is sliding the quietly buzzing vibe against her seam, I’m more worried about getting off too quickly.

“Look at you,” I groan. Her knees have fallen apart, thighs parted, and I can see her, pink and gorgeous and glistening. “Look at you.”

We’re both quiet for a moment, and there’s something so intense about this, about the abandoned look on her face, the motion of her hand between her legs. I can see all of her at once, and it’s really, really doing it for me. I have to slow down and ease up so I can stay with her.

The vibe is right on her clit now, and her thighs are trembling. She’s watching my hand. Her mouth is open, her lips soft and wet.

I have to stop stroking completely.

“Brody.”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“This isn’t going to make me come.”

“No?”

“No.” She shakes her head and glares down at it. “I’m going to need my money back. I’m going to get that Cadillac thing next time. Or maybe the rabbit?”

“Or both,” I suggest. “You should probably buy stock. Would that be a conflict of interest?”

We’re both laughing, and it occurs to me that I don’t think I’ve ever thought of sex as fun before. Which probably means I was doing it wrong.

Or just with the wrong women.

She sobers up and gives me a super serious look. “Will you help me?”

My cock jerks in the clasp of silicone and my fist. “Jesus, Rachel. Of fucking course.”

I reach to take the vibe from her, but she shuts it off and sets it aside, then unhooks her bra. “Your mouth.”

Rachel asking for my mouth will go down for all eternity as a peak life experience.

She’s so fucking pretty, leaning up on her elbows. Not just her brown-tipped tits and that small, neat strip of hair and the shine of arousal on her pussy—although hell, I’m not complaining about any of that. But the curiosity and anticipation on her face. The sexy half smile. The bright glint in her eyes.

She hands me the warming gel. “Dessert,” she says, the smile getting bigger, the glint naughtier.

I kneel and tug her down to the edge of the bed. Slick her with gel. Cover her with my mouth. Even through the fake strawberry flavor, I can taste how aroused she is. Her clit is big and swollen under my tongue, probably too sensitive right now for direct contact. So I slide two fingers into her, crook them up until she gasps and lifts off the bed, and work her g-spot.

With my other hand, I reach up to play with her nipples.

Then I give her back my tongue on her clit, big, slow, circles. Not too much contact, but lots of pressure and heat.

“Oh, God, Brody,” she says. “Holy fuck, that’s—”

I’ve made her curse.

“—so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

And I’ve made her say don’t stop.

She’s lifting her hips to my mouth now, quick and eager. She’s close.

I lighten up, keeping her there. Holding her at that edge for as long as I can. Until she says, “Brody, please.”

Then I suck her clit and take her over the edge, so she’s moaning my name, clenching on my fingers, and slicking my tongue.

I am never going to get enough of this. Of her.