Page 112 of The Right Move

“Yeah, baby. I’m going to come.”

“Can I watch?”

Holy shit. That’s hot, and if that’s what she needs, who am I to deny her?

Removing my finger from her pussy, I’m back on my knees and between her legs.

Indy’s dazed gaze finds my dick as it moves between my languid strokes.

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Wow, that’s big.”

I chuckle. “Ind, how about you come before you start inflating my ego.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jesus. Not helping.

I hover over her, cock in one hand, the other finding her throat. My muscles contract at an erratic pace. I watch as Indy fingers her clit, so much of her arousal covering her hand, and like the dirty bastard I am, I want to coat my hand in her and use it to get off.

But I don’t because I’m already crossing way more lines than I intended to tonight.

She keeps her attention on me. “Come on me,” she begs. “Oh fuck. I—”

“There it is. Good girl, Blue. You’re doing so fucking good.”

Her reaction to my words is immediate, her feet digging into the sofa, her stomach stiff and her tits pebbled with goosebumps. Her lips fall open as her entire body contracts, and when she closes her eyes and says “Ryan” like a prayer, I come with her.

Avoiding her red dress, I come on her stomach, covering her in me. We ride it out together, ecstasy and euphoria buzzing between us.

As I catch my breath, I watch her recover. I see the dazed and thankful glint in those mocha eyes. The unadulterated bliss in her expression. The flush of an overly needed orgasm warming her skin, and I’m ruined.

I’m fucking ruined.

If I thought I was fucked after the last time she came on me, this time, with my fingers contributing to the bliss, I’m done for. In what world did I think I could touch her, watch her touch herself, come all over her body and act like I could live another day without doing it again? How could I live another day without being inside of her?

As the post-coital fog lifts, realization hits me. This is my sister’s best friend. My sister who doesn’t have many friends because of who I am. Not only that, but Indy needs to live here. She needs to save money, and this could easily ruin our living situation.

But those aren’t the real reasons why my anxiety is settling in.

Quickly, I stand from the couch and tuck myself into my pants, grabbing a dish towel and wetting it under the sink.

“Are you okay?” she asks from the sofa.

Gripping my hands on the edge of the sink, I take a deep breath.

Get it together. This is fucking embarrassing.

Panic begins to run through every nerve in my body. It prickles against every inch of my skin.

I exhale, long and slow, hoping to calm myself down. “Yeah.”

Back at the couch, I avoid eye contact as I clean up the mess I made.

Indy grabs my hand to stop me. “Ryan,” she says, forcing me to look her in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I blurt out too quickly.

I clean Indy up and fix her dress, pulling it both up and down to cover her beautiful body.

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