Page 36 of Borrowing My Bestie's Brothers

“Mm…” Her little sound of protest was followed by her hands digging into my hips, holding me right where I was.

“Jamie…?”

We were lying down now, our breathing evening out as a perfect peace settled over the room, but a sense of obligation was disturbing it. I wanted her to be comfortable before we fell asleep, and my cum leaking out of her all night was a fucking hot idea, but sticky and gross for the girl in practise. I tried to pull free, but she yanked me back into place.

“Still hard…” she mumbled into my chest. Any reply I might make was choked off as I felt her flex around me. My cock was so exquisitely sensitive right now, every rippling pulse reminding me of the bliss of coming inside her. It was too soon to go again. I didn’t have the refractory period of a teenager anymore, but in some ways this was better. A softer pleasure, but one without beginning or end, it was like a hot bath I could just sink into.

“Things are gonna get sticky,” I warned.

“So keep me plugged.” I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Leave it inside me and I’ll keep it warm.”

“All night?” It was a weak protest from me. She didn’t want me moving, and the slow squeezes of her cunt were making it impossible for me to consider. “Jamie…”

Sleep was coming, I could hear it in her slowing breaths, my own quickly matching it. All my good intentions went out the window as she threw her leg over my hip, forcing us tightly against each other. I could never pull away from Jamie, not after it’d taken so long to get this close to her, so I pressed a kiss to her head and let sleep take me.

Chapter 18

Jamie

Sometimes the peace of sleep was almost sexual. A dark-eyed lover that stroked me softly, forcing every nerve ending to come alive, right as he tugged me down deeper into peace. I sighed as I realised I had to be having a sex dream. What else could explain the rasp of callused fingers around my nipple? The thickened skin on those fingertips forced my areola to pull painfully tight, the resulting pleasure creating pulsing waves of sensation I felt all through my body.

Especially here.

Sex the second time was always a sharper, scratchier thing. It was as if a man left his mark inside me, forcing the skin to become oh-so sensitive, just as I was now. But that didn’t make sense. My brows creased, my lips parting as I sucked in a breath, readying myself to wake up. I was swimming up, up out of the darkness, but then he pulled me back down again. A hand between my thighs, a single finger finding my clit, it rolled under his pressure like a marble caught in oil. My hips thrust back and then into his touch, making me aware of this.

I was full, so damn full, my cunt struggling to take all of him, and that was just the way I liked it. Long dicks I couldn’t do much with. I’d had a few jackhammer my cervix, as if that would allow them to go deeper, and 10/10, would not recommend, but thick ones? Ones that opened you up, made you feel that stretch, they were just fine. I moved experimentally, feeling the heavy drag of him inside me setting my nerves on fire, and once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. I wanted, needed that sensation of him thrusting into me way too much. He realised that quickly, his hands locking down on my hips as he pushed in deeper.

Yeah, just like that. I mumbled something to that effect, my dream lover taking my cues, thrusting harder, deeper, as that finger began to flick my clit faster. Exactly like that. This had to be a dream, because everything was so perfect. I was hot, sweaty, dimly aware I should be tossing the blankets aside, but unable to when he had me in his grip.

“Jamie…” he rasped, and that made me frown. “Jamie…”

My name was like a lifeline thrown into the darkness, but I didn’t want to grab it. Somehow I knew the darkness was perfect and reality was not, that as soon as I opened my eyes, I’d be forced to deal with everything. Couldn’t I just stay right here? I thought querulously. In the darkness, in all that black sea of pleasure, with him, my perfect lover, his hand sliding around my throat and tilting my head back so he could kiss me.

It was his beard that made clear what this was. My dream lovers were amorphous shapes, nebulous shadows of pleasure, but this? I felt the prickle of his facial hair against my skin, knowing who this was.

Brock.

The realisation was like a pebble thrown into a calm pond, causing ripples that went out, out until they broke on the edges. I was breaking too, into a million pieces, as the pleasure spiked hard, great lapping waves of it that threatened to drown me entirely.

“That’s it. Good girl, coming on my cock. Just like that.”

He sounded like my dream lover, coaxing me, coaching me through one shuddering pulse of pleasure, then another. I felt warm, held, blissful, but there was another kind of darkness contained within it. Loss was the first sign of it. As the pleasure began to fade, the frantic spurts of his cum shot into me. Fear was the next. The habitual one that I could get pregnant quickly dismissed by the hard presence of the birth control implant in my arm, so that should’ve been it. Instead, it spiked harder.

His arms around me, his pants on the back of my neck, but most of all in the way he cradled me against him. Like I was something special, precious, and he was… what? Not a dream lover who disappeared as soon as I opened my eyes, because when I did, Brock was still there.

Light streamed in through his window, the quiet broken by the sound of his alarm going off. He didn’t pull away to turn it off, instead nestling in closer, his groan vibrating through a body too sensitive, too raw. That rhythmic blare awakened a similar one in me, telling me to get up, get away, get to work. That’s why I pulled away, even as his hands strove to hold me where I was. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the same cum I’d wanted kept inside me beginning to seep free. It was all real sexy last night, but now I was staining his sheets.

“Jamie?”

I was up and out of bed, searching blindly for a bathroom, a toilet, somewhere I could clean up. He didn’t have an en suite, so my hand went to the door and I pulled it open hoping he hadn’t gotten house mates in between now and the last barbecue.

“Jamie?”

He was wondering what the fuck was wrong with me, I could tell that by his voice, and I wanted to answer. He deserved that, didn’t he? But what could I say? The tiles of the bathroom were cold on my feet, but I spied the shower and turned the taps on.

“Jamie…?”

He stood in the doorway, answering a question I’d been dying to ask for so damn long. Yeah, those tattoos covered his chest, a few curling across his iliac crest at his hips. Oh and yeah, he was fucking hot. The morning light caressed him, picking out the shape of every damn muscle, so why was I ducking under the spray of the water, reaching for the soap, not him?

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