Page 39 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

“More,” I groan.

“Like this?” Rick apparently likes to be mean sometimes because the heel of his palm comes down on my clit. Well, no, that’s not mean. He’s not rough. But he knows exactly how to make me wild and not give me everything I need all at once.

I can imagine him entering me in twenty different ways, which is shocking as I’ve never had such vivid, shocking images go through my brain. But right now, I’d like every single one of them if Rick is going to do them. I’m so far gone that I’m panting. I’m going to thrust myself back and make him put his fingers inside me, or I’m going to thrust myself forward onto his hand and make him please me that way.

Except I seem to be frozen.

It’s damn inconvenient when I’m already this ridiculously needy for it.

I still want to make him feel good. I want him to be able to show me and teach me what he likes, so I let him touch me like this instead of begging him. He knows what I want. I’m pretty sure he knows since I’m panting like a steamboat and moaning like there’s a rabid rabbit chasing after me.

He strokes his fingers over my folds again, playing with me before he takes the pressure away from my clit. I don’t know if reverse touch is a thing, but the ghost of that touch does things to me that have their way with the bones in my legs.

“Bend over, sweetheart,” Rick instructs. He doesn’t stop touching me.

Is he freaking serious? Bend over? I don’t know how flexible I am, so I’m not sure how far I can go. I’m not going to just grab my ankles or anything.

He guides my hands for me, the hardness of his body brushing up against my bare skin. He positions me where he wants me, and I’m happy to go along. I’m not embarrassed or self-conscious about the position. I just want more. More of him, more of his hard, muscular body pressed up against me, more of him surrounding me, and more skin to skin contact.

His teeth graze over the back of my neck before he straightens up. As for me, I still have my hands on the shower glass. I trust him. I trust him so fully that when he guides himself to me, all I do is arch back and try to take him immediately. I should be intimately acquainted with the size of him, but when he lines his crown up with my entrance and pushes in slowly, he feels seriously large.

Oh god, oh shit, holy dick. Holy blinking Christmas balls.

“Are you okay?” Rick’s hands caress my hips. His fingers are the ones that are going to be digging into my butt this time.

“I’m good,” I rasp.

“Are you?” He sounds amused. He pushes into me another inch and then another. He goes slow, and I don’t know if I want it slow or I want it to hurt, but he’s going to set the pace. I’m just going to be a wild sex goddess in my head, and that’s okay. I don’t need to break myself over here.

“Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes, I’m good,” I reply.

“Okay. That’s good.”

Jesus, feeling him all the way inside me until his legs are pressed up against mine blows my mind. My body wants to come right freaking now. I can feel my orgasm barreling full steam my way, but not yet. Not yet.

I have my eyes tightly closed. Because if I open them, I’m finished. If anything gets near my clit, I’m finished. If I start thinking about what we look like in this position, I’m finished.

When I first arrived at Rick’s doorstep, having left everything in Atlanta on pause, I didn’t see us ending up here, bumping in the shower.

That day feels like seven million lifetimes ago.

I’m glad we’re here now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Rick says, but he doesn’t stop. He slowly thrusts into me. My brain is pretty much peanut butter and jelly in a skull sandwich, but I don’t think he’s talking about what we’re doing.

“I don’t want to hurt you either,” I tell him.

“You won’t, Aspen. You couldn’t.”

“I could, Patrick McDonald. I very well could.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t have to. We both know it’s true. I said this didn’t have to change our fake marriage into something real, but I wasn’t prepared for how I’d lose my sense of reality whenever I was with him. I wasn’t prepared for how I’d lose my sense of self and become something else, someone else. Someone more than just me.

I thought sex could be a singular act, just about pleasure. I wasn’t expecting to be blown away by how connected we are to each other. Emotionally.

“You’re going to come, Aspen. You’re going to come so hard that I’m going to have to hold you up.”

I imagine him doing that the way he’s doing it now. Without his hands. I almost laugh and come at the same time. I’m so close. I should tell him that he’s okay. That I’m okay with all thisand more. I should tell him that I’m on birth control, but I can’t find the words. All I can do is pant one small word of agreement.

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