Page 56 of The Plus Ones
He steps out of his jeans, pulls down his boxers, palms hisvery erect whole big thing oh my God Keaton what the fuck, and then rolls the condom on. He climbs on top of me and positions himself, kissing me deeply while slowly pressing inside me and moaning. Jesus, he fills me up, but I’m so wet, my body’s just likeyeah, get him in here.
My hips start rocking immediately, and my legs wrap around his waist. He groans once and thrusts slowly at first and then picks up the pace, and eventually he is drilling me and it feels so good and I’m on the brink of orgasm again and I clench around him and thinkthis is it, here we go, he’s gonna come now.
But he doesn’t.
He drags me with him to the edge of the bed. I open my eyes and find him standing there. He lifts my bent legs up to rest my feet flat against his chest, slides his hands down to raise up my hips, and then he’s penetrating me from an amazing angle, and it’s like he’s launched a bottle rocket inside me that explodes in my brain. The quakes hit my entire body, and the aftershocks keep coming until I realize he’s still thrusting away and panting.
Surely he’s going to come now.
But he doesn’t.
He maneuvers me over to the corner of the bed, flips me over, and spreads my legs on either side of the corner of the mattress, and then he holds on to my hips and pulls me to him with each thrust.
Jesus Christ, it’s like when he kept tricking me into telling him about my family at dinner last night, but this time he’s tricking me into having orgasms.
Keaton fucking Bridges!
This time it’s the awareness of him and the sounds he’s making as he allows himself to get closer to the brink that make me come again. The way he’s grunting as he slams into me and says my name over and over, his deep voice getting higher and higher, and then finally he gets so tense and quiet, and there’s the slow emptying of his lungs and the heat of him emptying himself inside me, and the way he holds me so tight while he shakes and his voice goes deep again. I slowly lower myself to the mattress so I can feel the weight of him on my back.
We’re both covered in sweat, and it’s beautiful.
He worked so hard, and it was beautiful.
He lazily kisses the top of my shoulder, and it’s beautiful.
Our breaths are still fast and heavy and in sync, and it’s beautiful.
His hands find mine and he laces our fingers together, and it’s beautiful.
So much for quick and dirty.
When he finally slides off me and retreats to the bathroom, the skin on my back feels cold.
I crawl up to the head of the bed, remove the skirt that still somehow remains around my waist, and get under the covers.
Seriously—what just happened?
Goddammit, I want to do that again.
And that’s exactly why I can’t.
I guess I was fooling myself to think that I could just bone Keaton Bridges and not have it mean something.
It means something.
He may not be my friend exactly, but he’s in my circle of best friends, and he matters.
I may have had a lot of sex in my life, and what we just did may have been fun and amazing, and okay, it blew my mind, but this feels like something that could get real and serious—fast.
When I fall, I fall hard, and I’m afraid I’m too old to fall for someone it’s not going to work out with.
And it can’t possibly work out for Keaton and me.
I mean, it can’t possibly.
Right?
When he returns and gets into bed, he caresses my arm. I look over and smile at him—the sultry, warm, and appreciative smile that he deserves, except the words that come out are all wrong. I say, “That was amazing. Really amazing… I’m gonna sleep on my side. So I don’t snore and keep you awake.”
