Page 23 of Brother in Law with Benefits

"In a minute."

"Grant."

"Sophie." He moves to my other breast. "I told you. We have time."

His hand slides back down and I twitch when he touches my clit again. Oversensitive, post-orgasm, and the sensation is almost too much.

"Too much—"

"You can take it." Steady. Sure. "Be a good girl and give me another one."

The good girl lands with the same precise effect it always does, which I'm filing under useful information about myself that I did not previously have, and I stop arguing.

He works me with patient hands, reading every response, and I come a second time with my fingers threaded through his silver hair, holding on, my whole body shaking under the sustained, relentless attention of him.

"Beautiful," he says softly, watching my face the way he always watches my face during this, like I'm something worth looking at even at my most undone. "That's my good girl."

I’m still floating when he finally strips. I watch him shed his clothes, unhurried, like a man with nowhere else he’d rather be. And then his cock—thick, heavy, flushed dark at the head, already hard and glistening at the tip from how ready he is. The sight of it in this room, the same room that still has the faded blue walls and the old desk in the corner, makes my mouth go dry in an entirely new direction.

“I want you.”

I sit up, push him back against the pillows that still smell faintly of laundry detergent and boyhood, and wrap my hand around him. He’s so thick my fingers don’t quite meet. I stroke once, slow, watching the way his stomach tightens, then lean down and take the head of his cock into my mouth.

He swears under his breath.

I sink lower, letting the heavy weight of him stretch my lips, tasting salt and heat and the faint remaining slick of me from earlier. I hollow my cheeks and take as much as I can, slow and deliberate, the way he’s been with me—learning the exact pressure that makes his hips twitch, the exact depth that pulls that low, broken sound out of his chest. His hand finds the back of my head but doesn’t push. Just rests there, fingers flexing every time I take him deeper.

“Sophie—fuck—”

I keep going. Wet, filthy sounds fill the quiet of his childhood bedroom. I think about the teenage version of him who probably lay in this same bed and jerked off to whatever girls he was allowed to want, and now I’m here, grown, on my knees between his legs, swallowing as much of his cock as I can fit. The thought is so wrong it makes me moan around him.

His control starts to fray. The hand in my hair tightens. His thighs tense under my palms. I can feel him throbbing against my tongue, can taste the fresh bead of precome that spills onto it.

“Enough,” he growls, voice rough. “Sophie—enough. I need to fuck you. Now.”

He hauls me up like I weigh nothing, rolls us so I’m on my back in the middle of the narrow twin mattress that still has the old wooden headboard, and settles between my thighs. The thick, spit-slick head of his cock presses against my entrance—already soft and open from the first time—and he slides in withone long, deliberate thrust that has me gasping and grabbing at his shoulders.

We both go quiet.

He’s so deep. Deeper than before. The angle of the small bed forces us closer, his weight pinning me into the mattress that used to belong to a boy, and the stretch of his thick cock filling me completely makes my eyes sting.

“Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth. “Sophie. Look at you taking me like this. In this room.”

He starts to move.

Slow, deep strokes at first—nothing like the first time. More intentional. Like he’s savoring the fact that he’s burying his cock in his brother’s ex-wife on the same bed he grew up in. Every drag of that heavy length against my walls is deliberate. I wrap my legs around him and the angle changes and he groans, a low, ragged sound I feel more than hear.

“There?” he asks.

“There,” I confirm.

“Good girl. Taking my cock so fucking well.” His hand slides between us and finds my clit, circling with the same focused pressure that already ruined me once today.

“I cannot come again,” I tell him, even as my hips lift to meet every thrust.

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m physically unable to—”