Page 19 of Betting on her Best Friend
As soon as she finished, he muttered a relieved, “’Bout damn time,” and ripped her panties from her body.
Before her next breath, Dylan used one hand to grab the strap between her wrists and haul her arms up as he pushed her back to the bed. With him over her again and settling his hips onto hers, she felt a new rush of warmth in her center.
Holding himself up with the arm keeping her hands above her head, he guided himself to the opening of her sex. A single thrust had him completely seated inside her. Eyes slammed shut, she threw her head back and arched into him. He filled and stretched her in a way that felt perfect and right, and for a split second, she worried how long the inevitable sense of loss would plague her in the aftermath. She knew the rules. He wanted her on a temporary basis, then back to being just friends. An ache was already forming a knot in her chest, pulling her from enjoying each delicious slide of his body against hers.
“Aly, look at me.”
The gravelly command pulled her back into the moment. Back to where their bodies pressed flush, and their shallow breaths mingled. Back to him.
He stared down at her with the intensity of a man who knew what he wanted and knew he would have it. But underlying the male bravado was something else, something…less.
“I don’t want you closing your eyes and picturing some other guy. I want to watch you come apart in my arms and see the recognition on your face of who did it to you.”
“Believe me,” she said, giving his thick cock a squeeze with her inner muscles and eliciting a delicious groan from his lips. “You’re already leagues above anyone I could conjure from memory or imagination.”
“I like the sound of that.” Burying his face in her neck, he withdrew almost completely then pushed his way back in. A small gasp escaped her. “I like the sound of that, too. Every noise you make gets me that much hotter.”
Dylan started a torturous rhythm—slow and steady and enough to make her crazy. She tried rocking her hips to set her own pace, but he only pinned them down with his and continued to take his sweet damn time. It was the slowest build to an orgasm in the history of sex. For once, she wasn’t going on facts or statistics, but simply on how she felt. She couldn’t imagine anyone balancing on a knife’s edge for so long and living to tell the tale.
Sweat covered their bodies. Their breaths, labored and loud, filled the air around them. Every nerve in her body was alight with the electricity crackling between them, making her hypersensitive to every touch, every kiss. Her core was knotted with the promise of climax. Close enough to be hers, yet far enough to feel impossible to reach.
“Now I know why…the French call it…la petite mort,” she said between his thrusts.
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause you’re killing me. Slowly, I might add.”
“Killing you, huh?” She felt his lips turn up in a smile against the shell of her ear before he nipped at her lobe and whispered to her, “Then I promise you it’ll be the sweetest of deaths, Aly.”
His strained, raspy voice revealed what precious little hold he had on his control. If she didn’t do something to make him lose it soon, she wasn’t sure the whole “death” thing would be a metaphor anymore.
Alyssa pulled her hands down and pressed on his chest until he braced himself above her with straight arms. She almost lost her focus at the sight of his abs rippling with each rock of his hips, but her body’s need rode her hard, reminding her of her mission. There was just enough slack between her wrists that she was able to plump her breasts and pinch her nipples. The small bite of pain zinged straight to her clit. She arched into her own touch and repeated the light tweaks with moans of pleasure.
“Holy fuck,” he growled. The visual titillation arrested his gaze. Unblinking with full dark pupils, Dylan hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her more than she ever thought possible. “Now who’s killing who?”
She didn’t have the breath to answer as he finally and blessedly picked up the pace and pushed her infinitesimally closer to orgasm with each exquisite assault. Her hands abandoned her breasts to loop behind his head and fist chunks of his short hair.
Faster and faster, they moved together, him pumping inside her and she rocking up to meet him halfway. Her vision started to blur at the edges until all she could see was the ruggedly handsome face above her. So much like the friend she’d known her whole life, and yet so very different. As her brain struggled to reconcile the old and the new, her body shorted everything out that wasn’t necessary for surviving a tactile flood of epic proportions.
She vaguely heard herself repeatedly begging for “more” sprinkled with the occasional commands for “faster” and “harder.”
Alyssa had never been one to talk during sex. She’d always thought it was because she wasn’t one to lose her composure, even in the bedroom. Apparently, she’d just never been given the proper inspiration.
“Tell me this doesn’t feel incredible, Aly. Tell me you don’t want to do this again with me.”
He was asking the impossible, and he knew it. She could no more tell him those things than she could tell him she hated him. Because none of it would be even remotely close to the truth. It did feel incredible, she did want to do it with him as often as possible, and she loved Dylan more than she had any other man in her life.
“Dylan,” she said with a needy whimper. “Please…”
“You have no idea what it does to me to hear you say my name and beg for release.” Slipping a hand between them, he used the rough pad of his thumb against her swollen clit and said, “Go ahead, sweetheart. Let me feel you come around me.”
After circling the edge of her orgasm for so long, the direct stimulation was like driving the final spike of pleasure through her center to sever the last vestige of her sanity and control.
Her body bowed off the bed, and she cried out as a fire spread from her center and consumed her in seconds, its heat pulsing in waves over her flesh.
With an animalistic growl, Dylan followed her into oblivion with one final deep thrust, then grunted as he spilled himself into the condom with shallow strokes.
Sometime later, he gently lowered her leg to the bed and rolled them so that she lay on top. Completely sapped, Alyssa sprawled unashamedly across his chest as she waited for her heart rate to return to normal. She floated somewhere between reality and dreams, or maybe it was a place of limbo where the line that separated them began to blur. Either way, she was content to just be for a while, without her brain doing its usual hamster-wheel thing.
Dylan swept the hair away from her face and tilted her chin up to place a soft kiss on her lips. “Give me the weekend to show you how easy this can be between us. To convince you to come to me when you need this instead of going to someone who doesn’t even care about you. Then if you still want things to go back to the way they were, I won’t fight you on it. Deal?”
She’d already passed the point of no return with him. There was no going back to when she didn’t know what it felt like to be filled and consumed by him. And now he was offering her a whole weekend of indulging in the best sex she’s ever had with no strings and no worries.
Suddenly she felt like a novice gambler who won on her first pull of a slot machine. On the inside she screamed and clapped and jumped up and down in disbelief. But thanks to her depleted energy and what little remained of her pride, she merely offered him a lazy smile as she peered up from hooded eyes and said, “Deal.”
His full lips curved up and his dimples winked at her from under the scruff of his beard. “Jackpot.”
After what she’d just experienced, Alyssa couldn’t have said it better herself.
