Page 45 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
She closes the distance between us.
She grabs my lapels, pulls me down, and smashes her mouth against mine. She kisses me hard. Like she owns me.
I groan, the sound tears from my throat, and I crush her mouth to mine. I’ve been wanting to do this for two weeks. I wrap my arms around her waist, hauling her flush against me. She tastes like champagne.
She makes a whimpering sound, her hands gripping my shoulders as I back her up.
I stumble back, hitting the wall with a thud that rattles the framed photos. I don’t care. I kiss her jaw, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“Owen,” she gasps. “The office… Ethan…”
“Fuck the office,” I growl against her skin. “Right now, it’s just you and me.”
My hands shake as I reach for the buttons of her blouse. I rip one. It pings off the floor.
“Sorry,” I mutter, not sorry at all.
I part the fabric, expecting a plain bra. Instead, I find black lace. It clashes wildly with the sensible skirt. A secret she was keeping for herself.
“Jesus, Tessa.” I run a thumb over the scalloped edge of the lace. “You wore this to a strategy meeting?”
She flushes, her chest heaving. “It was laundry day.”
“Liar,” I whisper. “You wore this hoping one of us would see it.”
“Maybe,” she admits.
“Beautiful.”
I reach behind her without waiting, unhooking the clasp. Her tits spill out of the bra.
“Owen,” she breathes.
I take the left nipple into my mouth first. She cries out, tangling her fingers in my hair, her head falling back against the wall. I suckle hard, listening to her inhale fracture. I tease the hardened nub with my tongue, making her writhe, then switch to the right one, giving it the same punishing attention.
My hands slide up her thighs, bunching the skirt at her waist. I hunt for the edge of her panties—expecting a waistband, lace, something. But I find nothing.
I freeze, looking up at her.
My fingers graze her pussy. She’s burning hot. Slick. Soaking wet.
“Tessa?”
“I told you,” she pants, her cheeks flushed crimson. “It’s a bad laundry day.”
“You wore a black lace bra and no panties to work,” I say, my voice rough. “You walked around the office all day like this. You were already expecting this.”
“Maybe I was.”
“You are going to be the death of me.”
I drop to my knees and bury my face between her legs.
She screams my name as I taste her, flickering my tongue over her clit, drinking her down, feeling her thighs quake against my ears.
I stand up, shoving my pants and boxers down with trembling hands, leaving them bunched at my knees. I free my cock. It springs out, heavy and throbbing. I rip the drawer open. I grab a condom and roll it on.
I lift her leg, hooking it over my hip.
