Page 49 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“Yes,” I pant. “More.”
He chuckles, a dark, satisfied sound. He moves his hand down my stomach, flat palm pressing against my skin, lower and lower until he grinds his palm against my pussy, forcing my thighs wider.
“Wet,” he whispers approvingly. “You’re already wet for me.”
“You talk too much,” I gasp, throwing my head back against the pillow.
“I told you. I like to be vocal.”
He slides two fingers inside me.
My vision blurs. It feels incredible. He knows exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure to use. He curls his fingers, hitting that spot deep inside that makes my toes curl.
“So tight,” he grits out. “You feel so good, Tess.”
He pumps his fingers in and out, setting a rhythm. I’m moving with him, my breathing turning into ragged gasps. I’m close. I’m so close.
“Owen,” I beg. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Inside. I need you inside.”
He withdraws his fingers. I whimper at the loss, but then he’s shifting, positioning himself. He grabs a condom from the nightstand—god, he really is prepared—and sheaths himself in one fluid motion.
He lifts my hips, his hands gripping my waist firmly.
He grinds the wet, blunt head of his cock against my slit. He holds it there, teasing me, letting me feel the size of him, the threat of him.
“Stay with me, Tess,” he urges.
I force my eyes open.
He’s hovering over me, his biceps straining as he holds his weight. His face is stripped of all the playful, boy-next-door charm. This isn’t the nice brother—this is the man who built an empire and takes what he wants.
“Say my name,” he says.
“Owen,” I whisper.
He pushes in.
Slowly. Steadily. He stretches me, filling me completely, inch by inch. I gasp, digging my nails into his shoulders. He’s big. He feels even bigger than last night.
When he’s fully seated, hilt-deep, he stops.
We stare at each other, breathing hard, connected in the most intimate way possible.
“Mine,” he growls.
Then he starts to move.
The bed frame slams rhythmically against the wall, a hollow, mechanical beat. The sound of wet skin slapping together fills the quiet room.
He sets a punishing pace, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, hitting my cervix, making me see stars.
“Owen!” I scream.
“I know,” he pants, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my chest. “I know, baby. Take it.”
