WOW.
I twist my head until I bite down into my pillow. Bryson Edwards is killing me in the most erotic way possible. It’s becoming painfully clear that I’m never going to survive this night. My heart is going to launch out of my throat at any moment because obviously I’m not designed to handle excitement of this caliber. Crap. I’m not even designed to handle a pedicure, what in the hell was I thinking climbing into bed with Bryson Edwards?
I have no idea how those countless girls he bedded ever survived the explosiveness of his lips, his body—the olive branch between his legs he’s so ready and willing to extend. I bet there’s some survivors group I can join after, that is if I manage to live through the endeavor, and we can all talk about how amazing the sex god of Whitney Briggs is in bed.
He runs his tongue along the slick between my thighs, and I groan as I grind my shoulders into the mattress. He lashes out over me until I’m clawing at the covers, scratching over his back, raking my fingers through his hair. His hand tracks down over my hips, and his finger finds its way inside me once again, this time with much more purpose and force behind it. His mouth remains steady over me while his hand pulsates in and out. I let out a fierce groan because it’s all way too much more than this girl, or any of her parts, can handle.
The room starts in on a silent spin. My head and chest build with incredible pressure. That small space between my thighs has become the entire focus of my universe as an invisible blaze consumes me from the inside out.
Oh shit, shit—shit.
“Bryson.” I lurch forward and spike my nails into his back. He plunges into me again with his hand and speeds up his tongue lashing efforts until I let out a scream that sears from my lungs, raw and urgent. “Bryson!” I lock my knees over his head half-afraid I’m going to crack his skull like a walnut, causing his brain to squirt into my lap. My body seizes and trembles until a dull ache rides through me, soothing and calm as the sea after a storm.
Bryson unleashes himself from the headlock and swims up beside me, his body slick with perspiration from the effort.
“You taste like sugar,” he pants through a smile, still out of breath.
“Somehow I doubt that. But I appreciate the thought.” I wrap my arms around him and press his sticky chest to mine.
“No really, you do. You’re so fucking sweet.” He tries to land his lips over mine, but I turn my head, deflecting his efforts to prove his carbohydrate-based theory. “I want you to taste it,” he whispers while gently turning my head toward him. He lands a kiss over me before swiping his tongue in my mouth.
It tastes metallic, honeyed like an exotic nectar. I let Bryson love me with his tongue in my mouth while his breathing picks up pace as if he were about to step out onto the frontlines of battle and this were our final goodbye. Bryson singes his honeyed skin over mine, and I moan, running my hands over his drenched back.
He leans up on his elbow and examines me with a look of contentment for a small eternity.
“You said my name.” He pins his cheek high on one side as he gently pushes the hair away from my face.
“I’m sure you’re used to hearing your name cried out in ecstasy,” I tease, pulling him in close by the small of his back.
“No one’s ever said my name before, and I’m glad. I only want to hear it from you, ever.” He sears another kiss off my lips, wet and juicy. Bryson reaches over to the nightstand and holds up a small foil packet. “You ready for round two?”
My stomach explodes in a ball of fire. “You think it’s okay? I hate to sound naïve, but the lower forty-eight clearly have a bottleneck issue.”
“Oh?” He pulls his lips to the side with a sarcastic flair. “Does that make these, Hawaii and Alaska?” He pinches each of my nipples in turn.
“Very funny.”
“What were we discussing again?” He growls it out with a touch of a demonic laugh.
“The Panama Canal.” I bite down over my lip before I start giggling like an idiot with no end in sight. It’s happened before, the giggling thing. It derails me from the task at hand, and in no way do I want to be derailed while in bed with Bryson.
“Switching countries are we?” His eyes hood low as if he totally approves of the spontaneous geography lesson. “And, damn.” He trails quick kisses to my belly and runs his hot tongue in a circle over it before dipping lower to the tangle of curls at the base of my body. “The Bermuda Triangle is just one of the many delicious destinations I plan on revisiting.” He looks up as the smile melts from his face. “For the record, I’m suddenly very fucking interested in cartography.”
I strangle out a laugh and pull him back up. “I don’t know about round two. I’d hate to land in a wheelchair just because I’m physically inept.”
“What?” He cinches back, looking more than slightly puzzled. “I promise, in no way are you inept. You’re perfect in every way, shape, and form. Trust me, I’m in love with much more than your landscape. I’m in love with you, Baya—inside and out.” He opens the foil package with his teeth and holds it to me. “You want to do the honors?”
“Um…okay.” I take it from him and remove the sticky disc from inside. Gah. It’s coated with syrup, and my fingers beg to get the hell away from it stat, but the Pandora’s Box of abnormally small secrets that’s buried between my legs, begs for me to carry on with the endeavor. “This is sort of disgusting.” A laugh bubbles from me, but I mean every word.
“Like this.” Bryson guides me down over him and helps roll it out the length of his surprisingly oversized fifth appendage. I let my fingers run over the ridges before covering him with the sticky film.
“This is weird.” I bite my lip, trying to ignore the fact my hands are covered with goo.
“Hold on girl.” Bryson carefully draws me in by the cheeks. “Because it’s about to get a whole lot better.” He offers a tender kiss, and a burst of adrenaline spikes through me. Bryson gently presses my knees back until I open for him, wide and exposed. “That’s my girl.” He lies over me, and I take his weight as his breathing picks up another notch. “Don’t let me hurt you,” he pants, propping himself on his elbows.
I’d hate to break it to him, but that seems a non-contestable point right about now. There is no way in hell he’s not going to hurt me. In fact, at this stage of the game, the question is just how much damage is he going to inflict? And should I have a team of plastic surgeons on standby ready to reconstruct my body.
“I want you to guide me in.” He licks a heated line up my cheek.
I brace myself as I reach down to provide my less-than-enthusiastic navigational services.
Good God, he’s the size of a freaking cucumber—one of those abnormally long and thick ones that makes you look twice in the supermarket because, deep down, you know it’s vulgar. A whimper escapes my throat. I’ve seen enough television—enough R rated movies to know that some women scream their heads off during sex, and now it makes total sense why. It was the pain making them turn up the volume on their vocal cords—not pleasure. Although, this is Bryson inflicting the pain. On second thought, it will very much be pleasure. If there’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, God knows I’m about to cross it in the very best way.
Bryson reaches down to help speed along the efforts. Obviously, he’s got a hard-on to contend with, and I’m the one who foolishly volunteered to help relieve it.
“Right there,” he whispers as the tip pushes its way into me.
My mouth opens, and a choking sound emits as he pushes in ever so slowly, and my existence feels like it’s about to split open, ass first. My body takes him, hugs him, strangles him to be exact as he slowly fills me with his inexplicably long cucumber-like body.
Then, in a moment, he glides in deeper, and my insides wrap around him like a glove. A burning sensation rips through me in every direction at once, and a white-hot pain ignites where my ass once happily sat—and, horror of all horrors, tears come to my eyes. I press my lips tight, not wanting to ruin th
e moment as I resist the urge to slap him the hell away from me. Then he pulls out and offers a touch of relief before spearing back in, nice and slow, and, to my surprise, it begins to feels pleasurable through the pain.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he pants through a smile as he watches from above.
“No.” As in, no I won’t. Instead, I clutch onto his back and press him deeper until he hits the limit, and I let out a little cry of relief because he didn’t pierce through my diaphragm and take out my vocal cords in the process. The smile melts off his face. His eyes roll into his head. His neck bends back a moment, and I give a private smile at the thought of reducing him to such a primal state of being.
“Oh shit, Baya,” he groans, loud and proud of the way I’m making him feel, and now I’m glad his mother isn’t anywhere near the house to listen in on our carnal vocal exchange.
“Bryson.” I tighten my muscles around his joystick, and he pants a dull laugh.
“Yeah, that,” he moans, before lowering his lips to mine. I reach back and press him in deeper still, folding my legs over his back and caging him in like seasoned pro.
Bryson takes in a quick breath and bites down over his lip.
There. I did it.
We did it.
I’m no longer Baya Brighton the perennial virgin, I’m Bryson Edwards’ girlfriend, and he is sweetly making love to me for the very first time.
I can’t wait to replicate the effort night after night.
I don’t think it will ever get old.
Not with Bryson.
Not by a long shot.
Bryson
Damn.
Baya Brighton has the power to make me come on demand just from being in the same room, and now that I’m deep inside of her, I can’t figure out how to make it last. She’ll think I’m defective if I lose it before I get a single decent thrust in. And, with Baya around, I sort of am defective, in a crazy good way.
“Let me know if this hurts.” I sweep a kiss over her lips. She’s all but stopped breathing. Her hands are flattened against my chest as if she’s getting ready to evict me. The inside of her body is so tight it feels like heaven, but I’m guessing it doesn’t feel so hot for her right about now.
I pull up on my elbows and glide in and out, slow as humanly possible without turning this into a torture session for the both of us. Her legs relax and loosen around my back, so I take it as a green light and speed up a little.
“Shit,” I hiss into her ear. “You’re killing me, Baya.” Swear to God it’s never felt this fucking good. “I’m ready to lose it.”
I give a few hearty thrusts the way I want to, the way I’ve been dying to right from the beginning. That first day I laid eyes on her, I wanted nothing more than to bend her over my mattress and thrust deep inside her until she screamed out in pleasure. I’ve thought about all the hundreds of ways I could have her, tossed off to her beautiful face regularly for weeks in the shower, but this was infinitely better than any fantasy, any convoluted idea conjured up by my subconscious. But I knew she wasn’t that kind of a girl, no matter how hard her tits tried to convince me that first day, I knew she was sweet. That she was the one for me.
I reach down and give one of the girls a squeeze and lose it. Baya raises her hips to meet mine and digs her nails just below my waist until it burns in a fucking good way.
“Brys—”
I can feel her body jump beneath me, and I pray to God she’s enjoying herself because I’m too lost in the assault to turn back now. My hips heave into hers until she bounces back into the headboard. I grab ahold of her shoulder and steady her beneath me until my body gives into a sweet release, and I shake over her in a cold sweat.
“Baya,” I hiss into her lips before burying myself deep inside her.
She sighs beneath me, and I lay my weight over her for a second. I brush an apologetic kiss over her lips, slow and circular as I hike back up on my elbows. My dick starts to go soft, so I pull out and toss the condom onto the floor.
I roll back into her and study her beauty. Her smeared mascara, her full lips freshly glossed with her tongue.
“Did you like that?” I’m almost afraid to hear her answer. I’ve only slept with one other virgin and that ended with her screaming expletives at me as she ran out of the room. That pretty much crossed girls with no experience off my list, not that I had to cull anyone from the ready and willing pile. Turns out there weren’t a whole lot of virgins at Whitney Briggs after all.
“Nope, I didn’t like that.” She pulls me in by the chin, and my heart drops into my gut. “I loved that.” She runs her tongue over my lips like a promise of more to come.
My chest rattles at the thought. Baya didn’t like it. She loved it. She didn’t run screaming—I was her first, and if she’ll let me, I’ll be her last.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling her bare bottom in the cleft of my stomach.
“For what?” She turns her head just enough for me to appreciate her beauty.
“For loving me.” I press my lips into the back of her moist hair. “For letting me love you back.”
Late Sunday, we say goodbye to Mom and drive Annie back to school.
I take Baya out for coffee before we hit the Briggs Apartment building and make our way up.
“Maybe I should head back to Prescott and reclaim my dorm?” She squirms a moment, looking at the door as if it were her brother himself.
I hold up the hot pink giraffe we lugged home. “And what will we tell, Lucy?”
“Lucy?” She bats her lashes at me, and it takes all of the restraint in the universe not to kiss her. Oh, hell—I bend down and kiss her, long and strong, right here outside the door to our apartment, and I swear to God I can hear Cole sharpening the kitchen knives from inside. I pull back slowly, and my lips hold their puckered position a moment longer than necessary. “I thought she looked like a Lucy, but if you prefer Zelda we can negotiate.” I give a crooked grin.
“Lucy it is.” She takes the overstuffed giraffe and hugs her.
We head in, and, so far, the coast is clear, no sign of Cole or his many concubines.
Baya drops her bags on the floor and pulls a pen off the counter. She heads over to the scoreboard and pauses as she studies my side of the wall with a renewed interest.
“Whoa.” I speed over but not before she adds a single tally mark toward the bottom. “You don’t belong up there.” I twist my lips at the sight.
“Oh, yes, I do. I earned my spot, and I won’t let you take it away from me.” She gives a little wink.
“Here.” I swipe the pen from her and draw a heart around the line she inscribed. “We should at least get it right. I mean, you are the last.”
“Really?” It comes from her weak, as if it were the last thing she expected.
“Yes, really.” I brush my hands over her hips and brazenly steady her in front of me. “There’s no one else for me but you, Baya. This is it,” I whisper. “I’m all in.”
She melts into me and wraps her arms around my neck. “I love you so much,” she whispers with tears glittering in her eyes.
“I love you, too.” I launch an all-out viral assault over her mouth as our teeth graze over one another, our tongues lash out with something just this side of anger. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep at night knowing she’s less than ten feet away in the next room. It’s not right. She should be safe in my arms as often as possible and, for damn sure, at all hours of the night.
The door to Cole’s room rattles, and Baya launches across the room like a missile. By the time I look over she’s lounging on the couch reading a book—spinning it until its right side up. It’s Cole’s hunting and surviving in the wilderness manual—something that I’m going to need once he gets wind of what happened between his sister and me.
“You’re back.” Cole struts out, looking like hell, and I peer into his bedroom for evidence of a female suitor, but nothing. “You have fun? How’s Annie?” He heads into the k
itchen with his hair sticking up in the back, his body stuttering forward like he just got electrocuted. It’s obvious he just woke up. Maybe he’s slept through the weekend?
“Annie is great. Just dropped her off. We did nothing but watch lame chick flicks all weekend. How about you?”
“Chicks and flicks, just like you bro, but I did it a hell of a lot better.” He plucks a beer from the fridge and pauses once he spots Baya. “Hey, kid, you’re back, too.”
Baya cuts a glance over to me. I can tell it frustrates her when he treats her like she’s twelve. Of course, my body can attest to the fact she’s all woman, perfectly functioning in every capacity, sweet as sugar in all the right spots, and now I’m hungry for more.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been here for a while. Thanks for noticing.”
Cole tilts his head as if he’s ready to call bullshit. He looks back at me and over to her as if he’s doing the math, and I pretend not to notice.
Fuck.
“What the hell’s that thing in the corner?” He nods over to Lucy, our overstuffed lovechild. “It looks like it’s getting ready to attack.”
Baya bites down over her lip as if she’s holding back a laugh.
“I got lucky this weekend.” She lets her words linger in the air, and I drink them down, enjoying the hell out them right to the dregs in front of her pompous brother of all people. “I won it in a raffle. I guess I can donate it if you hate it.” She gives me a quick wink.
“No, it’s fine.” Cole seems pleased that Baya brought a toy to the apartment thus firming up his theory she’s the mental equivalent of a thirteen-year-old. “It’s kind of cute. Does it have a name?”
“Lucy.” Her pink tongue twitches between her lips when she says it, and my dick perks to life, wagging in her direction—begging her to come out and play. If my dick had a mental age, it’d probably be about thirteen too, not that Baya is. She’s miles ahead of me in that department. Why the hell can’t Cole see her for the intelligent person she is? I really don’t get it. It’s not like I’m busy coddling Annie.