Whit #2
Overhead, a pair of feet hit the floor with a muffled thump thump.
“You’re tired,” Colt says, shaking his head with an expression that says he’s not taking any of my last few sentences seriously. And something about that helps me breathe easier. “You’re tired and you don’t know what’s good for you. We can talk about this after you’ve had your coffee.”
Colt’s lips catch mine and I run my hands through his soft hair to deepen the moment. Indulging in one last long, slow, coffee-flavored kiss before his hands retreat from my thighs and he helps me off the counter.
We’re an appropriate three feet apart when Jonas bounds down the stairs, stopping in his tracks at the sight of Colt.
“Hey, dude.” Colt tips his iced coffee in greeting.
The confusion doesn’t last long. Jonas is already tucking into the box of cinnamon rolls, pulling one nearly the size of his face from the box and chomping down. “What are you doing here?” he asks with a full mouth.
I give Jonas an unimpressed look.
“Truck had to go to the shop, so I figured I’d see what you guys were up to.”
I don’t know why I was worried; Jonas accepts Colt’s explanation with only one follow-up question. “Where’s Betty?”
Colt’s fingers drum on the plastic cup in his hand. “She heard the girls at the ranch were making homemade ice cream for the Labor Day party and said, ‘Hell to that Jonas kid, there’s sugar here.’ ”
Smirking, Jonas licks a dollop of cream cheese icing from his finger. “Wanna play video games?”
“Hell yeah. No racing games though—don’t need your mom kicking our asses again.”
I roll my eyes, reaching for my coffee. “Fine by me. I don’t want to deal with your fragile egos today anyway.”
Jonas ditches his cinnamon roll on the counter to attempt a running jump at the back of the couch.
He fails miserably and awkwardly rolls his skinny body over the back with a groan instead.
Before Colt’s even moved a muscle, Jonas is settled in and booting up the PlayStation, waving the second controller through the air to motion Colt over.
Giving my ass a couple discreet pats, Colt passes by on his way to the couch. Jonas flops his body against the armrest, making room for Colt to sit.
“Look out. I think I finally figured out how to do this pretend fishing thing.” Colt jabs Jonas with his elbow.
The two bicker and figuratively parade around like a pair of roosters, each one throwing out goofy insults. Playing whatever this ridiculous game is. As it turns out, Colt has not figured out how to do the pretend fishing thing.
I curl into the empty corner of the couch, slinging my throw blanket over me, and it’s only a matter of seconds before the familiar warmth of Colt’s hand is stroking my bare calf. I glance over at Jonas, and once I’ve accepted that he’s entirely oblivious, I lose myself in my book.
“Whatcha reading?” Colt asks quietly when Jonas disappears for a bathroom break. “Straight-up porn, isn’t it?”
It’s not. It’s not even a spicy scene, if I’m being honest. The heroine is having brunch with her friends, so there’s lots of talk about sex, but nothing that’s getting my motor running. But the opportunity to tease him is too good to pass up.
“Just getting some ideas.” My bottom lip pulls between my teeth. “How do you feel about being tied up? Or spanked?”
He reaches down to adjust himself. “It’s a damn good thing you’re so hot, because you’re straight-up cruel.”
I wink and silently return to my Kindle.
And within fifty more pages, I’m well past the brunch and well into the hero eating the heroine out.
A different type of brunch, if you will.
Between the explicit descriptions of a fictional man’s tongue swirling around a pussy and the man secretly touching my bare legs anytime he doesn’t need both hands on the controller, I catch myself clenching my thighs more than once.
We could be fast. Sneaky.
I mean…how do parents in loving marriages with children—multiple young children even—find time for sex? I suppose maybe the jokes about marriage being sexless aren’t actually jokes….
While my heroine is reeling on the bed after a mind-blowing orgasm, I excuse myself. It’s not my favorite way to get off, but my clit-suction toy can get the job done in under a minute. It’ll file down the sharp edges in my mind before I throw myself at Colt in the middle of the living room.
I shake my head at the top of the stairs, picking up a pair of dirty socks strewn across the carpet. Good lord, Jonas. Some days I swear he enters his room naked, based on the breadcrumb trail of clothes I find leading from the front door up the stairs.
While I’m here, I might as well swap things over to the dryer.
The moment the knob clicks into place, so does something inside me.
The dryer.
I exhale hard, amping myself up to be utterly reckless. From the top of the stairs, I see the boys having a cinnamon roll break between games. Cinnamon rolls are a sign from the sex god, I decide.
“Hey, Colt,” I call out, my hand wringing around the railing.
“What’s up?”
“I, uh…” My eyes cut to Jonas, half-expecting him to call me out before I’ve even had the opportunity to lie. “Can you come take a look at my dryer for me? I think it’s finally kicked the bucket.”
“Yeah, sure.” He smiles, totally oblivious. Then looks over to Jonas. “I’ll be back in a few.”
Jonas slurps his noncaffeinated, full-of-sugar drink from Anette’s. “It’s cool. I’ll play solo for a bit—give my back a break from having to carry you.”
Two at a time, Colt’s lean body hustles up the stairs until he’s practically on top of me.
I walk backward into the laundry room and quickly close the door.
Naturally, there’s no lock—which now feels like a misguided choice—but a full basket of dirty clothes pressed against it will buy us a few more seconds, if needed.
“This thing sounds rough.” Colt tips his head toward the machine.
“Exactly.” My ugly robe falls to my feet, and I shimmy out of my pajama shorts. “It’s so loud, it’ll drown us out.”
“What are—” He doesn’t finish the question, but he follows my lead by tugging at his belt and dropping his jeans and underwear to pool at his ankles.
I drag my tongue across my palm and roughly grip his flaccid cock. Colt hisses at the sensation, hips jolting forward.
“Fuck.” His head falls forward so our foreheads meet, and I wrap my free hand around the back of his neck.
We’re both entirely transfixed by the way I jerk his cock to life in only a few languid strokes.
I reach between my legs, getting my fingers nice and wet, then continue my touch on his needy, rigid erection.
I bring my other hand in to massage his balls, rolling them in my palm and firmly rubbing my fingertips against the hot skin underneath.
Colt’s struggling to stay quiet, biting at the back of his hand and thrusting into my touch. The dryer’s so loud we can’t hear the television downstairs, and I pray that means Jonas won’t hear us. Because while I’ve always assumed he doesn’t hear me crying, there’s no real proof that he can’t.
“Honey, let me…let me taste you. Please.” His pleading is a drug. Colt wants me so bad he’s willing to beg for a simple touch or taste. How can I not feel like the most powerful woman in the world when this gorgeous man is writhing with the need to lick my pussy?
His hands skate up and down my body, slipping under my cami to tease my nipples and squeeze the widest part of my hips.
“Since you were such a good boy and left this morning like I asked.” I brace my hands on the dryer, letting him help me up to sit on the edge.
And without hesitation, Colt drops to his knees.
I run a hand through his hair, pulling it by the root to force his eyes away from my wet pussy and up to look at me.
“Make me come hard and fast. This needs to be quick, remember?”
With a swift lick over his lower lip, his hot palms grip my legs, and he feasts on my pussy with intent. Figure eights and strong flicks of his tongue. I tilt my pelvis to give him everything while clutching the edges of the vibrating machine under me.
“Oh my fucking God,” I murmur. Pressure coils deep in my core, and my thighs tremble in his hands, threatening to close on him.
I grab a handful of his hair, forcing him closer. More pressure. More speed. More suction. More. More. More.
“I’m coming.” I ride his face, my pussy squeezing against his tongue, until the tremble becomes a full-blown earthquake tearing through me.
The tips of my fingers are ghostly white from gripping the dryer, and somehow I’m greedy for more. I’m ravenous, feral, and seeing my pussy juices glistening in his mustache only makes it worse.
“Holy shit, you’re so good at that.” I grab his jaw, kissing him, tasting myself on his tongue—which is the second hottest way after tasting the sweet flavor on his salty cock.
“No edging today, baby.” My bare ass slides off the warm metal of the dryer, and I spin around to prop myself up on my elbows. My chin taps against my shoulder when I look back at him. “Just come. Come inside me, on my ass, wherever feels good.”
“Fuck, Whit.” He kisses my shoulder blade. “How the hell did I end up finding the hottest woman in the entire damn world? You’re so perfect and I…”
“Borrowed time.” I wiggle my ass toward his crotch, smiling suggestively. “Tell me how pretty and amazing you think I am while you fuck me.”
He sinks my favorite part of him deep inside in one smooth motion. Last night, me on top and in missionary, I felt perfectly filled by him. But this way, there’s not enough room for both his cock and air to be in my body at the same time. And it’s pure bliss.
With a pummeling pace, he leans in and mutters against my hair. His voice is raw with desire, and he punctuates every word with a powerful thrust. “You’re so fucking pretty taking my cock.”
The rattling thrum of the dryer masks the slapping of damp skin and the moans that accidentally slip from time to time. He’s dragging against a place inside me, deep and rough, and it feels so fucking good. I get wetter. And wetter yet.
I bear down, the rush of an impending orgasm pricking the backs of my legs.
Colt slips a hand around my waist, clearly noticing my muscles tightening around him, and knowing what it’ll take to push me over the edge.
His fingers brush over my clit, circling it with a callused fingertip, and my entire body buckles.
The tight pull across my skin, the edge of something big grows by the second. So intense I have to shut my eyes.
“Oh my fucking God,” I whine, head lolling side to side. I wish I’d turned the dryer to air fluff, because the heat combined with the orgasm and the intensity with which Colt’s working for another is making my head spin.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it go, honey. Come. Come on my cock.”
His words ignite a hidden fuse, and I push back against his hips, forcing his erection deeper still. A whimper slips from the back of my throat, and I moan against the hot white metal pressed to my face, mind reeling with every glorious inch of him.
My orgasm takes me, ricocheting through my core and down my legs. If it weren’t for the last-minute slap of my hand over my mouth, I’d be crying out. Wetness gushes from my cunt, soaking him and trailing down my thighs.
“I’m gonna come,” he stutters. “W-where?”
Technically, I’d told him earlier that it was his choice. But at this moment, there’s only one place I want to feel him.
“Come in me. I want to feel you fill me.”
“Fuuuuck.” He groans through gritted teeth. Every movement is feral and unrelenting, slamming into my pussy like he’s angry with it.
His breath comes in short pants, and a noticeable warmth pools inside me. There’s a small gush when he pulls out, and our cum blends together between my legs.
He leans against the opposite wall, dick gradually softening, with a sated and spent smile on his face. He’s so beautiful—shirt clinging to his sweat-dampened torso, abs and defined chest muscles tightening with every heaving breath. Guys like this don’t exist outside of online thirst traps.
“Your dryer was never actually fucked, was it?”
“Oh, no.” I fix a fallen strap on my cami. “It’s on its last legs. But now I’m definitely in no hurry to fix it.”
I pop open the dryer door, instantly pausing the cycle and ending the nauseating racket. After a few seconds of rummaging, I triumphantly hold up a warm and dry washcloth. Besides the bathroom, I can’t think of a more convenient place to fuck.
Colt dampens the cloth in the laundry sink, and in under a minute, we’re both cleaned up and our cheeks are significantly less flushed. We’re also both wearing clothes again, unfortunately.
He kisses me softly. One final peck before slipping out of the sex-filled air and returning to a place where we’re nothing more than friends. I allow myself a few more moments to compose myself, catching my breath and reveling in the satiated soreness between my legs before following.
I suppose this is how horny parents do it—sneaking away for a quick orgasm and jumping back into normal life as if they don’t have the taste of arousal on their lips or cum dripping into their underwear. It might not be romantic, but fuck is it sexy.
When I’m finally slipping back into my spot on the couch, taking a long sip of ice water and tucking my toes under the warmth of Colt’s thigh, I feel it. Another seismic shift between him and me.
This could work.
For the first time, the fear isn’t as loud as the hope.
It’s still there, a quiet hum beneath my ribs, reminding me of all the ways this could fall apart. But right now—right here—it doesn’t feel like a countdown to heartbreak.