Chapter 17 Serena #2
The door slammed. Silence descended like a dropped curtain.
We stared at each other across the sudden vacuum, the air between us compressed and dangerous. Brad was still kneeling, his hands still on my knees, and I could see the exact moment his control snapped—pupils blown wide, jaw tightening, decision made.
"Fuck it," he growled, and surged up.
His mouth crashed into mine with three weeks of pent-up hunger.
This wasn't the careful kisses we'd stolen, the performance pecks for audiences—this was admission and demand and desperate relief.
I fisted his shirt, hauling him closer as he pressed me back into the couch, his weight settling over me like destiny.
"Serena," he groaned against my mouth, my name a prayer and a curse. His hands framed my face, then tangled in my hair, then gripped my waist like he was afraid I'd evaporate. "I can't pretend anymore."
"Brad," I pulled him down, erasing the space between us. "We shouldn’t -"
He kissed me like drowning in reverse, like coming up for air after years underwater. His hands mapped territories that had been off-limits, finding the spot where my pulse hammered against my throat, the curve where my waist met my hip. Every touch felt like claiming and confession combined.
Heat radiated off his broad shoulders as he tugged me toward the bedroom door.
My pulse hammered in my ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the ache building low in my belly, the kind that made my thighs clench instinctively.
Now, with the door in sight, there was no more pretending. I wanted him badly.
He didn't hesitate. He just shouldered the door open and yanked me inside, the wood slamming shut behind us with a decisive click that echoed like a gunshot in the sudden quiet.
The room was a haze of shadows, lit only by the sliver of streetlight sneaking through half-drawn blinds, casting golden stripes across the rumpled king-sized bed.
Before I could even draw a full breath, Brad spun me against the door, his body pinning mine—solid, unyielding, the hard line of his erection pressing insistently against my hip through his jeans.
His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and devouring, lips parting mine with a growl that vibrated straight to my core.
His tongue swept in, claiming every inch, dueling with mine in a slick, urgent tangle that left me gasping into him.
My hands were everywhere—fisting the soft fabric of his black shirt, nails scraping lightly over the taut muscles of his back as I arched up against him. God, he felt good, all that restrained power coiled tight under my touch.
We stumbled away from the door in a clumsy ballet of limbs and half-swallowed moans, my heels catching on the edge of the throw rug until my calves hit the bedframe.
I went down first, the mattress dipping under me with a soft whoosh, and he followed like a predator claiming his prize, his weight settling over me, one knee nudging my thighs apart.
The cool sheets were a shock against my heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire of his hands—rough palms sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the flimsy silk of my blouse.
I bucked up instinctively, grinding against the ridge of his cock, and he hissed into my mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at my lower lip.
"Serena," he rasped, voice gravelly and wrecked, like he'd been holding back for hours. His forehead pressed to mine, breaths mingling in the scant space between us. "Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me."
I did, though. I could feel it—the way his heart thundered against my chest, syncing with mine in a chaotic duet. My fingers clawed frantically at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling to get it open in a desperate bid for more skin, more contact.
He obliged, rearing back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside in a careless arc that sent it fluttering to the floor.
Moonlight caught the ridges of his abs, the faint trail of dark hair arrowing down from his navel to disappear into his waistband, and I couldn't help the greedy whimper that escaped me.
He was built like a god—broad chest dusted with just enough hair to rasp against my palms, shoulders that flexed as he braced himself over me.
I traced the lines of him, nails dragging lightly over his pecs, circling one flat nipple until it pebbled under my touch. He shuddered, a low curse slipping from his lips, and dove back down, his mouth finding the curve of my neck.
His lips were everywhere—hot, open-mouthed kisses that seared a path from my jaw to my collarbone, teeth grazing just hard enough to sting, to make me gasp and tilt my head back, offering more.
I could feel the pulse leaping in my throat, and he latched on there, sucking with deliberate pressure that would leave a mark tomorrow—a purple bloom of possession that I'd trace in the mirror and smile at.
His hands weren't idle. They roamed with purpose, cupping my breasts fully now, squeezing through the blouse until the fabric strained, my nipples tightening to painful points.
I arched into his palms, friction sending jolts of pleasure straight to my clit, already swollen and throbbing in my damp panties.
"Brad," I breathed, my voice a husky plea as his thumb circled one peak, then pinched—sharp, exquisite pain blooming into heat.
He chuckled against my skin, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "These," he murmured, voice muffled as he nuzzled lower, "have been driving me crazy all night. Every time you moved, I could see them begging for attention."
His fingers worked the buttons of my blouse with surprising dexterity for a man who seemed seconds from ripping it off, popping them open one by one until the silk gaped wide.
Cool air kissed my lace bra, but it was fleeting—his mouth followed, latching onto the swell of one breast, tongue laving over the fabric until it was soaked and translucent.
I threaded my fingers through his short, tousled hair, holding him there as he sucked harder, the wet pull making me moan.
The blouse joined his shirt on the floor in a whisper of fabric, and then my bra clasp gave way under his impatient fingers—front-fastening, thank God, because I didn't want to wait. He peeled the lace away, exposing me fully, and his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he drank me in.
"Beautiful," he growled, and before I could respond, his mouth was on me—bare skin this time, hot and insistent.
He sucked one nipple deep, teeth grazing the sensitive tip, while his hand kneaded the other, rolling and tugging until I was writhing beneath him, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer.
The seam of his jeans ground against my core, the rough denim dragging over my skirt, and I rocked up shamelessly, chasing the friction that was both too much and not nearly enough.
But he had other plans. His free hand skimmed down my side, bunching the hem of my skirt higher, fingers tracing the edge of my thigh-high stockings, teasing the bare skin above. I spread my legs wider on instinct, invitation clear, and he groaned, releasing my breast with a wet pop.
"I need to taste you. Need to bury my face in this sweet pussy and make you scream." The words were filthy, unfiltered, and they hit me like a spark to dry tinder—my clit pulsed, a fresh gush of wetness soaking through my panties.
He didn't wait for an answer; he shoved the skirt up to my waist, exposing the black lace clinging to my hips, the damp spot obvious even in the low light.
His fingers hooked into the waistband, dragging them down my legs with agonizing slowness, the cool air hitting my slick folds like a tease.
I kicked them off impatiently, spreading wide, knees falling open as he settled between my thighs.
His breath ghosted over me first—hot, deliberate puffs that made me shiver, my pussy muscles clenching around nothing.
I propped up on my elbows, watching him through half-lidded eyes, the sight of his broad shoulders forcing my legs apart, his dark hair tousled from my hands, nearly undoing me.
Then his tongue flicked out, a feather-light touch along the outer lips, tracing the seam with the flat of it, lapping up the arousal already coating me.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against my skin as he delved deeper, slow, deliberate strokes that parted me open.
I whimpered, head falling back as he explored—circling my entrance, dipping just the tip inside before retreating, building the ache until I was canting my hips, begging wordlessly.
"Please, Brad—more." My voice cracked on the plea, and he obliged, his lips closing around my clit with gentle suction that sent sparks exploding behind my eyelids. Light at first, a teasing pull, then harder, his tongue flicking rapidly over the bundle of nerves while he hummed low in his throat.
The vibration was devastating, a deep thrum that resonated through me, coiling tension tighter in my core.
One hand pinned my hip down, callused fingers digging into soft flesh to still my thrashing, while the other slid two fingers alongside his tongue—thick, insistent, curling upward to stroke that spongy spot inside me that made everything go white-hot.
He thrust them in rhythm with his licks, fucking me shallow and deep, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, mingling with my ragged gasps and his muffled groans.
It built fast, too fast—a tidal wave cresting, pleasure sharpening to a razor's edge. My walls fluttered around his fingers, clenching as he crooked them just right, his mouth relentless on my clit, sucking and swirling until I shattered.
"Brad—oh God, yes!" The cry tore from me, raw and unrestrained, as the orgasm ripped through, waves of ecstasy crashing over me in shuddering pulses.
My juices flooded his mouth, thighs quaking around his head, and he didn't stop—lapping me through it, drawing out every aftershock until I was a boneless, panting mess.
Dazed, I hauled him up by the hair, crushing our mouths together in a messy, desperate kiss.
I tasted myself on his tongue—tart and musky, mingled with his warmth—and it only made me hungrier.
Our teeth clashed, breaths heaving as I flipped us with a surge of adrenaline, straddling his waist in one fluid motion.
He landed on his back with a grunt of surprise that melted into a grin, hands settling on my hips as I ground down against the bulge straining his jeans.
"My turn," I whispered, nipping his jaw, and his laugh was dark, approving.
I made quick work of his belt, the leather whispering free before I popped the button and tugged the zipper down, freeing him inch by veined inch. His cock sprang up, thick and heavy, curving slightly toward his navel, the flushed head already glistening with pre-cum.
I wrapped my hand around the base, skin velvet over steel, stroking slow from root to tip, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the bead of moisture.
He twitched in my grip, a hiss escaping through clenched teeth, hips jerking up into my fist. Leaning down, I let my breath fan over him first—teasing, watching the way he throbbed in anticipation—before swirling my tongue around the crown, savoring the salty tang.
Inch by inch, I took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth until he nudged the back of my throat. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard on the upstroke, my hand twisting in tandem while the other cupped his balls, feeling them draw tight.
"Fuck, Serena—your mouth," he groaned, fingers tangling in my hair—not pulling, just holding, grounding himself as I set a rhythm.
Bobbing steady, I alternated. Long, languid licks along the underside, tracing the thick vein pulsing there, then rapid, focused sucks on the frenulum, my tongue fluttering until his thighs tensed under me.
Saliva dripped down his shaft, slicking my hand as I pumped what I couldn't take, the wet glides echoing my own arousal.
I deep-throated him again, relaxing my jaw, gagging just enough to make it filthy, tears pricking my eyes from the stretch. The vibration of my hum around him drew a string of curses from his lips—"Fuck, yes, just like that"—his body coiling tighter, breaths coming in sharp pants.
I could feel him teetering, the telltale twitch against my tongue, and redoubled my efforts—sucking harder.
He shattered with a guttural roar, hips bucking as hot spurts flooded my mouth, coating my tongue in thick, salty ropes.
I swallowed greedily, milking him with firm strokes until he was spent, shuddering through the last pulses, his grip in my hair loosening to a tender caress.
We collapsed together then, a sweaty tangle of limbs on the wrecked sheets, his arm draping heavy over my waist as our heartbeats slowed from gallop to trot. I nuzzled into his chest, inhaling the musk of us, sated and sticky, a lazy smile curving my lips.
"That," I murmured, tracing idle patterns on his skin, "was worth the wait."