Chapter 5 Nora #3
He’s my ex’s brother, for God’s sakes. I’ve never felt like this around him before. Sure, I’ve noticed him—it’s hard not to, when he looks like damn Prince Charming with abs—but I’ve never had these…feelings before.
I blame it on the alcohol and a broken heart. A mid-life crisis or something.
Can a woman have a mid-life crisis at twenty-seven?
Unclear.
I try to focus on the show, and he does too. Though all I can accurately focus on is his arm around me. His warm body. My mind wanders to the moment I came in here, after my shower.
Had I caught him in the act? Was he, too, pleasuring himself?
And if so…why would he do it knowing I’m here? In this house? Able to walk in on him at any moment. I look at him, thoughts racing through my brain that make no sense.
Maybe he wanted to get caught.
Maybe he was thinking of you.
The last one I know is intrusive because there’s no way in hell it’s true. I doubt Russell Sterling was masturbating or has ever masturbated to the thought of his brother’s girlfriend.
Ex-girlfriend.
My pussy twitches with renewed vigor at that thought. Rush…masturbating. Taking his cock in his hand and…
I suck in a breath and press my legs together, trying to kill that thought.
No, Nora. Bad fucking idea!
Think of sick puppies and kitties or something! Christ!
Rush glances at me with a knowing look.
I look up at him, my cheeks heating. I should apologize—even though I know he has no way of knowing what’s in my head, it feels appropriate. I should push off of him and head down the hall and get in bed and go the fuck to sleep.
Rush takes his free hand and pushes some damp hair behind my shoulder. His gaze roves over me—over his clothes that I’m wearing.
“What’s the matter, baby?” he asks, his voice faint.
That’s the second time he’s said that. Called me baby.
He probably calls every girl that, Nora. You aren’t special. And you’re his brother’s ex. That’s a whole other set of problems you don’t need.
For the briefest moment, I consider it, though. The problem.
Rush.
My gaze drifts to his mouth. His lips are the perfect shape. The top slightly thinner, but with a pronounced little dip and a small scar Brett said he got when he got whacked in the mouth with a hockey puck his junior year.
His bottom lip is thick, plump. The hazy intrusive thoughts pervade as I think about biting it.
Yeah, I really should go.
But the way he’s looking at me, that swift touch of his fingertip beneath my jaw, the way his olive eyes are imploring me, I can’t find it in me to move.
“I should go,” I whisper.
But I don’t move. I lean closer to Rush, falling into him like gravity.
He’s quiet, and for a moment I think he’s going to say yes. Go, Nora, get the hell away from me, you needy little bitch.
Brett’s words resurface with a bitterness I’d forgotten.
It wasn’t like he said it often. Just whenever I asked him for reassurance or whenever I wanted to have sex. I learned to stop asking, and instead let Brett initiate, and once I did that things seemed to get a little better, but…
Now as I sit here, my damn pussy throbbing again as if I didn’t just come merely an hour or so ago, and my mind racing with a plethora of thoughts both confusing and tempting all at once, those words sting harder than they should.
“Do you want to go?” he asks carefully. I can still smell the alcohol on his sweet breath.
I know we’re both drunk. Well, technically we’re in that space between drunk and sober, where things aren’t making sense and you know you just need to crash.
And maybe it is the alcohol’s fault, or maybe it’s just that Brett is right. I am a needy bitch. Because as I stare at Rush’s perfect, plump lips, I know exactly what I need.
I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “Do you want me to go?” I ask, my voice so faint I can barely hear it.
Rush’s fingers trail over my jaw, over my neck, until they find the back of my head. His fingers grip my hair, twirling the damp locks around his thick fingers.
“No.” His voice is dark and warm. Smooth, like melted butter, and my pussy throbs again. “Fuck no, I don’t want you to ever leave, Nora,” he whispers, and it’s the strangest, most vulnerable sound I’ve ever heard.
Without thinking, I lean in.
Russell closes the distance between us, his mouth crushing against mine, his lips soft and warm. Just like I imagined they would be. There’s no hesitation, no consideration, no pause.
I kiss him back, hard, and reach for his face. He leans into me with ease, his grip in my hair tightening, and it’s a blur. A heady, warm, arousing blur as I open my mouth for him. His tongue finds mine without question, stroking and caressing with adamant fervor.
His free hand travels down my sides, down to my waist, and he pulls me closer. So close I feel his cock through his sweats and groan.
“Fuck, Nora,” he breathes, his hand on my hip tightening.
“Rush…” I breathe his name like a prayer.
His mouth moves quicker as he kisses me. I fall back into the couch, the motion putting him on top of me.
I don’t hesitate, nor do I think twice about bringing my leg up and hooking it around his hip.
He curses against my mouth as he continues to kiss me, his hand tight in my hair.
His body is heavy against me, his cock brushing against my heated mound.
A fresh wetness blooms between my thighs, and I gasp because this shouldn’t be happening.
I’ve never been able to get turned on this fast after an orgasm. Usually, it takes me hours.
And then I remember I’m wearing his underwear and another aching pulse pushes forth. I thrust my hips up against his covered cock, my hands sliding down his body as we kiss one another. Messily.
My hand finds his evident erection, and I let my fingers trace the shape of him, committing it to memory.
“Fuck, Nora, you’re going to make me come if you keep that up,” he bites out, kissing me again. “In my fucking pants.”
“Then we’d be even,” I whisper, losing myself to the energy between us, to my aching pussy. I thrust up against him as he groans, and a soft moan escapes my throat.
“Is that what you want?” he mutters against my mouth. “You want me to make you come, Nora?”
My fingers trace the outline of his sizable cock. I feel a faint wetness as I try my best to position him against me. He grinds his cock against me, dry humping me like a damn teenager. I meet his clothed thrusts in tandem with my own, the wetness between my thighs turning slicker. Warmer.
“Yes,” I whisper, my mind shattering in the haze of lust and his warm, solid body. His hand slides up my waist, finding my breasts. His mouth caresses my skin, and then I feel his lips close around my nipples—through his shirt that I’m wearing.
I can feel the warmth of his mouth, but there’s fabric between us. Despite that, my nipples harden almost instantly and my orgasm starts barreling toward me.
“Rush…” I whisper-cry, my legs shaking. He thrusts himself against me, but it’s not hard or fast. It’s like he’s holding back.
“Come for me, baby,” he whispers, his fingers taking over to toy with my nipples while he kisses me, his tongue caressing mine.
I can feel the outline of his cockhead, thick and solid, pressing at my entrance, the moisture between my pussy and the cool underwear a contrasting balm. I close my eyes, and my thoughts wander as he rubs his clothed cock against me.
I imagine him taking out that thick, heavy cock—because I can tell from feeling the length and size through his sweats that Rush is definitely not average in the dick department—with nothing between us.
I cry out and his mouth finds mine, swallowing my ecstasy. His hips grind into me hard as his pace quickens until he grunts in my mouth, and his entire body stills.
Warmth spreads through my core as I come. Hard.
Harder than before.
I feel every twitch of his pulse against my palm as he stops kissing me, his body shaking. “Fuck, Nora…” he whispers.
I don’t think, I just grab him. His lips shake against mine, his mouth moving slow and torturously as my body unravels like thread in his hold.
When we part, I can’t help but stare at him, at his perfect mouth. My lips buzz with the faint warmth and feel of his kiss. My hands on his throat move up to his jaw. My chest heaves with heavy breaths, and I wrap my arms around him and hold on to him for dear life as my heart races in my chest.
Rush’s hands on my waist warm my skin through the shirt—his shirt—and I hold his face against my chest as he lazily stills against me. Exhaustion hits me, and I lose my grip. My strength.
He pulls me up, my body unraveling like thread as sleep steals me like a thief. And when Rush pulls me against his chest, I don’t fight it.
I breathe him in and let the darkness drag me under.