Flirting with the Frenemy (Bro Code #1)(61)

“This thing won’t break, will it? That would be awesome. Death by sex on a pool table.”

“I got a private Bro Code show with this as their stage once,” he replies. “It’s solid.”

“Ew. Maybe we should move to the foosball table. It’s clean, right? Bumpy, but clean?”

“Have you met your brother? He licks his players for luck.”

We both crack up.

But only until he dips his head to tease my nipple with his tongue.

Then nothing’s funny.

But everything’s perfect.

Right.

Glorious.

“My turn,” I gasp when he pinches my other nipple. “Roll over.”

“No.”

“Wyatt—”

“I love that irritated note in your voice. It makes me so fucking hard.”

I look down as he pushes up onto all fours, and whoa.

He’s definitely hard.

“C’mon, Calamity Ellie. Tease me.”

I push him onto his back and twist, and my stupid leg twinges. But before I can moan, Wyatt kisses me and gently caresses my leg and hip. “What’s more comfortable for you? A bed?”

I shake my head, because dammit, I still want to be the kind of crazy that has sex on pool tables. And it’s not the table. “I don’t know. Just—I don’t know how I bend best.”

He grins like that’s a challenge. “Then let’s start with what we know works.” He leans me back again and kisses me, and his long fingers trace a path over my hip to my panties.

I gasp as his knuckles graze the cotton over my clit.

“But you—haven’t—not—”

“I have a few years of taunting you to make up for,” he says as he moves to kiss a path down my jaw to that sweet, sensitive spot at the base of my throat.

“I was—you were—oh, god, Wyatt.”

“I’m going to take your panties off.”

My yes comes out garbled as he peels the waistband down over my hips, taking special care around my scars, kissing my breasts, my belly, all the way down until he’s nipping at my inner thigh.

My pussy’s aching. “Touch me,” I gasp, widening my right leg.

“Soon,” he says, still pressing soft kisses on my sensitive skin.

“Now.”

He kisses lower on my leg, heading for my knee. “If you’re in that much of a hurry, maybe you should touch yourself.”

He lifts hooded eyes to mine. Touch yourself, Ellie. Turn me on by touching yourself.

I hold his gaze while my fingers drift between my legs to stroke my slick folds. “Like this?” Oh, god, that feels good, but it’s not enough.

“More,” he rasps out.

I flick at my clit, and my legs open wider, because it’s not enough. “I want you,” I tell him.

“Say it again.”

“I want you.”

“Say my name.”

“Wyatt, I want you.”

Finally, finally, he crawls back up my body until his sheathed length is pressing at my entrance. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“What about tomorrow?” he’s teasing me, gliding his thick head along my seam. “Will you want me tomorrow?”

I grasp his cock and stroke him, and oh, so hard, like iron, and I can feel his pulse in the thick veins circling him. “Tomorrow—argue with you—at breakfast—over toast,” I gasp. “Next week—fighting—who pays for dinner.”

“And next month?” he asks, finally, finally inching inside me toward that needy emptiness that might be in my pussy or that might be in my soul, spreading me and teasing at how well he’ll fill me when he gives me everything.

“Next month—surprise you—on a Tuesday—on my knees.”

“Fuck, Ellie.” He shoves deep inside me, and I cry out in relief at being connected to him. “I don’t want to let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

“You feel so fucking perfect.”

He slowly pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in again, hitting that oh so perfect sensitive spot deep inside me.

“Again,” I gasp.

“Want you every day,” he says as he thrusts into me again.

Every day. No one wants me every day. “You’re craz—aaaah, oh god, Wyatt, more.”

He thrusts again, not too gentle, not too hard, and the anticipation is building, the tension tightening, my pussy swelling and going hypersensitive with every stroke inside me.

“In my bed,” he says.

“On the kitchen table.”

“In the shower.”

“In the backseat of your car.”

“Under the stars.”

“On top of the Eiffel Tower.”

“In your parents’ linen closet.”

I laugh as he thrusts in again, and everything swirls out of focus while my climax hits hard. “Ellie,” he cries, his dick pulsing inside me in time with my pussy squeezing and spasming around him.

“Wyatt,” I gasp when he pumps once, twice more, pushing me higher and farther and deeper until— “Wy—ahh-ahh—”

He pushes up, his dick still straining deep inside me, and when I sneeze, he gasps. “Christ, Ellie, that feels amazing.”