Bro Code(25)

“Come here,” I roll closer, and open my arms.

She scoots closer and the warmth of her curves against the firm planes of my body is immediately too much.

Being near her after all these years, and seeing the woman she's grown into? It'd be impossible not to want her.

My cock begins to harden and grow, and though I've promised myself a thousand times nothing will happen I find myself wanting to play just the tip. Fuck, it'd probably be all she could handle anyway. When she rode my fingers to orgasm in my car, I felt how deliciously tight she was. The way she squeezed and clenched around me almost made me come untouched.

And now I'm fully hard. That's super helpful.

A shift of her hips closer lets me know she felt it, and how could she not? It's like someone wedged a two by four between us.

She reaches back, pushing her fingers into the hair at the back of my neck, and lightly caresses me as we lie together. It feels so good, and so right, I don't have it in me to tell her to stop.

I know right then this won't be easy. It's in this exact moment I know I've already fallen for her, and that I probably won't ever get over my big, messy, fucked-up feelings for her.

She can’t be mine.

Can’t.

Because I’ll never be able to give her the time she deserves on top of all the other things that stand in our way. So why am I torturing myself?

Because the thought of not touching her is a fate worse than death.





Chapter Twelve


Ava


My frame fits perfectly against Barrett's, like two interlocking puzzle pieces that finally snapped together. His breath is hot against my ear and the scruff of his cheek grazes my neck, making every inch of my skin tingle. He sweeps my hair to the side and kisses me behind my ear and down my neck, his hand wrapped snugly against my hip as he slowly starts grinding his pelvis against me. I let out a little whimper, but he softly lets out a soft “Shh.”

He's right. We may be on a different floor, but we're still under my parents’ roof. My heart is about to beat out of my chest, and my hands are trembling. God, it feels like high school, trying to make out without my parents catching us. Why does that turn me on?

Barrett turns me over so that we’re facing each other. After an entire day spent trying to avoid him, having him here, so close, it's impossible to resist.

“Sorry I got you sick,” I murmur.

“It was worth it,” he whispers back.

I smile at him and watch as his features transform and he breaks into a chuckle. “What?”

“I was just remembering that time you were sick with the stomach flu.”

“Which time?” Thankfully it hasn't happened often, but I don't know what he's referring to.

“I was fourteen, so you must have been, what? Nine?”

Sometimes I forget about our age difference. I nod. “Yeah, I remember that. It was awful.”

“You were so funny back then. You couldn't remember that it was called a stomach bug so you kept telling everyone you had a stomach beetle.”

I swat his arm. “Shush.”

The number of embarrassing stories Barrett knows about me could fill an entire evening.

“I thought it was cute,” he says, touching my cheek.

His lips touch tentatively against mine for the briefest, sweetest of kisses.

The soft thud of footsteps on the stairs makes both of us lock up, frozen in position. It suddenly feels like the time for prayer. Dear God, whoever it is, please don’t let them turn on the lights.

The steps get closer, padding past us and into the kitchen. My hands quiver in their white-knuckle grip on Barrett’s t-shirt. What would we say if we got caught? That the air mattress was uncomfortable? That sleep kissing is totally just as common as sleepwalking?

Neither of us so much as breathes as we listen to whoever is in the kitchen get a glass from the cabinet and turn the faucet on, then off again. We wait for the clunk of the glass being set in the sink, then the padding of the feet heading back up the stairs again.

We take a deep breath in perfect unison. I can hardly hold back my giggles as Barrett gets back to working over my neck with his mouth.

“Why does this have to feel so good when I know it’s so, so wrong?”

He chuckles softly, lifting himself onto one elbow so he can look down at me. “You still feel sick?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. Not really. Just incredibly turned on.”

I don't know what it is about him that loosens my inhibitions. Maybe it's because I've known him so many years, but he makes me feel comfortable, and safe, like I can really be myself.

He groans and leans down to kiss me again, more deeply this time, his tongue tangling exquisitely with mine.

I shift restlessly beside him, wanting more contact, but knowing I'm probably not going to get it.

But then he surprises me by tossing back the sheets and laying his hand flat against my belly—low, like almost touching my panties. His expression is pained, like he's fighting with himself.

“Promise you can stay quiet?”

I nod, barely breathing.

“Then let me take care of it.”

He shifts down to a kneeling position on the floor. Oh fuck, he’s not going to…is he? Grabbing my ankles, he pulls me toward him so that my legs are hanging off the end of the bed and his face is right between my legs. Fuck, he totally is.