Page 8 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

“Stay there.”

I watch him strip—shirt first, tossed aside onto the floor, then his jeans. His boxers follow, and his cock springs free.

I bite my lip. Hard.

He doesn’t give me time to stare. He drops to his knees, hooks his fingers in my waistband, and yanks everything off in one move—jeans, underwear, all of it. His palm slides up my thighs, nudging them open as he goes.

Then he touches me with the same confidence he had in the studio, only this time, there’s nothing professional about it.

Two fingers stroke through my pussy, spreading me open before circling my clit with practiced precision. My hips lift off the bed, a strangled sound catching in my throat.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous,” he says, and his voice does that thing where it drops a few octaves.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he says.

“Too much?” I laugh. “You made me come earlier without even touching me. I’d say we’re already well past too much.”

He grins, and I swear it should be illegal. Then he ducks his head, and begins to lick me. The first swipe of his tongue is slow. I jerk, hips twitching, but his hands are already holding me in place.

“Stay still,” he whispers, his mouth close to my skin.

Then he closes his lips over my clit, and sucks.

My head drops back with a gasp and my fingers claw at the sheets.

He flattens his tongue, and drags it through my lips, licking me like he’s starved. Then he goes lower, dipping into my pussy before pulling back up to circle my clit again. I can’t stop moving. My hips buck, begging for more. He presses one strong forearm across my pelvis, holding me down with maddening control.

Then he adds his fingers. One at first. And then another one.

He positions them just so, hitting my g-spot, and keeps his mouth locked on my clit. He doesn’t pull back until I cry out. Then he keeps fucking me with his fingers while his tongue works in tight, relentless circles.

“Oh my god—Jude—I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can.”

And I do. Hard. So fucking hard.

I come with a cry that’s too loud, and a full-body tremble I can’t stop. He doesn’t stop either. He keeps licking me through it, coaxing every last ripple of pleasure from my body until I can’t take it anymore. I push at his shoulders, whimpering, too sensitive to handle another second.

He finally pulls back, mouth wet, lips curved in the most satisfied smile I’ve ever seen.

“Condom,” I mumble. I flop my arm toward the nightstand where I assume he keeps them.

He handles the rest, thank god, because I’m shaking, and my brain is pea soup.

He rolls on the condom, and I feel the weight of him as he settles between my thighs. He brushes my hair back, and looks me in the eyes.

“You sure?”

“Jude,” I pant, “if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, I’m going to spontaneously combust.”

He laughs under his breath, but he doesn’t make me wait. He reaches down, lines himself up, and presses in, filling me inch by inch until I moan and my fingers dig into his arms.

I didn’t realize how empty I was until he filled me. The stretch is so good it borders on painful, but it’s the kind of ache I want to feel over and over again. It’s too much, and not enough all at once. It’s been a while. My vibrator’s a trooper, but this? This is an entirely different realm of pleasure.

He groans into my neck, and starts to move.

I lose track of time. Of space. Of language.