Page 84 of The Boys Next Door
“I love you too, Ian,” she whispered. “So much.”
Then the breath hissed out of her when fingers surrounded her clit. Ian stroked her aching nub, sending sparks of sharp pleasure through her soaked cunt and full ass. It didn’t take much. A few slides of his fingers through her slick folds, a few gentle pinches, and she began to shudder in a long spasm that found release in quivering around Ian’s cock.
“Oh God,” she gasped. “Oh God, oh God…”
“Fall apart, baby,” Ian whispered. He hadn’t stopped caressing her hard pearl, his breath getting faster as her tight warmth clutched his cock. “Don’t hold it in. I got you.”
She just kept coming, her ass clenching on Ian’s cock, hot juices flowing over his fingers as he massaged her swollen pussy. With every wave of pleasure, she felt Ian sink deeper. Oh God, she was opening to him completely, taking his thick rod all the way inside her. She came again, harder, deeper.
“I can’t stop,” she moaned.
“Don’t. Don’t even try.”
Ian really was fucking her ass now, rolling his hips to bury his cock inside her again and again. And she was taking him. Thrusting back, moving her own hips, looking over her shoulder to lock eyes with him as she clutched his sheets.
Jets of warmth filled her ass. Ian groaned, holding her firmly as he came. Each thrust sent a moan from her mouth. When he finally eased his cock from her clinging tightness, she melted onto his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat as his arms wrapped around her.
*
Afterward, Diana leaned against Ian in the shower. Water steamed over both of them, and heat fogged the master bathroom. She couldn’t believe she was rinsing off in Mr. and Mrs. O’Brian’s bathroom again, but Ian was completely at home. He lazily soaped her generous breasts, his body relaxed against Diana’s as she lathered up his muscled chest and tugged at the hair under his arms.
“Tickles.” Ian twitched and grinned.
“Right. You’re ticklish.” Memories of tickle fights with the twins were drifting back. Ian had been way more ticklish than Brendan — when Diana could get at him. She let her hands skate over his ribs, teasing him with soapy fingers.
“Don’t even try.” His hand closed around her wrist. Before she could really dig in, Ian pinched her nipple, rubbing it to hardness under the cascade of hot water.
“Ian…” she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, all tickling forgotten. She’d thought she was beyond worn out from the past — hour? Two hours? How long had it been? —but a twinge of pleasure shot through her moist pussy.
“You always want it, don’t you?”
“With you,” she whispered. She cupped his balls, stroking her thumb gently over the soft wrinkled skin, and his eyes closed for a second. “There’s so much I want to do with you, Ian.”
She expected a crack about how many ways they could fuck, but Ian just leaned his wet head against the shower wall.
“Like what?”
“Show you all the places I like,” she murmured. “The things I like to do. The things I never show anyone else. Um, the poetry I hide from everybody.”
Ian’s grin widened. “Hell yes, you’re showing me that.”
She squeezed his balls very lightly, and he braced a hand on her hip. “And have you show me what matters to you.”
*
The kitchen was overflowing with empty chips bag, stacks of watermelon rinds, and piles of cans. A familiar voice carried in from outside: Brendan, in his swim trunks, on the patio laughing with the few remaining guests, a beer bottle in his hand.
Diana could only admire the way he effortlessly wrapped up the conversation, said goodbye to the stragglers like it had been their idea to leave, and made a big show of ushering them around the side of the house.
A cold glass pressed against her hand. Ian must have put it there. Diana gulped water as she leaned over the sink, wearing one of Ian’s t-shirts worn to soft thinness and smelling like him, and a pair of his plaid boxers that hung off her hips.
Ian, in another pair of boxers and nothing else, shook his head over the kitchen, whistling. “I don’t know who makes this kind of mess.” He took a long swig of water, turned to Diana, and blew a whale spout straight at her.
“You’re disgusting,” she spluttered, wiping water off her face.
“And you’ve got a wet t-shirt,” he drawled. Diana glared at Ian’s shit-eating smile, his eyes on her full breasts through the soaked cotton. “What?” He gave her an injured look. “You looked hot. Oops, you’re still hot.”
He reached for his water glass again. Diana dove for it, too. Right as their hands connected and knocked it over with a splash, Brendan walked in, alone.