Page 40 of Reach Around

I smile, lips slick and wicked, then take him deeper, savoring the taste, the weight, the way his fingers clutch the sheets and his head tips back in pure, desperate pleasure. The power rushes through me, sweet and heady—I get to do this. I get to have him like this, finally, no barriers, no secrets.

Then I lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, teasing him just the way I’ve imagined a thousand times.

His head tips back, a broken sound escaping his throat. “Shit—JoJo, I’m not—gonna last—”

I just hum, tongue swirling around the head, tasting him, savoring the way his thighs tremble under my palms. I take himdeeper, just a little, just enough for him to gasp my name and thread his fingers through my hair, gentle but desperate.

He’s shaking, breath coming in ragged bursts. “Baby, please—I need—inside. I need you.”

I give him one last, slow lick, then rise, licking my lips just to see his eyes go dark. “You can have me,” I whisper, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.

He’s still trembling, trying to catch his breath, when I reach into my top dresser drawer and pull out a single, slightly crumpled condom packet. Brogan blinks at it, then at me, eyebrows rising.

“You—uh—always keep one handy?” he asks, voice shaky, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.

Heat flares in my cheeks. “Honestly? I bought it forever ago. Just… you know, for when this finally happened. Not that I thought it actually would, but…” I can’t help the nervous laugh that bubbles up. “I guess I’ve been saving it for you.”

His face softens in a way that makes my whole body ache. “JoJo,” he says, voice thick, “I can’t believe… Shit. You’re gonna kill me.”

I press the condom into his hand, fingers brushing his, my gaze locked on his. “Don’t make me wait any longer, Brogan. Please.”

He grins—crooked, reverent, a little wrecked. “Not a chance.”

He tears open the condom with shaking hands, rolling it on his hard cock while his eyes stay locked on mine, wild and searching. After we lay back down on the bed, he just hovers over me, his body braced on one trembling arm, the other hand tracing my jaw, my collarbone, like he can’t quite believe he gets to touch me this way.

“Joely Parnell,” he breathes, “if this isn’t real, don’t wake me up.”

I hook my legs around his hips, pulling him closer, desperate. “It’s real. I want you. Please, Brogan.”

He leans down, kisses me—deep, slow, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my whole body arch. And then, instead of rushing, he shifts lower, his hand slipping between us, fingers searching, finding me already slick and aching.

He strokes me—soft, lazy circles over my clit, then firmer, learning exactly what makes me gasp, what makes my thighs tremble. His forehead presses to mine, both of us breathless, laughing a little at the intensity.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice broken. “So fucking wet, JoJo. Is this… all for me?”

“All for you,” I promise, hips rolling into his hand.

He keeps working me, not letting up, watching every reaction, making sure I’m right on the edge. Only when I’m desperate, shaking, practically begging, does he line himself up and start to push in—slow at first, making sure I feel every inch.

The stretch is perfect, so much, almost too much, but he cups my face, kissing me through it, whispering nonsense and my name until he’s buried all the way inside.

He doesn’t move, not at first—just breathes with me, thumb still circling my clit, waiting for my body to adjust, waiting for my eyes to meet his.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“God, yes. Brogan—move. Please.”

The stretch of him, the way he fills me, is overwhelming in the best way. For a second, all I can do is feel every inch of him, every slow heartbeat, the wild, perfect pressure of him deep inside. There’s a flash of disbelief, but this is real, this is Brogan, my Brogan, finally, after all the wanting and wishing and years of hiding in plain sight.

Physically, it’s so good I swear I might shatter, his cock thick and hot, every slow thrust grinding perfectly against that sweetspot, his thumb still working my clit like he wants nothing more than to see me fall apart. Emotionally, I’m wrecked, open, raw. My heart throbs in my throat, eyes stinging with the force of how much I love him, how long I’ve needed this. It’s not just sex—it’s a homecoming.

It’s everything.

Brogan’s thumb never leaves my clit, making sure I unravel all over again just for him. I come hard, right there with him, his name a prayer on my lips, his body shaking as he lets go, face buried in my neck, both of us ruined and remade.

My breath shudders out. My hands grip his back like he’s the only thing tethering me to the planet. His rhythm is steady, slow, deep—like he’s savoring every second. Like he doesn’t want it to end any more than I do.

I whisper his name.

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