Page 93 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
She nods at me in agreement. And we do it back and forth a few more times, smiling at one another like fools, each waiting for the other to look away.
“Knock it off,” Blake complains.
“I wasn’t doing anything,” I say, then wink at Brie.
“Me neither,” she adds.
Blake rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Okay,” Brie announces. “That was the last tulle bag. Are we out of candles and matchboxes?”
“Yes, thank god,” Blake says. “I can’t believe that Taylor was going to sit around and do this for fun with her bridesmaids.”
“Do girls like this shit?” I ask Brie.
“Don’t look at me,” she says. “I’m not getting married.”
“That’s because you’re already married,” Blake says.
“We aren’t married,” Bristol and I both say together. This time, when we look at each other, she smiles first, and I follow.
* * *
I want to throw the alarm out the window and keep sleeping. There’s no way it’s time to get up. I just fell asleep. I reach toward the nightstand and pound my phone with my fist. It falls to the floor. Either I silenced the alarm or killed my phone. I don’t care which.
I curl back around the warm body in front of me and cup the breast being offered for the taking.
“Mmm,” Brie mumbles and wiggles her ass back onto my dick.
I squeeze her tits through the t-shirt she’s wearing, then fondle the nipple. It hardens under my touch, making me smile. I fucking love that her tits are so responsive.
Touching her tits makes her ass wiggle against me.
“Your ass is writing checks you said you aren’t cashing again.” I leave one hand playing with her tits and move the other down between her legs. The tiny boy-short panties she wore to bed, which were supposed to be a turn-off, couldn’t be more the opposite. And she’s wet. Already.
She reaches her arm back and slides her hand between us to palm my hard dick. “Is this the bank?” she asks, then snort-laughs. “I can’t continue with that one. I’m too tired to come up with check-related innuendos just to continue your morning routine.”
“You don’t even have to talk, sweetheart. In fact, you can stay quiet and just keep squeezing my junk like that, and we’ll have the best morning ever.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to hear my voice?”
I slide a finger inside her and begin a slow finger fuck. “I am.”
She arches her back and pushes her hips against my finger to get it deeper. “That’s just rude.”
“Ssshhhh.” I put my other index finger against her lips.
She laughs. I cover her mouth with my hand. “Affhowl,” she says, or tries to say, through my fingers. Then she spits on my hand.
“Gross!” I pull my hand away and wipe it on the front of her t-shirt, laughing.
“Ew! Yuck!” she cries, laughing harder.
“You can’t say yuck; it’s your spit.” I take my time wiping my palm, doing more palming of her breasts than wiping of my hand.
“You just want an excuse to touch my tits.”
“I don’t need an excuse.”
