Page 129 of Faking It Right
“Fuck, I’m close,” Harley warned, his movements becoming more urgent beneath me. His fingers dug into my hips, guiding me with increasing desperation. “I’m about to come inside you, Ryker.”
A possessive growl nearly ripped from my throat. Love, intimacy, and lust all tangled together. The thought of him filling me, marking me from the inside, pushed me closer to the edge.
With a sudden movement, Harley pulled me flush against him, burying himself deep as he came with a low, rumbling groan. I felt every pulse as he came, the primal satisfaction making my right hand's lifetime achievement award look like a participation trophy by comparison.
The hot pulse of Harley’s release was something I’d become addicted to. It was the final push I needed. Harley wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking me through my climax as I forgot to smother my moan of pleasure, which escaped louder than I’d intended.
His voice was thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let everyone know how good I make you feel.”
I froze in mortification when someone pounded the door like an FBI raid was one battering ram away from busting through.
“Hey, horndogs!” Sawyer called out. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’re waking the neighbors three houses down, not to mention the dead.”
I buried my face in Harley’s shoulder, wanting to disappear into the mattress. The universe could have swallowed me whole, and I’d thank it.
Harley, still buried in my ass and unbothered by the interruption, chuckled. “Sorry, Sawyer! Your brother just can’t help himself around me. He gets a little loud when I hit the right spot.”
“Shut up!” I hissed against his skin, pinching his side hard.
“What?” His grin was unrepentant. “It’s true.”
Her voice dripped with sisterly annoyance. “Well, keep the moans down or take it to a hotel next time.”
“Sorry, I’ll buy you noise-canceling headphones for your birthday,” Harley replied.
A strangled noise that was half laugh, half groan of pure mortification escaped my lips.
“Make sure they’re top-of-the-line!” Sawyer’s voice faded as her footsteps retreated.
Once I was sure she was gone, I smacked Harley’s chest. “I hate you so much right now.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied, kissing the tip of my nose. “You love me.”
I couldn’t argue with that, even if I wanted to. With a wince, I lifted off him, a small whimper escaping as I felt his release begin to leak from me. A hot blush crept up my neck at the messy, undeniable evidence that he’d just been inside me.
Before I could move to clean up, Harley reversed our positions with surprising speed, pinning me to the bed. His voice droppedan octave lower. “It’s so fucking sexy watching my cum leaking out of you,” he murmured, using his fingers to force more out. “I never get tired of seeing you like this.”
“Sticky and gross?”
“Like you’re mine.”
I tried to be annoyed my sister had caught us, but satisfaction surged through me. Something about the way he looked at me, as if I was the most desirable person he’d ever seen, made my heart race and my body respond despite my exhaustion.
“Harley,” I protested as he continued fingering me, pressing against my prostate with practiced ease. I squirmed beneath him as my cock twitched, attempting to rally for round two.
He leaned down to kiss my neck. “So fucking perfect. Your body’s still hungry for me, isn’t it? Wanting more, even after I filled you up.”
“We can’t,” I gasped, my hips betraying me by rocking against his hand. “Sawyer will?—”
“I’m not stopping until you come a second time,” Harley declared, his free hand wrapping around my hardening cock. “I want to see you fall apart again.”
True to his word, he was merciless as I begged for relief, alternating between stroking my cock and teasing my prostate until I was a writhing mess beneath him.
“Please, Harley,” I whimpered, not sure if I was begging him to stop or continue. “I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can,” he insisted, curling his fingers. “Come for me, Ryker. One more time.”
When my second orgasm slammed into me, my dick enthusiastically recreated what felt like a Jackson Pollock painting’s worth of cum on my stomach. I arched off the bed, making a sound that probably violated the county noise ordinances. Harley worked me through it with gentle encouragement, like a suspiciously attractive Sherpa guide who had somehow led me to the summit of Mount Holy-Fucking-Shit.
