STEAMY DESIRES: wet collections

Chapter 2

The second the door clicked shut, whatever thin restraint had been holding us together snapped.

Ethan shoved me back against the wall hard enough that the breath left my lungs in a rush. His mouth crashed onto mine—open, wet, desperate. There was nothing to be careful about.

His tongue pushed past my lips and I met him with the same hunger, fingers already clawing at the wet fabric of his coat. He shrugged it off without breaking the kiss and it hit the floor with a heavy sound. My hands found the hem of his shirt next, dragging it up so I could get at the hot skin underneath. He was solid, tense, already breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth, then kissed me again even rougher.

His hands slid under my shirt, palms dragging up my ribs until he reached my bra. He yanked the cups down instead of bothering with the clasp, thumbs scraping over my nipples until they peaked hard.

The jolt of it went straight between my legs. I made a broken sound and he answered by pinching one, rolling it between his fingers while his other hand shoved my leggings down over my hips.

The cool air of the apartment hit my bare skin for only a second before his hand was there, cupping me roughly through the thin cotton of my underwear.

I was already soaked. He felt it immediately. A low, almost pained noise left his throat as he pushed the fabric aside and slid two thick fingers straight into me.

My head thumped back against the wall. The stretch burned in the best way. He fucked them into me hard and shallow, the heel of his hand grinding against my clit with every thrust. I could hear how wet I was. The sound alone made my face burn with shame and want at the same time. I clung to his shoulders and rolled my hips to meet his hand, chasing more.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he said against my neck, voice rough. “Don’t lie.”

I didn’t answer cus I didn’t need to. My body was already doing it for me, clenching around his fingers, dripping down onto his wrist. He curled them and found the spot that made my knees buckle.

I would have slid down the wall if he hadn’t pinned me there with his hips.

He pulled his fingers out suddenly. I made a needy, angry sound that turned into a gasp when he spun me around and bent me forward over the narrow entryway table.

My palms slapped against the wood and behind me I heard the metallic scrape of his belt, the rasp of his zipper. Then the blunt, hot head of his cock was pushing between my thighs, sliding through the mess he had made of me.

He didn’t ease in, one hard thrust and he buried himself to the hilt. The force of it shoved me forward; the table legs scraped against the floor. A raw cry tore out of my throat. He was thicker than I had let myself imagine, stretching me open with a burn that melted almost instantly into pure heat.

Ethan groaned like the feeling of me had punched the air out of him. His hands clamped down on my hips hard enough to bruise and he started fucking me in deep, punishing strokes.

Every thrust forced a sound out of me half moan, half sob. The table rattled beneath us. I could see our reflection in the dark window across the room: me bent over, nightgown and leggings tangled around my thighs, him behind me with his shirt still half-on, face tight with concentration and guilt. The image only made me wetter. I pushed back to meet him, greedy for every inch.

“Jesus look at you,” he gritted out. One hand left my hip to fist in my hair, pulling my head back so the arch of my spine deepened. The new angle let him drive even deeper. “Taking it like you’ve been waiting for it.”

I had been God help me, I had been.

He reached around and found my clit again, rubbing tight, ruthless circles while he kept slamming into me. The dual sensation built so fast it almost hurt

. My orgasm ripped through me without warning violently, shaking, my cunt clamping down around him so hard he cursed and had to slow for a second. I came with his name half-formed on my lips and the image of Lila’s smiling face flashing behind my eyes like a brand. Ethan didn’t give me time to recover.

He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the table in one motion. My legs went around his waist automatically. He shoved back inside me just as hard as before and started fucking me face-to-face, one hand braced beside my hip, the other gripping the back of my neck so I had to look at him. His eyes were dark, almost black, full of the same ugly, electric guilt I felt twisting under my own ribs.

“This is so fucked up,” he panted against my mouth, but he never stopped moving. “You’re her best friend—”

“I know.” My voice cracked. I dug my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Don’t stop.”

He kissed me like he was trying to punish us both for it. The table kept up a steady, obscene rhythm against the wall. Every wet slap of skin on skin sounded too loud in the quiet apartment.

I was already climbing toward a second orgasm, the first one still fluttering through me in aftershocks. Ethan’s thrusts turned shorter, harder, more desperate. I felt him swell even thicker inside me.

“Come again,” he ordered, thumb finding my clit once more. “I want to feel it when I fill you up.”

The words alone almost did it. When he pinched my clit between two fingers and thrust particularly deep, I broke.

My second climax tore through me even harder than the first legs shaking around him, a broken cry trapped against his shoulder. The rhythmic pulsing of my cunt dragged him over with me. Ethan buried himself to the root and came with a low, guttural groan, cock jerking as he spilled hot and deep inside me.

I felt every pulse, every thick spurt, the heat of it spreading.

We stayed locked together for a long time afterward, both of us trembling, breathing like we had run for miles. His forehead rested against mine and I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

Slowly the reality of what we had done settled over us like cold air. Ethan eased out of me. I felt the immediate trickle of his cum sliding down my inner thigh. He looked at it, then at my face, and something complicated and painful moved behind his eyes.

He stepped back just far enough to pull his clothes into place with unsteady hands. I stayed sitting on the table, legs still open, the evidence of us wet and cooling between them neither of us spoke for a full minute. Finally he dragged a hand down his face.

“I should go.” I nodded. My throat was too tight for words.

He paused at the door with his hand on the knob, back still to me. For a second I thought he might turn around, might say something that would make any of this make sense. Instead he opened the door and left. The soft click of the lock sounded final.

I stayed where I was long after he was gone, the taste of him still in my mouth, the ache of him still deep between my legs, already knowing that tomorrow I would have to look my best friend in the eye and pretend I hadn’t just let her boyfriend fuck me raw against my own entryway table.

The rain kept falling outside, nothing would ever be the same. And the worst part is the part that made my stomach twist with fresh guilt was that some dark, honest corner of me already wanted him to come back and do it all over again.