Adria has wanted Xander for months. Her friend already has him, so she tells herself to get over it. She’ll be happy for them. Really. Tonight her friend comes home drunk on his arm. He steers her straight into the bedroom and shuts the door. Now it’s just Adria and him in the quiet living room, the low light warm against her skin. She opens her mouth to say she has feelings, but he’s already closing the space between them. His hands find her waist first, then slide up under the thin cotton of her shirt. She tastes the beer on his tongue when he kisses her, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that says he’s been thinking about this too. Heat rolls through her belly, settles lower. Her black hair falls forward when she tilts her head, brushing his cheek. She drops to her knees without a word. The floor is cool under her bare legs. She frees him, wraps her fingers around the thick weight of him, strokes once, twice. Then she opens and takes him in, inch by inch, until her nose brushes his stomach and her throat works around the head. Saliva slicks her chin. She pulls back only to sink down again, eyes watering, lips stretched tight. Every wet sound fills the room. Above her he groans, low and steady. One hand rests on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding her there while she works. She pulls off to catch her breath, strokes him with a slick fist, then leans in again, deeper this time, until tears slip down her cheeks and her own hand is between her thighs, rubbing quick circles over the damp spot on her panties. He pulls her up, spins her around, bends her over the arm of the couch. Her shorts and underwear hit the floor in one move. He pushes inside in one long stroke and she bites her forearm to keep quiet. Each thrust rocks her forward; her hair swings in her face. She reaches back, spreads herself wider for him, feels the slap of skin and the tight coil building fast. When he’s close he pulls out. She drops to her knees again, mouth open, tongue out. Hot ropes stripe her cheek, her lips, the bridge of her nose. Some lands on her black hair. She licks what she can reach, swallows, wipes the rest with two fingers and sucks them clean while she looks up at him. Down the hall the bedroom door stays shut. Her friend sleeps on. Adria stays on the floor a moment longer, breathing hard, skin flushed, the taste of him still thick on her tongue.
Adria has wanted Xander for months. Her friend already has him, so she tells herself to get over it. She’ll be happy for them. Really. Tonight her friend comes home drunk on his arm. He steers her straight into the bedroom and shuts the door. Now it’s just Adria and him in the quiet living room, the low light warm against her skin. She opens her mouth to say she has feelings, but he’s already closing the space between them. His hands find her waist first, then slide up under the thin cotton of her shirt. She tastes the beer on his tongue when he kisses her, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that says he’s been thinking about this too. Heat rolls through her belly, settles lower. Her black hair falls forward when she tilts her head, brushing his cheek. She drops to her knees without a word. The floor is cool under her bare legs. She frees him, wraps her fingers around the thick weight of him, strokes once, twice. Then she opens and takes him in, inch by inch, until her nose brushes his stomach and her throat works around the head. Saliva slicks her chin. She pulls back only to sink down again, eyes watering, lips stretched tight. Every wet sound fills the room. Above her he groans, low and steady. One hand rests on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding her there while she works. She pulls off to catch her breath, strokes him with a slick fist, then leans in again, deeper this time, until tears slip down her cheeks and her own hand is between her thighs, rubbing quick circles over the damp spot on her panties. He pulls her up, spins her around, bends her over the arm of the couch. Her shorts and underwear hit the floor in one move. He pushes inside in one long stroke and she bites her forearm to keep quiet. Each thrust rocks her forward; her hair swings in her face. She reaches back, spreads herself wider for him, feels the slap of skin and the tight coil building fast. When he’s close he pulls out. She drops to her knees again, mouth open, tongue out. Hot ropes stripe her cheek, her lips, the bridge of her nose. Some lands on her black hair. She licks what she can reach, swallows, wipes the rest with two fingers and sucks them clean while she looks up at him. Down the hall the bedroom door stays shut. Her friend sleeps on. Adria stays on the floor a moment longer, breathing hard, skin flushed, the taste of him still thick on her tongue.
