My Ex and My Best Friend Planned My Reunion Roast. The Town Chat Roasted Them Instead. novel · Chapter 18 of 24

Chapter 18: Second Night

He had my sweater over my head before the screen door finished banging.

It hit the kitchen floor somewhere behind us, and his mouth came down on mine, hungry and hard.

The rain started in earnest on the roof.

There was no signal in that kitchen and no floating text.

No one in the whole world was watching, and I had never been so glad of anything.

"Say it," I said against his teeth.

"Say what?"

"What you almost did to your brother on that gravel."

"I didn't do it."

"I know. Now do it to me."

His whole body went tight, and then he lifted me off my feet and put my back against the wall.

My legs went around his waist.

He ground into me through two layers of denim, and I felt how hard he was, and I whimpered.

"Fuck, Britta."

"Take it off. All of it."

He set me down, and we tore at each other.

My bra went, his shirt went, and the buttons of his flannel pinged off the cupboard doors.

He got my jeans down my legs in one rough pull, and I kicked free of them and went for his belt.

"Slow down," he said, hoarse, with a laugh in it.

"No."

"You'll tear something."

"I'll tear something of yours if you don't hurry."

I got his belt open, his jeans open, and my hand around him, and the laugh went out of his throat.

He was already thick and heavy, hot as a stove, and a bead of wet slid over my thumb.

I stroked him slowly, root to tip, and watched his head fall back against the cupboard.

"Britta."

"Look at me."

He looked.

I went down on my knees on Gram's linoleum, with the rain drumming overhead and my eyes locked on his.

His breath stopped.

I licked the head of him, slow and flat, and tasted salt.

"Jesus."

I took him into my mouth.

I took him deep, until I felt him at the back of my throat.

Then I pulled off slowly, with my tongue working under the ridge.

His hand came down into my braid, and it shook.

"Don't stop," he said. "Don't, don't."

I sucked him hard and bobbed my head in a rhythm, one hand wrapped around the base, and the other digging into his thigh.

He swore low and steady, a long string of curses with my name in them.

His hips began to move.

I let him.

I looked up at him through my lashes with my mouth full, and his face was wrecked, mouth open, eyes black.

"You're going to make me come," he said. "Britta. If you want me inside you..."

I let him slip out of my mouth with a wet sound.

"I want you everywhere," I said. "Tonight I get all of it."

He hauled me up by the arms and kissed me, and he tasted himself on my tongue and groaned.

"Front room," he said. "The bed."

"It creaks."

"Good."

He carried me down the hall, my legs around his hips, and the old floorboards complained under every step.

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