Head Over Heels

by Serena Bell

  She pulls at my T-shirt, sliding her hands under it. They’re warm and relentless, exploring me everywhere, her fingertips circling my nipples and sifting through my hair. She tries to get the T-shirt off. “Chase,” she groans.

  Obviously we need to get ourselves behind a closed door as soon as humanly possible. I stand up with her still in my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist, where I feel like they belong. “Upstairs.”

  I carry her up the stairs and down the hall, depositing her on my bed, which I—miraculously, luckily—made this morning. It looks terrific with her on it. Her lips are red, her cheeks flushed, her knees parted, her dress pushed up high enough that I can see the edge of her panties. I lean down, set my mouth there, and kiss along the hem of the dress.

  I catch the scent of her arousal, rich and salty, and my dick throbs.

  “Chase,” she murmurs as I push her hem higher, revealing a pair of barely there black lace panties.

  “You know what you remind me of right now?”

  She shakes her head, eyes wide.

  “A present. A really sexy present. And you know what I want to do to you?”

  Her eyes gleam. She’s into this, into me, which is such a turn-on. “What?”

  “Unwrap you and fuck you.”

  For a moment I think I’ve gone too far, but then she releases a breath that’s more moan than air, a moan I feel to the bottom of my soul.

  “Please,” she whispers.

  Chapter 19

  Liv

  His eyes are dark. Hard. Hot. Relentless—he won’t let me look away. He traces a finger up and down my sex through the lace, which is soaked through.

  I can’t help it, I moan. And arch, lifting myself to get more of his touch. To get it where I need it.

  He pulls his hand back. Bastard. I want that hand back. I want his hand under my panties. I want my panties gone, far, far away. I want—

  “You’re so wet. Were you thinking about this? During dinner? In the living room?” he demands.

  All I can do is nod.

  “Good.” He gives me a look of pure male triumph, then grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed.

  “These are in the way,” he says, tugging my panties down. He pulls one leg up over each of his shoulders, settling between them. He kneels at the side of the bed and kisses my thigh, nibbling, breathing warmth that tingles everywhere. My nipples are so tight they hurt. Then he gives the other thigh the same treatment. He works his way up, alternating. “God, you smell good. Do you taste as good as you smell?”

  His mouth is on me, soft, hot, skilled—his tongue circling to my center, then widening out. He is patient and relentless and unbelievably good at his craft, and he builds me up so slowly and steadily, the sensation beginning to spiral out, bigger and bigger, pulling more and more of me in, until I am coming, bucking as he holds my hips down, as he flattens one hand over my stomach and licks the last of my orgasm out of me.

  “You taste even better than you smell,” he says, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he regards the slick mess of his handiwork.

  All I can do is hum my approval. I’m throbbing so deeply and so thoroughly that it’s hard to think about anything else.

  “Can I fuck you?”

  I choke out a moan.

  “Is that a yes?”

  He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, liberates a square of foil, and drops it on the bed.

  He pulls his T-shirt over his head.

  “Wait. I want to look at you.”

  His eyes meet mine, startled, and his face flushes. He stands by the side of the bed, not flexing or showing off, just letting me look. I slowly peel my limp rag of a self off the bed and run my hands over all the contours of his torso—the ridges in his abs, the taunting trail of hair, the hard-spun muscles that form his chest and shoulders and arms. And he lets me, his eyes closing in a fierce pleasure that makes me feel strangely, disturbingly tender.

  I kneel up on the bed and touch my mouth to one of his nipples, then the other, and now it’s his turn to groan. “Liv—”

  I trace the kiss down the center of his chest, down the center valley of his abs, to his navel, my tongue dipping in.

  “Oh, Jesus, Liv, no, don’t.” He cups my face in his hands. “I will come before you can get your mouth on me.” He releases me and reaches into his jeans, adjusting himself, creating a gorgeous ridge under the denim and a tantalizing gap where his waistband no longer meets his skin.

  His threat only eggs me on, because the idea of making Chase lose control dissolves my sanity.

  I dip my tongue into the gap where his erection has distended his waistband and find him there, velvet and salty.

  “Oh, shit,” he says, but doesn’t pull away.

  I reach for the top button of his jeans, undo it. The next and the next and the next, until I can free him from his jeans and his briefs. I admit to myself that I have been anticipating this moment from the first clash of my hip against his erection yesterday. And he doesn’t disappoint. Long and thick and dark and swollen, the cut head plump and slick from pre-cum and my tongue. I can’t resist ducking my head again and swirling my tongue around him.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  His voice is thick and rough.

  I nod, and swirl again.

  “I’ve been fantasizing about this.”

  “This in particular? Me giving you head?”

  His eyes darken. “You giving me head. When I saw that photo of you with the ice cream cone. When you were crouched on your froggie lily pad the other day, gazing up at me in worship.”

  I stick my tongue out at him, and he waggles his eyebrows.

  “That’s a lot of thinking about me blowing you. I hope it lives up.”

  I lie down on my belly on the bed—still in my dress, which will have to be dry-cleaned—and open my mouth, open to him, and take him as deep as I can.

  “Oh, fucking fuck, Liv, yes, Jesus, yes.”

  The longing in his wrecked voice makes me ache so much that I almost ask him to fuck me, but then his cock swells against my tongue and I double down on plan A. I’m still throbbing deep from what his mouth did to me moments ago, and I can feel myself getting wetter and more swollen as I work him up and down, my hand stroking his balls and the base of his cock. He tenses, his thighs, his abs, his glutes clenching under my palms as I guide him to slide in and out between my slick lips.

  “Liv.” His voice is urgent, and he tries to pull away, but I hold him close. “Liv—”

  The tension rises in me, too, as he swells in my mouth and thrusts involuntarily, hard, my tongue and my hands controlling the depth, my body so in tune with his that I know he’s coming a second before I feel the hot spurts against the back of my throat, before I hear his voice breaking in a cry.

  He collapses on the bed next to me. We lie there, side by side.

  He takes a deep breath. “Give me three minutes.”

  I look over. His eyes are closed. He looks blissful, destroyed. I feel mighty self-satisfied about that. Also, limp and sated and glow-y.

  “Three minutes, huh?”

  “Maybe five. And then I’m going to fulfill the other half of the ‘unwrapping-and-fucking’ I promised you.”

  Despite the fact that I came not so long ago, my body tightens with anticipation. At the same time, my brain starts to kick in.

  What do you think you’re doing, Liv?

  I’m doing what Eve and I talked about. Having a ride before I leave Disneyland.

  Are you sure about that?

  “Liv. Quit thinking so hard. There’s steam coming out of your ears.”

  I flip him the bird. “It’s just—Chase, you’re my best friend. And I don’t want that to change.”

  He rolls over, props himself up, and smiles down at
me. “Hush. That won’t change. We’re best friends who happen to have discovered a few mind-blowing benefits. It happens all the time.”

  “I’m moving to Denver.”

  I’m not sure why I say it, or what I want him to say back.

  “You said yourself, it’s only a plane ride,” he says. “And in the meantime, we have a week and a half to make each other whimper and beg. And I know I sure as hell want to bury myself in that sweet pussy—”

  I make a choked sound.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Like that, do you?”

  I do. I love dirty talk.

  “Sorry, as I was saying, sweet, hot, wet pussy—” His turn to make a choked sound, maybe partly in response to the heat rising in my face, which must be visible. “Jesus, Liv, if I’d known, we could have been doing this for years. Just think of the consolation possibilities! You go on a crappy date and then—” He groans.

  “That’s sick, Chase.”

  “I think it’s sexy.”

  “That’s the sick part.”

  But I secretly think he’s got a point. What we just did was so much better than any sex I’ve had in the last three years—it does seem like a waste not to have done it sooner.

  Chapter 20

  Chase

  She’s laughing now, which is huge. It means that at least for now, she’s not preparing her speech about how this can never, ever happen again.

  Let me lay this out there: I definitely want it to happen again. Sex like that—it doesn’t show up all the time. Or pretty much ever. When it does, it’s like Christmas. Sexmas!

  Okay, I might be a little giddy. But to continue the Christmas analogy, it’s like I’m a kid who just found out his favorite toy has another feature. A really good feature.

  She presses her hand to her mouth and says, between her fingers, “I kind of hate that you made me feel that good.”

  I laugh. I know what she means. In our strange friendship, we’re not supposed to agree on much, and for a few minutes there, we were in about the most heated agreement possible. “You hate the way I do everything. So what’s one more thing?”

  “I don’t hate the way you do everything,” she says, getting a faraway look on her face, and I feel a surge of good old male pride. “But seriously, Chase, I don’t know. I just don’t know about this. What if one of us gets hurt?”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. Women can talk themselves out of anything. This is Sexmas and she won’t even let herself enjoy it. Well, I can fix that.

  “That’s an excellent question, but I have an even better question. What if one of us feels really, really good?” I glide the palm of my hand down the slope of her belly until my fingers part her lips and slip into her wetness. She gasps as two of my fingers penetrate her.

  “Feel good?” I demand.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You know what I bet would feel even better?”

  “What?” she asks dreamily. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, her hips tipping up. She is gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off her face, the color rising there. I circle her clit with my thumb.

  “My cock. Inside you. I’m just guessing. But tell me if you think I’m wrong.”

  “I. Don’t. Think. You’re—Chase—”

  I’ve curled my fingertips to find her sweet spot, and she gasps.

  “That was a really good blow job,” I say conversationally to her, even though I’m not even sure if she’s listening anymore. She’s so far away, riding her own pleasure up, up, up. “Actually, let me be clear. That was the best blow job I have ever had. And there’s not a shortage of data. I’m not saying that to brag. I’m just pointing out that I know a good blow job, and blow jobs like that don’t grow on trees. So I’m guessing, based on that blow job, that fucking your pussy is going to feel even more amazing.”

  She’s coming, arched and rigid, her mouth open in a silent scream, one hand gripping the covers, the other wrapped so hard around my arm it hurts.

  “Huh,” I say, when she goes limp. “You like knowing how much you turn me on.”

  “You’re so dirty.” She doesn’t sound upset at all about it.

  “I don’t think that should surprise you.”

  “No. Doesn’t surprise me.” She’s still breathless.

  “I was just getting started. I can be dirtier than that. If you think you can take it.”

  She opens her eyes. Levels me an unbelievably hot look. “Oh, I can take it all right. Where’d that condom go?”

  You would not believe how much I want to sink into her. I’m hard again, hard like I was when she had me in her mouth, ready to take everything she can give.

  She tears open the packet I hand her and rolls it on me. Thank God for the take-the-edge-off blow job, or I wouldn’t be able to let her do that.

  She draws her knees up and opens her arms, and as I lower myself over her, I am surprised and a little unnerved by how serious it feels.

  All the foreplay has made her swollen and tight, and I have to fight for control as I line myself up and push into her. As eager as I am to get inside her, I want to make it good so she’ll want to do it again.

  Because oh my fucking God if I didn’t know it for sure before this moment, I know it for sure now: I’m going to do this as many times as she lets me, as long as she’s under my roof.

  Chapter 21

  Liv

  All that “it’s not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean”?

  It’s the size of the boat and the motion of the ocean, and oh my God Chase is good on both counts.

  He enters me slow and sweet. Filling me, spreading me, opening me, inch by inch by inch by—

  Yeah.

  He watches me the whole time he’s easing in, like he’s reading his progress on my face, and when he’s all the way inside me, he presses tight against my pubic bone and thrusts again, then circles his hips against mine. I gasp. It feels so unbelievably good.

  I love the self-satisfied expression on his face.

  “Hell yes,” I whisper, and his eyes go a fraction darker.

  “You feel really good.” His voice is rough. His hips circle again, drawing another gasp out of me. He’s braced over me, muscles tensed with effort. When he pulls back and thrusts again, his abs brush against my belly, and my internal muscles clench, as if in greeting. His lids droop at the sensation, so I squeeze him again deliberately, and he narrows his gaze at me. “Don’t,” he says.

  So I do.

  “Liv,” he warns.

  “What?” I ask innocently, doing it again. He shouldn’t be having all the fun.

  “You’re going to make me come.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Not yet,” he grunts. “Don’t. Want. It. To. Be. Over. Yet.”

  I feel his words all over my body, tingling across my skin, heating my throat and chest, slicking the place his body fills me. I don’t want it to be over yet, either, but I love this Chase, cocky but breakable.

  We’ve caught a rhythm now, his hips riding mine, grinding those taunting circles against me, my clit swollen and sensitive and buzzing with pleasure. Every time he circles me, I squeeze around him, wanting desperately to make him lose his rhythm, his control.

  He knows it, too, and our eyes are locked, breath coming faster and faster. His rhythm falters, color rising high in his cheeks, his eyes closing briefly before he opens them and glares at me.

  He flips us over so I’m on top, and I’m like, wait! Because Chase always wants to be in charge, so why is he giving up control to me?

  Then he starts moving again, and I realize: Chase doesn’t have to be on top to be in control.

  He’s thrusting up into me now, but the motion’s the same—slow, controlled, the perfect friction, the perfect twist and grind. It’s building pleasure up in me, steady and fierce
.

  And his hands are free.

  He cups one breast in each hand.

  “This,” he says reverently, staring at my breasts overflowing his palms, “is my happy place.”

  I can’t help it—I giggle.

  A moment later I’m not giggling at all. He finds my nipples with his thumbs and all of my concentration narrows in on the bright sensation of his callused skin moving lightly across the tight tips. A moan breaks out of me, then another, the fire he’s started in my breasts streaking downward through my belly, collecting, fierce, between my legs.

  I want, want, want, want, and even though I’m a big girl and I know exactly what I’m chasing, I don’t know what I want, either, it’s that big and everywhere, and I clutch at him. I think I call his name, too.

  “Livvy,” he groans.

  I come again, a glittery sensation like one of those fireworks that drip sparkles all over the sky. I swat his hands away from my nipples and thrust myself down on him as hard as I can, spasming around him. “So. Good,” I tell him.

  “Fuck,” he says, rough and harsh, and then his eyes squeeze shut and his head tilts back and his mouth opens, roar-wide but silent, and his hand falls away from me to pound the mattress, his body rigid under mine. “Fuck, Livvy, fuuuuuuuuuck.”

  I rest my head on his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. His arms come around me.

  When he gets up to throw out the condom, I get up, too.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he says. “I’m not done with you.”

  I guess no one’s getting any sleep tonight.