Fucking my best friends brother #2

I reach out, my hand closing around his throbbing, heavy length. I gently begin to massage it in a circular motion, twisting and turning, my hands sliding up and down the hard velvet skin. I watch him as he responds to my touch, his head now slightly thrown back, his throat exposed, as the pleasure builds up, a dark flush rising up his neck.

Then I hear him curse out, a low, guttural release. “Fuck… yes, that’s it, keep going.”

I intensify the rhythm of my hands, up and down, twisting and turning, my movements becoming a blur of focused erotic energy. Mason licks and bites his lips, his breathing getting ragged, and then he tells me, “Be a good little slut. Suck my dick.”

I take in the tip, my mouth instantly filled with the salty, musky fluid of his pre-cum. I make a sound of eager assent, a low moan muffled against his skin.

Without prior warning, his hand snags the hair at the back of my head, wrapping his fingers around it, and guiding my head down to take him much deeper. The action is forceful, demanding, making me almost choke on the sudden, massive intrusion. He doesn’t stop, but bobs my head up and down with an intensity that makes my core throb and wet between my thighs.

The room is silent except for the low slurping sound of my mouth, my eagerness muffled by his length.

While I'm working, I hear him speak, looking down at me with an expression of pure, possessive lust.

“Now, while you’re down there, I want you to open your legs and finger yourself, Samantha. I’m not the only one who gets to have all the fun.”

I obey, immediately. My free hand finds its way between my legs and works my already dripping core, one finger at a time, then two, pushing in, creating a friction that makes me feel like I’m going to combust. My own moans are muffled by his dick still in my mouth, the dual pleasure threatening to overwhelm my focus.

We keep going, the pace of my hands and mouth increasing, the internal pressure building higher and higher, until Mason pulls away in between a low gasp.

He grips my arm and yanks me up from the floor, spinning me around. He scooches out a bit from the armchair, a triumphant, wicked look in his eyes, and tells me to climb right on top of him. He is clearly not finished but about to begin the main fun now.

With one hand holding his still rock-hard, massive length, he uses the other to pull me closer. I put one of my feet, then the other, over the armrests of the heavy chair, straddling his lap, my wet, trembling core hovering over his throbbing erection.

I lower myself slowly, gently taking in his swollen length. The deep, hot, familiar invasion fills up my wet, dripping self instantly, and a soft, uncontrolled moan escapes my lips.

Mason groans, his arms wrapping around my waist, his hands digging into my skin.

“Yes, baby, that’s it,” he hisses into my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “Take me all the way in.”

He crashes his lips into mine, muffling my gasps and moans as I begin to ride him. The motion is a circular grind, slow and deep at first, then gaining a brutal, escalating pace. My ass hits his thighs with each intense thrust, the only sound now the heavy, wet echo of skin against skin in the dim-lit, luxurious suite. My body is a desperate blur of motion, riding him harder and faster, lost in the overwhelming, demanded pleasure.

I ride him until I'm breathless, dizzy, and just on the edge of a scream, the world narrowed down to the glorious, demanding pressure between my thighs and his eyes watching every single motion. This is the only world that matters. I belong to him. I am his. And for this moment, it is everything.

That moment...the one before the shatter...was pure, agonizing ecstasy. My hips were grinding on autopilot, my inner muscles clenching around his thick, rigid length with desperate, hungry rhythm. My breathing was shallow, hitched gasps of air I barely had the consciousness to take in, and the blinding edge of a climax I couldn't hold back was starting to tear through the edges of my control.

“Don’t you dare,” Mason’s voice was a low, snarling command, a vibration that ran through the leather of the armchair and straight up into my bones.

His eyes, dark and heavy with a possessiveness that always managed to both terrify and thrill me, locked onto mine. He knew exactly where I was, exactly what I needed. And he yanked the pleasure away.

He didn't pull out gently. Not Mason. He gripped my hips with crushing strength, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of my waist, and with a grunt that wasn't entirely effort and mostly pure dominance, he pulled his hips back and out of me in one smooth, excruciating motion.

A cry of denial caught in my throat, a sharp, helpless whimper as the glorious, filling pressure vanished, replaced by an empty, pulsing ache. The cold air hit my slick, exposed core, making me jerk my thighs together instinctively.

But he didn't give me time to process the loss. In the same motion, his hands shifted. One arm hooked beneath my ass, lifting me effortlessly, while the other braced my back. My legs, still trembling from the effort and the near-climax, wrapped instinctively around his waist, grounding me to him as he stood. He was immense, a towering presence of heat, sweat, and rock-hard muscle, and I felt as weightless as a kitten draped over his body.

He carried me across the plush, dimly lit suite. The movement was a violent, beautiful disruption, a confirmation that I was his property to move and use as he saw fit. My head lay against his shoulder, my heart hammering against my ribs, and I could feel the residual heat and wetness of our joining slicking his stomach.

He didn’t take me to the bed. Of course not. That was too soft, too conventional.

He strode purposefully toward the corner where a small, dark mahogany mini-bar counter jutted out. The polished surface was cool, hard, and unforgiving. Without slowing, he lifted me, my ass slamming down onto the edge of the counter with a jarring, delightful slap.

I gasped, bracing my hands behind me on the cold, slick wood. My legs were still wrapped around him, anchoring him close. The sudden change of elevation and the firmness beneath me seemed to refocus the throbbing ache between my legs. I was higher now, my core tilted forward, completely exposed and vulnerable to his gaze.

Mason stepped in close, leveraging his full height and power. He grabbed my hips again, not gently guiding them, but pulling them sharply toward the edge of the counter, securing my position. His eyes were dark, burning pools of raw hunger.

Before my brain could even register the shift, he was in me again.

He didn’t tease. He didn’t ask. He just thrust.

The invasion was massive, sudden, and deep, a violent punctuation mark that stole my breath and forced a sharp, uncontrolled moan from my lips. “Mason!”