Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)

“Look. But don’t touch.”


“Deal,” Carter says, climbing onto the bed. He sits down behind me, his ass on his heels and off to the side a bit so he can see my pussy and my face as I curl to the side to see him too.

He’s straining to get out of his pants, the long, thick rod visible in his sweat pants.

“Let me see you too,” I say with a confidence I don’t have in the real world.

Carter yanks his T-shirt over his head and hooks his thumbs in his waistband to drop his pants below his butt, letting his cock free. His body is chiseled and lean, his muscles strong and powerful without being bodybuilder pumped, his deeply ridged abs narrowing to a happy trail that leads to the very definition of proud manhood, standing straight up and rock hard.

He licks his hand and does one full stroke, looking at me as if he’s waiting to see if I protest.

When I don’t, he wraps his hand around his cock and pumps slowly. “Be a good girl, Luna. Work yourself for me.”

“Mmm . . . is that for me?” I ask as I slip a finger inside myself, shuddering at the feeling. I do it again, the heel of my palm bumping my clit as my finger thrusts inside and I watch Carter stroke himself slowly until precum oozes from his tip.

“That’s for you,” he says, and I’m tempted to ask for a taste . . . but he uses it to spread over his head, giving him a slicker grip. “And when I spill cum everywhere, it’ll be for you too. You’re driving me fucking wild, Luna.”

I fuck myself with my fingers, hard and fast, the bumps to my clit a shock of pleasure each time, getting me closer and closer.

“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Pussy in the air, begging me to fill it with my big cock. Fuck, I’ll grip your hips, slap your ass, and slam so deep inside you, you never forget what it feels like to be filled with me.” Carter strokes himself mercilessly, his words turning us both on.

“Do you want that?” he demands.

I bite my lip and nod, too focused on my hand’s rhythm to find words.

“Not good enough. What are you going to do to me? Tell me.”

I wrench open my eyes to meet his. He wants me vocal, as aroused by the words as by my telling him what I want. I gasp, stuttering out, “Suck you, swallow you. Till I’m a mess of drool and cum. Even tears, because I choked on you.”

It’s too much for us both. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and I’m moaning softly on every exhale, right on the edge.

“Together.”

We synchronize our strokes, my fingers and his hand moving in time together. As he strokes, I stroke, my pussy gripping my fingers like it would the beautiful cock just a few feet away. We watch each other, and I can see the precum starting to spill over his hand. My thighs tremble with the oncoming climax and I move my fingers to my clit, focusing where I need it most.

“I . . . I want it,” I gasp. “Mmm, Carter . . . yeah . . .”

The line between fantasy and reality blurs as I come back to consciousness, in the here and now, with my face smashed into the pillow’s fluffiness. Hopefully, it muffled any sounds I made because I kinda got a little carried away there. Okay, a lot carried away.

“Oh, my God,” I pant quietly into the empty room.

I collapse to the bed, groaning in frustration. What just happened? Did I seriously jill off while thinking of that asshole?

Yep, you did. And it was the hottest fantasy you’ve ever had. Don’t pretend you’re not gonna pull that one out of the old mental spank bank later for a round two.

I roll my eyes at my own inner ho, who got her way this time, and get up. I need to get ready or Carter’s going to come check on me, and I don’t think it’ll be like my imaginary scene. I wash up, find a ponytailer in the fully stocked bathroom that makes an easy messy bun, and pull on a fresh sweatshirt, pants, and flip-flops. I can’t meet my own eyes in the mirror right now, so I trust I look okay. I definitely feel more human and have my mental and emotional shields up. I’m going to need them after last night . . . and even more so, after this morning.

In the hall, I hear voices and follow them to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Elena greets me. She’s sitting at the table with Grace, a huge stack of pancakes already on each of their plates. “Have a seat, and Nelda will get you set up in a jiffy.”

“Incoming,” Nelda warns a second before setting a stack of chocolate-laden pancakes in front of me. “Say when.” She shakes a large bottle over the pancakes, covering them with powdered sugar.

“Keep it coming.” I wave for more, and keep waving, waving, and waving. Finally, I say, “When.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Elena laughs, seeing my pile.

The French doors open, and Carter comes in with Peanut Butter on a rope leash. But he has zero control on the slick tile floor, and the dog makes a direct beeline under the table, pulling a stumbling, slipping, and sliding Carter along for the ride.

“Nutbuster, get outta there,” Carter pleads, his eyes disappearing below table level as he squats down. We all peer under the table at the big dog sprawled out ungracefully, his nose at Grace’s feet.

Carter apologizes to Elena. “So sorry, he’s a bit overly loyal.”

But considering Grace is slipping the dog a slice of bacon while Carter’s not looking, I don’t think loyalty is the issue. Grace sees me fighting a grin and puts a finger to her mouth, telling me to keep quiet.

“It’s okay. Not like he’s on one of the fine rugs,” Elena says. “Tile mops easily.”

I don’t know many wealthy people—in fact, probably only one, Carter—but Elena is definitely not what I expected. She’s so casual about everything, almost . . . normal, except she’s in a house large enough for hundreds of people to live in. I get the feeling that even if Peanut Butter were pooping on one of the fine rugs, she’d say it was no big deal because a rug is just a ‘thing’ and not nearly as important as a cute doggie answering nature’s call.

Carter plops into a chair with a huff. “Glad you think so. I’m afraid Bernard nearly had my hide in addition to Nutbuster’s this morning. I kept him away from the roses,” he says, cutting his eyes my way pointedly. “But I guess the peach tree is off limits too? I think his exact words were, ‘If my peaches taste like piss, I’m gonna hang your ass in the hayloft as bait for the mice.’”

Elena laughs loudly. “Oh, I love that man’s turn of phrase. He’s quite imaginative.”