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Erotica | Cheating | Best Friend | Risky Sex | Fingering | Oral | Creampie | Dirty Talk | Living Room | Quickie

My Husband’s Best Friend Couldn’t Keep His Hands Off Me — 1

He teased my dripping pussy with his fingers while my husband was out for beer, then made me grind on his thick cock right there in the living room.

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall as Bryan stormed out, keys jangling, muttering something about forgetting the damn beer for the game.

I stood in the kitchen with my coffee still warm in my hand, heart kicking up a notch the second the lock clicked behind him.

Memphis Fox was spread out on our large sectional sofa like he owned the house, his legs stretched out, one arm resting on the back of the couch, with that cocky half-grin he'd had since college.

He looked good.

Too fucking good.

The dark eyes had hardened me, as had the time that had passed since he and Bryan were tearing up the court together, but they still pierced me like a knife.

It had been four years since I had seen him.

He was back in our house, his legs spread apart in gray sweatpants that didn't do much to conceal the thick outline of his dick.

“Guess it's just you and me, Briana,” he said, his voice low and lazy, as if he knew how this afternoon was going to go.

I walked slowly over, hips rolling in my thin black tank and little denim shorts, bare feet quiet on the hardwood.

Every time I took a step, the shorts were riding up my ass and I didn't pull them down.

Let him look.

I wanted him to take a look.

I sat down on the cushion next to him, so that my thigh was touching his.

The TV was still playing the pre-game show, but we were no longer watching.

We began talking about the old days—foolish road trips, the night they won the conference championship, how Bryan used to get Memphis up for every big game.

Laughing came easy.

Too easy.

The kind of laughter that becomes eye contact, then something hotter, heavier.

He placed his hand on my knee, his thumb slowly rubbing the inside, little sparks shooting straight to my pussy.

I didn't take it away.

“You still look like trouble, Bri,” he whispered, his eyes going to my mouth, then down to where my hard nipples were pushing against the thin tank.

“Always did, Bryan's a lucky motherfucker.”

I licked my lips, my belly was hot.

“He is not here at this time, is he?”

The air between us grew thick.

Memphis moved, turned toward me completely, and that big hand moved up my thigh until his fingers were under the hem of my shorts.

He didn’t rush.

He lightly teased the soft skin there, brushing close but not quite touching my pussy yet.

My breath hitched.

I spread my legs a bit wider, welcoming him.

We continued talking, our voices grew fainter and dirtier.

He told me how he used to think about me in the past, how he used to masturbate himself thinking about me, how he used to watch me cheering in those short skirts and imagine bending me over in the locker room.

I said I had touched myself more than once thinking about how thick his cock was going to feel as it stretched me open while Bryan was right down the hall.

The confessions came out raw and honest, and the fire was fed until we were both breathing harder.

My bare slit was finally touched by his fingers.

No panties.

I was already drenched, his fingers gliding over me lazily and slowly.

“Fuck, you're dripping for me already,” he growled, his voice rough.

I stretched out my hand and felt the big bulge in his sweats, it was hot and heavy.

He was thick.

Longer than Bryan.

The type of dick that will make your pussy ache the following day.

I pushed him through the cloth, rubbing him down from head to toe, and he was rubbing my clit with two fingers.

The game droned on in the background.

The wall clock started to tick.

Bryan had indicated that he would be home in about 30 minutes, perhaps 40.

We had time, but not much.

The danger caused my pussy to tighten around nothing.

Memphis withdrew his hand and put his shiny fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean with a low groan.

“Tastes even better than I imagined, baby.”

I didn’t wait.

I straddled his lap and ground my wet pussy down on that fat bulge.

He spread my ass cheeks with his hands as I rocked against him.

We kissed, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, messy and desperate.

I could feel his cock jumping under me, leaking pre-cum into his sweats.

I pulled my hand between his legs and pulled his pants down.

His dick sprang out, thick and veiny, dark and already shiny.

I held it in my hand and stroked it from the base to the tip, twisting at the head as I knew men liked.

Memphis hissed, hips bucking up into my fist.

“Oh, shit, Briana… you have no idea how long I've wanted this.”

I continued to stroke him slowly and firmly, thumbing the constant dribbling of pre-cum over his head, while I kissed his neck.

My hands were pushed up under his tank, revealing my tits.

He grumbled at the sight, leaned in and sucked one hard nipple into his hot mouth, his tongue darting quickly before he moved on to the other.

I grumbled and ground my pussy lips against his bare dick, letting my juicy pussy lips glide over the thick dick without letting him in.

The foreplay was extended and pleasurable.

He sucked and bit my tits till they were shiny with spit and red.

I grabbed his dick and started to make long, nasty strokes with my hand, feeling every vein pulse in my hand.

He inserted two thick fingers into my pussy, curled them, pumped slowly and his thumb played with my clit in tight circles.

The wet squelching noises filled the living room, along with our heavy breathing and the distant sound of the crowd on TV.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he muttered against my tit.

“Gonna feel so good around my dick, baby.”

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