Brandon makes a bad decision

Brandon untangled himself from his boxers. The dark fur of his groin had been trimmed, but not recently, and Vicky felt a little disappointed. A cock as wild as his should never be tamed, never hide its caveman passions. He stepped through the glass door into the shower, and she saw it again in his eyes, the hunger of the wolf. He was a bad boy all along, this Brandon Cole.

Just my type. Vicky's stomach thrilled as their lips crashed together. His rough hands cupped her face, and his ravishing tongue dominated her mouth. She kneaded his pectorals, fingers swirling over his rocky nipples. Pinching them drew a growl, an actual canine growl, and she felt him seize her ass.

“Mmm, do you like that?” she whispered in his ear, kissing the line of his square jaw. The brush of his stubble over her lips drove her mad, the primal strength hiding right below his skin.

Suddenly she was airborne, and her back arched against the freezing wall tiles. Then the warmth between her legs. Her favorite of all Brandon's muscles was inside her once more, and she would've screamed in triumph had he not plugged her mouth with his tongue once more.

“I like this better.” He fucked her with long slow strokes. He wanted her to feel every inch of him, to remember the exact dimensions of the cock that made her a woman. He swallowed every instance of her “Oh my God”s so this moment would be theirs and theirs alone.

In the depths of her mind, Vicky came to a damning realization. She'd always been a romantic. Always wanted a guy who would let her discover sex on her terms. Slow sex, exploratory sex, where she could keep track of the body's various pleasures as they revealed themselves. A guy with daring and chivalry, one who would accompany her outside her comfort zone without charging ahead.

And, you know, sex on the beach. That couldn't not be great, right?

She couldn't have foreseen how those boxes had been checked, but here she was. She didn't want a guy like Brandon. She wanted Brandon.

Brandon fought to regulate his pace. He wanted to cum more than he'd wanted anything, more than he'd wanted to win the state title, but he couldn't pick up the pace without the risking the slap of flesh on flesh. At the same time, Vicky had gone limp but for her vaginal muscles, milking him, urging him on, and her shower-slickened skin let him glide deep with no effort.

“Vicky, I'm almost there,” he hissed. He pulled her into him, smashing his hard chest against her and flattening soft breasts against hard muscles. She clutched the back of his head and started to bounce on his cock.

“Do it, cum for me, cum in me, I'm a slut for you, baby, do it.”

His brain blew a fuse hearing Vicky speak so foully. To him! Her best friend's boyfriend! It was so wrong, and if he had any decency, he'd pull out like he had earlier.

He took Vicky's wrists and pinned them against the wall. Noise be damned, his hips slapped her inner thighs as the tension in his cock released. Rope after rope of several days' frustration filled Vicky's pussy, and she coaxed more out of him, massaged him into peacefulness once more.

Vicky tentatively lowered her feet to the floor to support her own weight, and his wilting cock slipped out of her. The two lovers looked in each other's eyes, not touching but Brandon encircling her, supporting himself against the wall.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“Wow,” she agreed. Then she pecked him on the lips. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he mugged, and they both giggled as they shared several quick kisses. She rest her head against her chest.

“I think we have to go now.”

“...Yeah.”

“You stay here.” The shower was still running, but she opened the door and stepped out. Drying herself off with a towel, she told him, “Wait a little bit after I leave. If anyone sees, you can say you got in right as I got out.”

“Alright, but what about...” She pulled her panties on, despite the dripping from between her lips. She winked at him and patted her covered crotch. “Fuck. I kinda want to drag you back in here.”

“Later,” she laughed. Then faltered. “Unless you don't want there to be a later...?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I don't even know what I want.”

“Well... I want you to know how much this meant to me.”

She let it hang in the air, no unspoken “But...” to muddy her meaning.

“I need to talk to her, Vicky. There's no later until I do that.”

Her t-shirt slipped over her head, and she emerged with a smile. That's not the same as “There's no later!”

“I understand, Bran. I know you'll do the right thing.”

He cringed as she said it, but she was already gone in a puff of steam.

Vicky poked into her bedroom. Kurt was fast asleep, but no trace of Ashley.

It turned out she'd changed back into her t-shirt and shorts, gone to her own room, and fallen into a nap as well. Her chest rose and fell, but the contentment on her sleeping face never shifted. Vicky shook her head and closed the door as she left.