Promise is made to be broken

“You fucking promised!”

The accusation echoed in Aaron’s mind, but it was drowned out by a much louder, more insistent sound: the ragged, gasping breaths tearing from Hailey’s throat. His throat. He was on his knees before the full-length mirror, one hand braced against the cool glass for support, the other buried between his—her—legs.

The promise to Cody was ash. It had disintegrated the moment his fingertips, slick with Hailey’s own arousal, had found that aching, swollen nub. The guilt had been a fleeting chill, instantly vaporized by the inferno of sensation that followed. It wasn’t a promise to her, a ****, rationalizing part of his mind argued. It was a promise between him and me. And I’m not me right now. I’m… this.

This was ecstasy.

His hips rocked in a frantic, involuntary rhythm against his own hand, his fingers a blur of motion. He watched, mesmerized, as the girl in the mirror came apart. Hailey’s face, flushed a deep crimson, was a mask of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Her lips were swollen from where she’d bitten them, her brown eyes glazed and unfocused. A strand of her long hair was stuck to her damp cheek. She had never looked more beautiful, more utterly debauched. And she was all his.

The coil of tension in his belly wound tighter, tighter, a spring ready to snap. His breathing hitched, coming in short, sharp gasps. He was so close. He could feel the pressure building, a tidal wave of pure feeling gathering in the depths of her body, threatening to obliterate every thought, every worry, every memory of Ramsey and stolen lives.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” he moaned, the words a broken whisper. His voice was pure Hailey, but the crude, needy tone was all Aaron. He pressed harder, circling that sensitive peak faster, the slick, wet sounds obscenely loud in the silent room.

The wave broke.

A silent scream stretched Hailey’s mouth open as the orgasm ripped through her. It was nothing like the quick, localized release he was used to in his own body. This was a whole-body cataclysm. It started deep in her core, a detonation of white-hot pleasure that radiated outward in shivering, paralyzing waves. Her back arched violently, her head snapping back as her internal muscles clenched and fluttered around nothing, milking a climax that seemed to have no end. Her vision whited out, the image in the mirror dissolving into a blur of sensation. A raw, guttural cry was torn from her—a sound of pure, animalistic release.

He barely had the presence of mind to slap his other hand over her mouth, muffling the scream that threatened to wake the whole house. He held himself there, trembling, as the aftershocks continued to wrack her frame, each tremor a little less violent than the last, but no less exquisite. He slowly removed his wet, glistening fingers from her mouth, his chest heaving.

Dripping, he thought, the word floating lazily in the hazy aftermath. He was dripping. He looked down, then back at the mirror. A slick sheen coated her inner thighs. A triumphant, wicked smirk tugged at Hailey’s smudged lips. His smirk.

From across the hall, the low, consistent rumble of Cody’s snoring continued, uninterrupted. The sound fueled a new, daring thrill. He’d done it. Right under his best friend’s nose, he’d shattered his promise and discovered a paradise he never knew existed.

He couldn’t stop. One wasn’t enough. It was an addict’s first, glorious hit.

Stumbling away from the mirror, he fell forward onto the bed, landing on her stomach. The soft comforter enveloped him. He buried his face into a pillow, breathing in the sweet, innocent scent of Hailey’s shampoo—a stark contrast to the musky, sexual aroma now clinging to her skin. He reached back, one hand snaking between her legs again, while the other gripped the pillow, ready.

This time, he didn’t tease. He drove two fingers deep inside her, a gasped “Yes!” muffled by the fabric. His hips ground against the heel of his hand as his fingers curled, searching, learning the landscape of her pleasure from the inside. It was even wetter, hotter, tighter than he could have dreamed. He found a rhythm, rough and urgent, pistoning his fingers in and out while the base of his palm rubbed insistently against her clit.

The second climax built faster, fiercer. It wasn’t a wave; it was a tsunami. His back arched, pressing her ass high into the air, his body bowstring-tight. He screamed into the pillow, the sound a blissful, **** agony as another vicious orgasm seized her. This one was deeper, longer, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her trembling form. This is better, his mind chanted, a frantic, joyous loop. This is so much better than being a guy.

He collapsed, spent, onto the mattress, his body slick with sweat. But the restless, explorative energy wouldn't leave him. The entire night stretched before him, a boundless playground. He rolled onto his side, his hand already drifting down her stomach again, a lazy, possessive smile on his borrowed face. The headboard gave a soft thump against the wall as he began again, slower this time, determined to map every last shivering nerve ending.

His head fell back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, lost entirely to the symphony of feeling. Mine.