My Best Friend's Hot Brother (18+)

I'll Tell Everyone That You Were Fingering Yourself In The Bathtub

The sound of his pleasure is enough to undo me, and I shiver.

My hands wander closer to his privates, curious what they will find. I grip his cock and he inhales sharply. "We can't do this," he murmurs.

"Can't or won't?" I inquire.

His urgent kiss upon my lips tells me my answer.

I straddle myself atop his lap and we laugh as I slip against the slickness of his skin. "I want you," I whisper, steadying my arms around his neck.

His irises grow a shade darker; the color of ivy and it's not lost on me that similar to the vine, he has wrapped himself around my mind. There is not a thought, fantasy, or idea that he hasn't intruded himself upon.

Case in point, my bath. I cannot even enjoy such a luxury without the image of him wildly taking over my brain. The feelings that he evokes in me are untamed.

Sighing, I cup my breast, pretending that his fingers are the ones touching me, sliding their way down my belly and inserting themselves into my slit.

I tilt my head back against the cool porcelain of the tub that provides relief to my flushed cheeks. I begin stroking myself, dreaming that it is Jackson rubbing up against my bare sex.

So lost am I in fantasies of being intimate with him that I haven't even realized that I have left the door to the bathroom unlatched. Not until the knob turns and I hear his voice.

"Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry," he stammers. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."

My eyes fly open and my skin heats even more but not because of the hot bath or my arousing sex fantasies but because of sheer mortification.

He stands there, his jaw slack and I instantly remove my touch from my opening. But it is too late. He has already caught me fingering myself. 

"I thought I felt a lump when I was washing my body," I stutter. "I was just checking."

"Sure, sure," he agrees, having the decency to now cover his eyes but not get the fuck out.

"Jackson!" I shout, urging with my cries for him to leave.

In another situation, I would have been turned on to strip naked for him as he takes in my womanly form with a hungry gaze. I would have ached with desire as I played with myself in front of him, testing his limits of restraint.

How long could he hold off before he's begging to touch me?

But this is not that scenario.

Jackson barging in on me pleasuring myself while I indulge in private fantasies of him and I, aren't on the list of things that I would label as seductive.

"I just really need to pee," he protests but finally takes the hint to back out of the room.

"Hold on," I grumble. I lift myself from the tub after inspecting his face to make certain that he truly can't see a thing.

I swipe a towel from a hook and wrap it around my body. In a matter of seconds, I make myself scarce from the bathroom.

It's no big deal, I assure myself. What you were doing is perfectly natural. He probably jerks himself off all the time. Suddenly, I am jealous and wondering who he pictures while he masturbates.

In our shared bedroom, I pull on a faded oversize t-shirt and begin to comb through my wet hair. Jackson doesn't look me in the eye when he returns, and I figure the only way to smooth over an awkward situation is to make light of it.

"I think it was far less humiliating running away in the buff from the cops than what just happened back there," I joke.

"I swear I didn't see anything," he insists but his gaze immediately drops to my chest, and it confirms that he indeed caught an eyeful of breasts.

"Do you like them?" I ask.

"Excuse me?" His cheeks turn bright pink as he whips his head up to stare at me.

I point to my t-shirt. "The Blue Cold Icy Cubers," I say, pointing to the metal band pictured on my top. "Do you like them?"

"Oh," he laughs nervously. "Yea, they're great."

I smile because I know he is fibbing. "What's your favorite song?"

"Uh..." He snaps his fingers, his eyes glittering. "The one that goes dun dun dun duuuunnn."

Giggling, I plop onto my mattress. "Liar! There's no song that sounds like that. Are you just pretending to enjoy their music because you're too embarrassed to admit that you only listen to classical?"

He crinkles up his features. "I hear enough of that genre when I'm forced to play it every day."

I lay down on my side and prop my head up in my hand. "So, who do you like then?" I press.

He avoids my scrutinous stare and busies himself with flipping back the covers of his bed. He shrugs. "No one that you would have heard of."

"I'm offended. Do you really believe my taste is that basic? Try me."

Shaking his head, he crawls beneath the blanket and immediately switches off the light, shrouding us in near darkness. The light of the moon casts a sliver of a glow across the faded floral rug.

"Fine," I exhale, flipping onto my back. "Be lame and keep your secrets."

We fall into a lull of silence, the only sound to be heard is a tree branch scraping across the windowpane.

I wonder if Jackson is thinking of me naked because I am certainly dreaming of him in the nude.

Did he know that I was pleasuring myself? Did it arouse him?

The quiet between us stretches on and I assume that he has fallen asleep, but he surprises me by breaking the still of the night with his voice.

"Taylor Swift," he says at least. "I listen to a lot more Taylor Swift than any man should admit to."

I smile to myself but refrain from teasing him for I know that if I do, Jackson Moretti will hide up in the treehouse that he has built to keep me out of. No Sterlings allowed; the sign has always read.

But for tonight, in this moment, he temporarily removes it and invites me inside.

"Sterling?" He whispers my name in the dark.

"Yes?"

"If you blab that information to anyone, I'll tell everyone that you were fingering yourself in the bathtub."

The grin on my face freezes and my cheeks burn hot. I am grateful for the shadows of the night to disguise my flaming skin.

I know then and there that he will never let that go. And if I am being honest with myself, I am hoping that he never does. I want that memory to be forever imprinted into his brain.

Because then, maybe just maybe, he will stop viewing me as his little sister's annoying best friend and appreciate me for the sexy woman that I was certain that I had become.

Jackson Moretti, I think to myself. You better watch out because you haven't seen anything yet.

Question of the day: Do you think Gabby had a right to invite Sterling along on the family vacation or do you think she should have respected Jackson's wishes to keep it to just the four of them?