Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
She’s so aroused. So turned on. So eager to play with herself. She looks enraptured by her own body.
Or maybe she’s enrapt by our game—knowing I’m the hawk, watching her every move, and he’s the director, moving the pieces on the chessboard. My dick is granite as I stare at the beauty on my roof working herself over.
Hand moving faster.
Hips arching.
Lips parting.
She’s fucking her fingers, losing her mind to whatever dirty fantasies are playing out in her gorgeous head, and I can’t even see her sweet pussy. She’s just taking care of herself under his direction, flicking and feeling and fucking.
Soon she’s thrusting into her hand, her head turned to the side. When she rakes her other hand into her hair, it’s like she’s about to tip over into pleasure.
She tenses. Everywhere. It’s beautiful and filthy all at once. The best kind of porn I’ve ever seen—a live sex show from the woman I’m obsessed with, put on for the two of us. The man on the roof, and the man across the street.
We’re her audience. We’re her men. And we’re so fucking lucky to watch this beauty fall apart. Head thrown back, legs spread, she comes across the block.
I can’t hear her, but I swear her cries of pleasure echo in my mind.
I don’t lower the binoculars for a good long time. Pretty sure I’ll be rock hard the rest of my life.
When I make it back to my place ten minutes later, she’s naked, and Stefan’s stripped to nothing too.
“Took you long enough,” he says to me.
I narrow my brow, suddenly annoyed. “Her wrist. We said no fucking. Nothing rough.”
He grins. “Hold her tits. I’m going to fuck them,” he says.
I am so jealous and so turned on.
A minute later, he’s straddling Ivy. Her hands are stretched above her head. She looks like a long, languid goddess. I move behind her, crouching, and pushing those beauties together so my friend can fuck those gorgeous globes.
He spits, then takes his cock in his hand, slides the makeshift lube over it, and fucks.
A thrust. A pump.
Then, a gasp from Ivy.
And then, from me. My neck is burning up. My dick is iron. My eyes are glued to the scene in front of me.
And I take my job so goddamn seriously. Stefan fucks her beautiful breasts as I hold them in place for him. Soon, slick sounds fill the air, the slap of flesh, the carnal groans, Ivy’s sexy little gasps.
Then, a long, strangled moan from Stefan as he spills all over her tits.
I burn up inside. When he slides off, Ivy drags a finger through his climax, then turns my way to slowly, seductively lick it off while gazing at me. I nearly bust a nut.
“Want to come too?” she asks, sounding all dreamy.
I hiss out a breath. “So badly.”
In seconds I’m tagging in, and he’s tagging out. He gets behind her, cups those beauties, and gives me a perfect tunnel to fuck. She’s slick and hot. And I am enrapt by her. By her appetite. By her openness. By her mind, body, and gorgeous heart.
I don’t last long, and I don’t care.
Soon, my vision blurs and my thighs shake, and I’m coming all over her tits, painting her too.
Then kissing her, slowly and a little desperately before I slide down her body. Stefan leans over and drops a passionate kiss to her lips.
When he breaks the kiss, he drags a finger along her chest, through our orgasms. I do the same. Then, he pushes his finger into her mouth. She opens easily, taking it. I join him, pushing in my finger too. She sucks both, licking us off with a throaty moan.
When she lets go, she says, a little dreamily, “You taste good.”
That word—the plural you—echoes in my mind all day.
You.
That’s how we feel to me too.
40
OTHER FORMS OF SHARING
Ivy
“Pfft.”
That’s my grandmother’s assessment of the linen pants I show her at Champagne Taste a few days later.
“But you’d look great in them,” I urge her, gently tugging on the tawny-colored slacks at the thrift shop.
She arches a brow. “Of course I would. But that’s not the point.”
I heave a playful sigh. “You can’t dismiss everything I show you.”
She pats my shoulder. “I can and I will if you keep showing me things that were in and then out of fashion before you were even born,” she says, then strolls to another rack at the shop, flicking through blouses that she shakes her silver-haired head at.
“But linen’s trendy again. It’s this whole—”
“Trendy grandma look. I am aware, but I disavow it.”
I snort-laugh. “You can’t disavow a trend.”
“I just did.”
I’ve been having fun with her this morning, but something is pressing at the back of my mind. A little tension. I feel like I’m keeping a secret from her. Only I don’t know how to share it as we move through the store.