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“And what if he’d stayed?”
Her question hung in the air, a plume of smoke from a fired gun. Her fingers, still tangled in my hair, went still. The taste of her was still on my lips, the scent of our sex thick and primal in the room. My heart hadn’t even begun to slow from its frantic, jealous rhythm.
The couch. The same couch where, an hour ago, she’d given my best friend a private viewing. The same cushion where I’d just taken her with a raw, possessive fury I didn’t know I possessed.
I lifted my head from the crook of her neck. “What did you just say?”
She met my gaze, her eyes dark pools of mischief and something else, something hungrier. “I said, what if he’d stayed? What if he’d just… watched?”
A fresh wave of heat—part anger, part pure, undiluted lust—flooded my system. I could still see the shock on his face, the way his jaw had gone slack for that endless, four-second eternity. The image was burned onto the back of my eyelids.
“You’re insane,” I breathed, but my body was betraying me, stirring again against her thigh.
She smiled, a slow, wicked curve of her lips. “Am I? Or am I just finally being honest?” Her hand slid down my back, her nails tracing a faint, delicious line over my skin. “You felt it. I felt you. When I did it. You were so angry… and so hard. You’ve never been that hard for me.”
I wanted to deny it. I should deny it. But the memory of that violent, conflicting surge of emotion was too potent. The humiliation had been acid in my veins, but the arousal… the arousal had been a nuclear reaction.
“He saw you,” I muttered, the words feeling thick and foreign. “He saw all of you.”
“I know,” she whispered, and her voice was full of awe, not shame. “And you were watching him watch me. That’s what I liked the most. Seeing your face. Seeing how much it did something to you.” Her hips shifted slightly beneath mine, a subtle, seeking pressure. “It was just a flash. But it wasn’t enough.”
My breath hitched. Wasn’t enough. The words echoed in the silent, wrecked space of our living room. The torn shorts were still tangled around her ankles. The air still smelled of him, of his cheap cologne and stunned silence.
“What are you saying?” My voice was a low growl against her ear.
She cupped my face, forcing me to look at her. The demure girl from the conservative family was gone, incinerated in the heat of this new, brazen woman. “I’m saying I want to do it again. For real this time. Not a flash. A… a show.”
A show. The word landed like a physical blow. My mind spun, conjuring images. Her, on display. Not for a fleeting second, but deliberate. Prolonged. For him. For anyone. The thought should have repulsed me. It should have made me storm out. Instead, my cock throbbed, pressing insistently against her stomach, already eager again.
“You want to… show off?” I managed to ask, my throat tight.
She nodded, her excitement palpable. “I want to see that look on your face again. I want to feel you lose control like that again. It was everything.” Her hand slid between us, her fingers wrapping around my length, and she gave me a slow, firm stroke that made my vision blur at the edges. “Imagine it. Him sitting right there. In that chair. And me… on my knees. Right here. For you. But for him to see.”
A groan was torn from my chest. The visual was too vivid, too powerful. Her lips on me, her body offered up, her eyes looking up at me while my friend watched from a few feet away, seeing a side of her he never knew existed. Seeing what was mine. The twisted ownership of it was a drug.
“You’d like that?” I rasped, my hips beginning to move in time with her hand. “You’d like him seeing you like that?”
“Yes,” she hissed, her own breathing getting ragged. “I’d love it. I want to know he’s getting hard watching me please my man. I want to hear his breathing change. I want to feel your hands in my hair, knowing he’s seeing you claim me.” Her words were tumbling out now, a frantic, beautiful confession. “I want to push it. I want to see how far we can go. Together.”
Her confession unlocked something feral in me. The last vestiges of resistance crumbled. This wasn’t just her game anymore. It was ours. A shared secret. A shared degradation. A shared, intoxicating power.
I flipped us over in one swift motion, so she was straddling me, her torn clothes finally kicked away. The lamplight caught the sheen of sweat on her skin. She was glorious. A secret I suddenly, desperately, wanted to share.
“Next time he comes over…” I started, my hands gripping her hips, holding her firmly against my aching hardness.
She leaned down, her lips brushing mine. “Yes…?”
“Next time,” I whispered, the plan forming in a hot, shameful, exhilarating rush, “you won’t pull your shorts back up”
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