by Cara McKenna
“You like watching me, don’t you?”
“I do.” She stroked his thighs, her gaze caressing the rest of him.
“Lemme watch you, too. Touch your breasts.”
She did as he asked, palming them, passing her thumbs across her nipples and drawing them to points.
He swallowed. “That’s good. Looks almost as good as when you sucked my cock the other night.”
“I’ll do that again, if you want.”
“Maybe.” But not yet. Her pussy felt too good. Maybe in a couple of minutes it would really feel too good, and he’d have to stall lest he give away the fact that all this crazy pleasure just might get the better of him. Already the arousal was making him dim, clever dirty talk no longer waiting on his tongue. The animal wanted out, and Bern opened the gate. Moans and grunts spilled from his mouth, spurred by the feedback burning between what his eyes saw and what his cock felt, and all of it intensifying tenfold, just knowing that a stranger was watching.
Fuck, he needed a distraction. Something to cool him to a less combustible state. Getting Sam off could do nicely.
He slowed his hips and found his balance, one hand still on her thigh, the other spread over her mound, thumb on her clit. The contact seemed to zap her, drawing small bucks from her body for the first few strokes, before she began to move with him, hips urging the friction.
“Bern.”
“Feel good?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna come on my big cock?”
“Yes.”
He circled the spot, slow and light. “Say please.”
“Please. Make me come.”
“When I decide to let you, you’ll come. Not a moment before.”
“He’ll be home soon.” She said it breathily, like a whisper, but loud enough for their audience to hear. “You have to leave before then.”
“You think he won’t know? You think he won’t be able to smell it in his own bed?” Bern demanded, hips slowing even more, strokes growing long, making what was happening between their bodies as obscene as he could. “Think he won’t see these sheets soaked with another man’s sweat and come?”
Her eyes shut. “Bern.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Like he won’t smell the sex leaking down your thighs and wonder who got you so wet?” he went on.
“I’ll change the sheets,” she panted, hands rubbing his arms in a frantic, thoughtless rhythm.
“He’ll see it on your face,” Bern said, making his voice cruel. “He’ll wonder who got your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen, who had your head pushed into that pillow and your hair all messed up.”
“We have to hurry.” Her hands slid to tug at his ass, and he slowed further. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Faster.”
He dropped to a glacial pace, letting them both savor the drag of his cock as it slid from her lips, then the luxurious heat as he drove back in, filthy-slow.
He found the right rhythm, timing the thrusts with the teasing of his thumb. The hands that had once caressed her breasts for his entertainment had given up that cause, and he watched her fingers play with her nipples in subtle, small tweaks, unmistakably for her own pleasure. Sexier than any show by miles.
His voice caught on a moan and he cleared it, feeling the craziness of need descending hard and fast. “Sam.”
“Sam,” came a sharper voice from behind them.
In the moment that Bern muttered, “Fuck,” he wasn’t faking the panic. He went ice-cold, even with his cock buried in Sam’s hot body. He heard her echo the sentiment beneath him, both of them going dead still. Adrenaline pounded, his pulse ticking in his ears.
Be a dick, his mental script coached. He turned his head slowly, keeping his expression stern, annoyed. He stopped short of true eye contact, staring instead at the man’s chin. His cock throbbed, hard and loud as a gong, it seemed. He felt more naked than he’d known possible.
And it felt fucking amazing.
“Mike,” Sam said, no embarrassment or shock in her voice – more like exasperation. Unlike Bern, she was prepared for this moment, still perfectly in character.
Her husband was just as Bern remembered – tallish, built, with a no-nonsense face, honest blue eyes aimed at Sam. There was hurt in those eyes, and Bern wondered if that was acting or actual – if maybe the hurt and jealousy got the guy off.
“Sam” was all the man said. His posture was tight, an invisible holster seeming to draw his shoulders back, straighten his spine. But then he changed, all at once defeated.
Bern felt Sam’s hand on his side, rubbing. Eager to look away from Mike, he stroked her thigh in return, watching his fingers.
“I never meant for you to find out like this.” She wasn’t apologizing. Just stating facts. If anything, she sounded as though her fun had just been spoiled.
Her touch made Bern’s cock twitch inside her. He’d been so hijacked by chemicals, he’d lost track of his extremities. But there he was, still hard, still into all this. He glanced at Sam’s husband for the briefest second, just about positive the guy was hard behind his jeans.
“Why?” Mike asked, sounding far more sad than angry.
“You know why.” Her hands coaxed Bern with rhythmic tugs. He obeyed, beginning to thrust again. It was different with their audience right there. Still hot, but goddamn, he felt stripped. And goddamn, it felt good. Like he was on fire, the man’s gaze kerosene.
“In our bed?”
“I need things you can’t give me.” Sam spoke to her husband, but she kept her attention on Bern, caressing his stomach and chest.
“I try to give you everything you ask for.”
“Try and fail. I need more.”
Bern read it as a cue to take her a bit quicker, a bit rougher, in long strokes to exaggerate his length. She moaned her approval.
“And this guy can give you that?”
“He can,” she said, flashing a fond, smug grin at Bern. “If you want to know what I need, grab a seat and watch what he can do.”
The word watch electrified Bern as it always did, and he lost a few seconds, reality seeming to rematerialize as Mike returned from the hall with a desk chair.
“Right there,” Sam said, directing her husband to set it beside the bed, close to the side table so the view of what was happening between their bodies would be prime. Front row.
“Show my useless husband what I like, baby,” she said to Bern.
First things first, Bern thought. He slid all the way out of her and cupped his balls, displaying his cock. Sam stroked his length with an adoring hand, her touch and Mike’s attention massaging some pleasure center deep in Bern’s brain, making him crazy.
“You can never give me this,” she said to Mike. “And no matter what you tell yourself, size does matter.”
“Sam —”
“He feels so good. Big and thick and deep.”
She let Bern go and he buried himself to the hilt. Sam groaned her approval, and his body electrified at the sound, pride blooming in his chest. The live audience had him blazing, a zillion times more intoxicating than a girlfriend watching in a mirror had ever done. And a mirror had always done plenty, before.
“Where were we?” Bern asked, finding his voice.
She grinned, seeming to like his notion to treat her husband as though he were invisible. “I can’t remember, since we were interrupted. Refresh my memory.”
He put his thumb to work on her clit, hips pumping his cock into her, deep and steady, pulling out nearly all the way, sparing Mike nothing. “You don’t remember this?” he teased her.
Another smile. “Maybe I just wanted a reminder.”
“Greedy.”
Her smile changed as his body demanded more, lips becoming a disbelieving little O shape. Her cheeks were stained deep pink, and Bern felt another burst of pride, knowing her excitement was no mere performance.
“Good,” she murmured. If h
aving Mike here gave her any anxiety, she didn’t show it. Jesus, where did a guy need to go to score a wife like Sam? A pang of sharp appreciation jabbed him, almost reverential, and he suddenly wanted to savor this remarkable woman, make the most of the time he got to enjoy with her. It did something intense to his desire, doubling his determination. He began to fuck her harder – primal, competitive urges driving his body.
“Yeah.” She stroked his arms and shoulders.
“You like it rough?” Bern asked.
“Yes.”
Abandoning her clit for the time being, he dropped to brace his elbows at her sides and took her, fast and wild. He felt surprise in her body for a few moments, until she caught up with the demands his cock was making. Her warm, soft thighs hugged his waist, inviting him to drink his fill.
He smiled down at her, their faces so close. “You like that?”
Wordless panting affirmed his question and she gripped his arms tight, nails biting.
“You missed getting fucked like this, didn’t you?”
He caught a “Yes” behind her gasp.
“I’ll spoil you rotten,” he promised, rising to hold himself up on his palms, hips still hammering, each thrust still long and deep, offering glimpses of his driving cock. “I can fuck for hours. Bet your husband can’t do that.”
“No,” she murmured, gaze glued right where everyone wanted it to be.
“You feel that?” Bern punctuated the words with a series of mean thrusts, the sharp slap of skin on skin.
“God yeah.”
“That’s what it feels like, getting fucked by a man.”
Eager hands ran down his sides, making a show of exploring his hips and ass in contrast to his feverish thrusts. Bern eased up, letting the scene turn slow and sensual for a minute or more. He needed the break, frankly – a chance to cool the friction that had his cock screaming, begging him to turn his promise of longevity into a bald-faced lie.
“I can fuck for as long as you want me to.” He stared her dead in the eyes.
“I bet you can.”
“I’ll make you come more times than you can count. Leave you limping tomorrow.”
He thought he caught a smile on her face for a moment, then it was swallowed by a moan as he pushed deep. Beyond the physical pleasure was the more abstract sensation of another person’s eyes on him. Bern felt it, as sure as he felt Sam’s slick heat or the pressure drawing taut in his belly. It stoked him as friction never could, making him blaze.
Watch me, asshole.
There was an aggression to the thought, one at odds with his rational feelings about Mike. In reality, he was grateful to the man. But playing this part, he gave himself over to the contempt, let himself feel a hundred feet tall.
Was he allowed to make eye contact with him? Bern was tempted to aim a cocky-ass glare at the guy, but maybe he was supposed to be ignored. He’d err on the side of caution and ask Sam about it ahead of time if he got invited back for a repeat performance.
He pondered the logistics and likelihood of the idea, to cool his body a few needed degrees.
It’d be the perfect arrangement, if they wanted Bern to come back. He’d get laid – with an audience, the thing he coveted most, and with someone he really liked, but without the complications and pressure that came with an actual relationship. Sam would presumably get her rocks off, and her husband’s mind would get blown in the peculiar way he preferred. Win-win-win. Plus, give it time, and who knew – maybe they’d want to tape it. Then Bern would get hard on a new level, thinking about them watching the footage. Watching him. The gift that kept on giving. Maybe if Mike ever traveled for work, they could cam for him, let the man pretend it was a hidden camera or something. The possibilities were fascinating when these two particular kinks collided.
Smiling down at Sam, Bern decided she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in ages. Pretty and passionate, and goddamn, she loved her husband. Bern might only be some side dish, an amusement sourced to complement Mike’s desires and satisfy Sam’s parameters. But he felt like he’d hit the fucking jackpot, having stumbled into this chance.
With a final fond grin, he slipped out of his thoughts and back into his body, back into a reality that was as good as any fantasy he’d ever put himself to sleep with.
He held her gaze, feeling the fire smoldering in his own. “Bet you’re just dying to come on my cock, aren’t you?”
Can a man die of sexual frustration?
Mike didn’t think so, but if anyone was in a position to find out, it was him. The palms resting flat on his thighs were damp and hot. All of him was hot, like he’d caught a fever. He couldn’t stop swallowing. His right hand fought conflicting orders from his cock and his head.
Touch yourself. It’s your fantasy being acted out on that bed.
No, don’t. You’ll come in five strokes and you might feel different after.
But Jesus, he hurt. If he’d ever been this hard, he couldn’t remember it. It was so exactly perfect – Sam’s familiar body, owned by the masculine spectacle that was Bern’s. Mike didn’t want the man, himself, only the concept of him, the size and force of a built, hung man, owning what Mike’s heart knew to be his own.
There’d been an incident, years before, when he’d found out a girlfriend had cheated on him with her ex. Mike had been about twenty-two, and though the relationship hadn’t been serious, he’d been crushed. They’d broken up, gotten back together the next summer, but Mike never quite got over the infidelity. Not because of the shattered trust or the jealousy, though. Because for about six months, the only thing he jerked off to was imagining his girlfriend with some other guy. It was crazy, what that did to him – made a knot of his heart, an aching, squeezing pain that got crossed with his sexuality, and made his cock throb like nothing else ever had.
He and that girlfriend had wound up breaking up the second and final time because Mike had become “too intense, sex-wise.” Guilty as charged – he probably hadn’t handled it the best, but Jesus, his whole world had been on fire.
The fantasy had gotten put on the back burner for a long time, through periods of bachelorhood and a couple of girlfriends who simply weren’t the types Mike could imagine cheating on him. Too sweet; no naughty, selfish gleam in the eye. Then he’d met Sam.
She didn’t come off as heartless or anything of the sort, but she had that sly little smile, a touch of mischief in and out of the bedroom. She was whip-smart and analytical, and in dark moments, he’d imagined her turning that penchant for planning toward selfish scheming – deceptions. Then he’d fallen in love with her, and he’d known if she wasn’t the one, nobody was. But could he live the rest of his life never getting as hot as he had at twenty-two, when his ex ran around on him?
He’d started looking for signs, started reading too much into Sam’s late nights at the office… not to be a controlling dick, but because he was playing a game with himself. Getting worked up, imagining her fucking around on him. It wasn’t fair to her, though, letting her think he really did distrust her. It had taken him ages to find the balls to tell her the truth, and he’d been gambling with more than he was prepared to lose. But holy fuck, look what the truth had gotten him. Where it had taken the both of them, plus this stranger.
The guy was perfect. Younger than Mike, taller, and better-looking, he imagined. Bigger dick – longer and thicker, just more. It didn’t take much mental effort for Mike to diminish himself in his head, to concentrate on all the ways Bern Davies had him outmanned. Not least of which was the way Mike’s wife was moaning beneath his hammering body.
Mike knew exactly how her pussy felt, and he hoped this shithead realized how good he had it. He shoved the thought aside, focusing a hundred percent on the fantasy. It’d be a crime to waste the live show.
One thing he hadn’t anticipated was the smell. Sex infused the room, and some animal filter in his brain knew that it wasn’t the usual scent. That was some other man’s stay-the-fuck-away chemical signals. A scent tha
t made Mike see red, except then the red blurred, rejiggering a possessive synapse in his brain, linking it to the one that got him hard – a crossed circuit he wouldn’t trade, not for anything, not anymore.
“You’re so fucking good,” Sam groaned. If she was faking it again, he’d never have guessed.
“You wanna ride my dick?”
Fuck yes, please.
“Yeah.”
Mike watched as his wife straddled her new lover, her gaze holding Mike’s when she sank down on that rival cock. “Fuck.”