Not Safe for Work

by Charlotte Stein

  Of course she tried to keep quiet, so as not to disturb Hartford any further, but the second Abel brought his arm around her and slipped a hand inside her blouse, she lost that restraint. A moan pushed past her lips, thick and oh-so-lewd sounding. It was the sort of noise people made when they were on the verge of orgasm—though in fairness, it sort of felt like she was.

  Her clit was heavy and swollen and her panties were already soaked through. When she looked down, she could see her own nipples poking through her blouse. Abel barely had to touch one stiff point through her bra to send a shock of pleasure through her, and when he pushed inside and plucked at it . . .

  She practically writhed against him.

  The sound she made doubled down on the previous moan. It was filthy, in a way she had never thought she could be—and clearly Hartford thought the same. His gaze seemed to darken, as it typically did when someone had done something wrong. The fist resting on his thigh tightened. In a second he would probably protest again, and then this whole experiment would grind to a halt.

  Or so she thought.

  “Make her do that again.”

  She almost jumped out of her skin. Partly because she hadn’t expected him to speak again, but mostly because of the words themselves. They were hungry, those words. They held nothing back, as if he’d reached some breaking point inside himself and now couldn’t do anything but continue. He liked hearing her moan. He liked it so much that he had to ask for more.

  And she gave it to him.

  Abel didn’t have to do another thing.

  She just poured out more sounds of excitement and arousal. More moans, more sighs, and finally and most daringly: her own words. “Oh, yes, it feels so good,” she said, then had the pleasure of seeing Hartford’s eyes flutter closed. Just for a moment. Just for the smallest second before he regained his composure.

  But a second was enough to spur her on.

  It was enough to spur Abel on.

  He unfastened the front clasp of her bra and parted the material to reveal her soft, round breasts and her tight little nipples. And the moment he did—the moment Hartford laid eyes on her—his resolve slipped again. Now he sank back into his chair as if the sight rocked him. The hand he had been clenching loosened. It spread over his thigh, not quite squeezing or stroking there.

  But not quite not, either.

  A little more of this and he was definitely going to give in completely. She was sure of it. And Abel definitely felt the same way. He moved a little faster now, a little more urgently, divesting her of the rest of her blouse and bra and following up with her skirt. Then once she stood there in just her panties and stockings and shoes, he made her do something very wicked indeed.

  He turned her around so her pert little ass was in Hartford’s view.

  And bent her over at the waist to reveal the secret between her legs.

  There was a wetness that glistened between the cheeks of her backside. It had made a dark circle on her pretty peach underwear—clearly visible from that angle.

  Or at least it was clearly visible when Abel forced her to stand with her legs farther apart. “Wider,” he said, and though her cheeks flamed, she did it.

  Part of her even wondered if that was why she did it. There was something electrifying about the shame and the humiliation of this. All she had to do was think of Hartford staring at the evidence of her excitement, and heat pulsed through her body. A gasp broke out of her. And again when Hartford finally spoke.

  “You filthy girl,” he said.

  But it was the tone behind the sentence that really got to her. That note of dark pleasure. The hiss of his breath around each word.

  She had to clutch at Abel to keep herself steady. She pressed her face into his thigh to stop herself from losing control.

  Though she lost it anyway. Two seconds after Hartford spoke those words, she slid a hand beneath the elastic of her panties. Hesitantly, at first, furtively, but then Hartford told Abel to take those ruined panties off and she just couldn’t seem to stop herself. Her fingers found her clit and suddenly she was rubbing and stroking it and oh, oh . . .

  That was good.

  That was what she needed.

  Some sweet relief from this torture.

  Because it was torture. It was so much more intense than anything they’d done, while fantasizing and having fun together. That had all been just a game, she realized now. A playful sort of practice meant to enhance what they already had.

  The real thing took her deeper.

  It made things sharper, hotter, more out of control.

  Anything could happen. Including Hartford saying:

  “I want you to take her. Take her now, like this.”

  As if he can’t wait any longer for someone else to do the thing he wants, her mind whispered. And her mind was right. She glanced up at him, and saw his tense expression had entirely gone. It was all desire now, all desperation, every inch of him just waiting for Abel to do as he was told.

  Not that he had to wait for long.

  He turned her to face Hartford before Hartford had finished speaking. Two fingers pressed into her slick little hole, both of them twisting and parting until she was open for him, ready for him—and then it was just a matter of unzipping. Finding a condom. Easing into her, one slow inch at a time.

  And oh god, when he did . . .

  She had to force herself not to rush back against him, the way she usually tried to. But after a second of his cock filling her and his steady hands on her hips and Hartford watching, and watching, and watching, she could barely resist. It was taking all her effort just to keep on her feet. Asking her not to move, not to seek that sweet sensation, not to buck and twist and moan . . . it was impossible.

  She needed it, and she took it.

  She pushed back against him, at first awkwardly, hesitantly. But then when the pleasure spiked through her, all other considerations seemed to fall away. She didn’t think whether Hartford would like it. She didn’t think about whether Abel would, either. Some greedy part of her simply took over, and suddenly she was bucking and gasping. Her fingers were strumming her clit again, faster and firmer until finally, finally her orgasm was right there. Just a little more of his cock.

  Just one more stroke over that swollen bud . . .

  Oh, and some insanely thrilling words from Abel.

  “See how much she likes you watching her fuck?” he said.

  And then she was there. She was shuddering and moaning, pussy clenching tight around his cock. Every inch of her alight with new and impossible sensations to the point where she could hardly stand it. She tried to groan to get some of the incredible pleasure out and only succeeded in a soundless scream. She was bursting—her body was bursting.

  But the glorious agony didn’t end there.

  “Want to see her do it again?” Abel asked.

  He didn’t act until Hartford forced out “Yes.” Abel waited and waited for Hartford to get to that point of desperation again—two hands now spread over his thighs, his face flushed—and only then did he maneuver them both to the couch opposite Hartford.

  Awkwardly, she thought. But awkwardness didn’t matter. All that mattered was how they ended up: Abel sat with her astride him, her back to his front. Her spread pussy poised over his straining cock.

  Then finally, finally, she felt the bliss of sinking down on him. That sweet ache of him gliding in, made double by the sight of Hartford watching her. She could see him now clearly, without turning her head. She could watch his every reaction, with hardly any effort at all.

  And it was amazing.

  His face seemed to open up, like the tight bud of a flower at the first rays of the sun. All the coldness in his gaze completely melted away and left behind at least a dozen things she never thought he could feel. Desire, true, but there was also a deep affection in there. As if she really meant something to him, beyond the baser elements of whatever this was.

  He was her friend, she realized, in the only w
ay he knew how to be.

  When he had said she should take an extra day off, he meant I like you. All the times he’d asked her to join him for dinner . . . they were evidence of his feelings.

  And now, right now with this, he was progressing to more. They all were, in ways she wanted to stop and consider and talk about. In fact, she probably would have done so if it hadn’t been for the intense and all-consuming pleasure.

  Abel had his fingers on her clit now, and his free hand was urging her to move. Not that he really needed to urge her—as soon as she felt the first stroke on her overly sensitive bud, she bucked. And when she bucked, it created a kind of chain reaction. One glide up and down led to two, and then three, and then suddenly she was working herself over him frantically, hands on his thighs for support, hips rolling, every part of her vividly aware of how this had to look.

  She could see how it looked.

  Hartford was practically shaking now. And his eyes had narrowed to slits.

  But best of all: One hand was no longer on his thigh—it was between them.

  Oh god, it was between them. It was there and he was rubbing just ever so slightly. And, oh, then he squeezed the heavy shape there, he squeezed it, like a man who has no control over anything he does anymore.

  And that was when she lost it.

  “Ah, god, yes, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she moaned as the pleasure surged. She shook and shuddered, blooming against Abel’s still-working fingers, her thighs seizing around his. All the bliss in the world suddenly hers for thirty long, amazing seconds.

  Followed by a kind of bonelessness she’d never experienced. She sagged back against Abel, breathing in long, hard gasps, unable to move when he tried to urge her to, unable to care when he finally laid her back on the couch. She just wanted to bask for a second in all of this lovely pleasure, to really relish all of this, in case they all came to their senses tomorrow.

  However, Abel had other ideas.

  “Want to finish me off?” he asked.

  And he wasn’t talking to her.

  She opened her eyes to see him staring straight at Hartford, as if he was challenging him to some kind of fight. Hartford even looked like that was the case—his face was a perfect mixture of trepidation and . . . something else. Something that looked like untrammeled lust, to her. Though, honestly, what did she know?

  She was still too drunk from her orgasm to assess anything correctly.

  All she could really do was lie there and watch, most of her sure Hartford would never agree. He had already been pushed out of his comfort zone. He couldn’t go any further.

  Yet somehow he did.

  He stood, and he did it so abruptly it shoved her heart into her mouth. Suddenly she was as alert as she’d ever been, and not just because of the shock. There was also the shiver that went through her, to see Hartford like this. The warm flood of arousal, just as thick as it had felt when they first started.

  Then Hartford knelt, and the flood became a tsunami. Her heart was now pounding in her teeth. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. She wanted to ask over and over, “Are you really going to?” Only she didn’t have to ask.

  He was doing it.

  All Abel had to do was rub the head of his bare cock over those stern lips, and they parted. They took him in as if they’d been doing this forever—though she was sure that couldn’t be true. Or at least, she was sure until he actually started working Abel’s cock. Slowly at first, oh so slowly. But then, after a minute, slowly didn’t seem to be enough. He took that heavy length a little faster, a little more eagerly, until finally she realized.

  He hadn’t been wary when he started this.

  He had been savoring it, obviously.

  Savoring that salt-sweet taste, and the solid feel of Abel on his tongue. Relishing the sounds Abel made—the sighs and the gasps and the moans. And once Hartford had them, once they were ringing in his ears, he clearly couldn’t contain himself any longer. He had stopped being content with a deliberate, sensuous sort of approach. Now he wanted to devour Abel, it seemed.

  And that impression only got clearer, the longer this went on for.

  His eyes had closed; his mouth suddenly looked so messy. He was practically drooling all over that thick shaft—and oh god, the sounds that were coming out of him. She thought it was Abel at first, moaning like that. But it wasn’t. Abel had his teeth sunk deep into his lower lip, head back, little more than hissed sighs coming out of him now.

  No, it was Hartford who supplied the soundtrack.

  Hartford who grunted when Abel lifted his hips.

  Hartford who urged him on with thick, delirious groans of pleasure.

  By the time Abel put a hand in his hair, Hartford had become a completely different person. He had become the kind of person she was when she had sex. He was outside himself and unable to control even the smallest of his reactions. He had a hand between his own legs now, rubbing and rubbing. His other one was currently fisting the shirt Abel still had on into a tight ball.

  Though, insanely, all of this was nothing compared to what he did when Abel spoke.

  “Look how much you love that,” Abel gasped out. “Look how much you love me fucking your face.”

  And then Hartford just seemed to lose it. He started yanking at his slacks in a desperate attempt to get at himself—and that wasn’t even the most shocking thing he did. There was also the words he pulled away to say in reply, breathless and garbled and completely uncaring. “Yes, go on, yes, do it,” he groaned.

  At which point Amy simply had to do something, too. She couldn’t just lie there watching anymore. It was too much. It was too exciting.

  In fact, it was so exciting she felt as if she’d hardly had an orgasm at all. It seemed insane that she’d had two when this ache was thrumming through her and every inch of her just needed to fuck. Usually it took her a while to get from zero to here, but god it was different now. All she could think of was pushing a hand into that short, fine hair, and forcing him onto Abel’s cock, until he choked.

  Like the way Abel was doing now.

  He had a fistful of Hartford’s hair, and every now and then he would urge him down, down all the way, until Hartford made the most electrifying sound. It was somewhere between a sob of protest and a moan of pleasure, and it damn near did her in. It made her reach for him—though a little hesitantly, maybe.

  But luckily, Abel was there to help her.

  He took hold of her hand, the way he typically did when they went on long walks. And then he threaded her fingers through Hartford’s hair. He gazed at her, with all the heat and adoration she could probably want—though it was his words that really thrilled. It was always his words, whispered against her lips about a second before he kissed her.

  “Oh yeah, that’s it, honey,” he said. “Use his mouth to make me come.”

  So she did. She set the pace, with her hand on the back of Hartford’s head. She made him go faster, suck harder; she made him take the whole length of Abel’s straining cock. And she did it all as Abel slid his mouth over hers. As their tongues tangled and breathless words slipped between them, urgent and full of affection and warmth.

  It was as if it was just them for a moment.

  Though it surprised her how it felt when she remembered it wasn’t.

  “Ah, god, I’m coming,” Abel gasped, but there was no sense of something shifting. There was no change in the temperature of her feelings, nor wondering if Hartford really belonged. Instead, the warmth intensified. She found herself lacing her fingers through Hartford’s, just as Abel’s head went back. Just as he grunted thickly and bucked his hips, that gorgeous cock of his jerking and swelling in Hartford’s mouth.

  In Tom’s mouth, she thought.

  And that seemed right.

  All of this did, really. It was like it had happened a thousand times before, without any of them knowing it. Every time Hartford had asked her to pass her a pen, he’d really been saying I want you. And when he made Abel wai
t, it was only to stress how deep his desire ran.

  So deep, she thought, they would never get out of it.

  So deep, in fact, that she didn’t want to.

  Chapter Five

  She thought Hartford would be different in the aftermath. Stiffer and meaner, out of a sense of misplaced humiliation. It was the reason she approached their next meeting with trepidation, half of her wondering if she should just turn around and go home. It had been a mistake to take the position he had offered her. It was a mistake to agree to come to Hartford’s penthouse, to discuss various proposals that he apparently had in mind.

  Though thinking that it was mistake relied entirely on those proposals being business ones. When she got there and realized they weren’t, any misgivings went completely out the window.

  “So glad you could join us, Ms. Elliot,” Hartford said, as if everything were totally normal. Even though he had to pull away from the kiss he was giving Abel to do it.

  His mouth was still glistening from it, when he addressed her.

  His lips were still red, as if they’d been doing it for a while.

  And even more arresting: they were both hard.

  She could see the shape of their stiff cocks through their slacks, as clear as anything. Hartford didn’t even try to hide it—though really, why should he? This was a real thing now. An ongoing liaison, between the three of them. When he called her and Abel to his home, he didn’t mean to discuss company matters. He meant for this. He meant to fuck.

  And god she wanted to.

  The second she saw them, something inside her shifted.

  She was wet before she went over to them. Wet before Hartford clasped the back of her head, and brought her mouth to his. Softly, tenderly—more so than she could ever have dreamed or hoped for. Our first kiss, she thought, so good and sweet it made her whole body fizz. Her nipples tightened a little more, her clit swelled against the confines of her silk panties. All Hartford had to do was run a hand over the front of her skirt and sensation poured through and from that stiff little bud.

  And both of them knew it.