by Naima Simone
Looming over his woman, the man drew a berry-colored nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard on the tip, she cried out, her back arching. A large hand slid down her flat stomach and disappeared between her legs, stroking bare flesh, already glistening with moisture. Without releasing her nipple, he spread her thighs wider, pressing them flat to the bed so their audience had a perfect, erotic view of his thick fingers sliding through her flushed, pink lips and dipping into her pussy. Even through the glass partition, her cry of pleasure reached them.
A shudder rippled through Harper, and he gently shook his hand free from hers and placed both of his on her hips, steadying her.
“R-Rion,” she stammered, inching backward. He pressed his chest to her back, notched his cock against the high rise of her ass and the dip in her spine. Unlike before, he didn’t try to hide her effect on him. He wanted her to feel what she did to him. What she would take in her mouth and pussy before the night was over. She released a small whimper but didn’t move. Didn’t flee the room. That sign of need, of trust, made his flesh harden more until he damn near resembled stone.
“This is the voyeur room,” he murmured in her ear. “Look around, Harper. All these people have the same desire as you. To watch others fuck. They love it; they get off on it. Just like you.” He shifted her toward the back of the room and, pressing his spine to the wall, widened his legs and drew her between them. Her gaze was riveted to the sensual scene being played out in front of them. Her chest rose and fell on rapid breaths, her fingers twisting in front of her. He covered her hands with one of his own, halting the nervous fidgeting.
In the adjoining room, the man eased to the floor and knelt between his woman’s legs. As if presenting a beautiful, priceless treasure, he spread her legs wide, allowing them to see her swollen, wet folds. Taking pride in her restless grinding of hips, arching back, and needy plucking at her own nipples, he trailed his lips up one calf and down a toned, pale thigh, toward her pussy. In front of him, tension entered Harper’s frame, and she stilled. And when the man bypassed the woman’s sex, instead repeating his caress on her other leg, Harper’s frustrated sigh echoed the other woman’s growl. Again, that tension crept back into her frame when the man neared his partner’s drenched flesh. This time, his tongue licked a slow path up her slit, flicking the clit. Several long, lust-filled groans filled the room. Including one from Harper.
Tearing his gaze from the scene, Rion dropped it to her face, needing to witness the pleasure that vibrated against his chest.
Fuck. The muted lighting couldn’t hide the wide eyes darkened by surprise and pleasure or her parted lips. Couldn’t conceal the flush painting her high, sculpted cheekbones or slashing across the skin her scooped, modest neckline revealed. Lust looked gorgeous on her. She was meant to wear it.
Harper leaned against him as if her legs could no longer bear her weight. A peek back at the glass showed the man working the woman over with long, hungry strokes, teasing laps, and greedy sucks. Slowly, Rion spread his fingers wide over Harper’s belly. God, she was so fucking tiny. Each hand spanned her stomach, throwing in sharp relief how much he dwarfed her. An image of them in bed taunted him. He would cover her completely, dominate her. Would her petite body be able to take the rough, dirty sex he liked? Could she, so delicate and small, take all of his dick inside her undoubtedly tight and equally small pussy? Sweat dampened his palms and the base of his spine at the thought. He’d only caressed the damp folds, and inching himself inside her would be torture and pleasure. Both guaranteed to kill him.
But, sweet fuck, what a way to go.
Slowly, he slid his hands up her torso and cupped her breasts. She jerked hard in his hold, releasing a startled cry.
“Shh,” he soothed, nuzzling her ear. He placed a soft kiss behind her ear, and she twitched again. Noting that spot, he whispered, “Easy, baby.”
This time, he didn’t regret the endearment. Not here, in the dark, with sex riding the air like a perfume. Like he’d assured her, everything was allowed. No regrets. No shame. What he couldn’t utter if they’d met on the street or even downstairs, he could here. Squeezing her flesh, he hummed, pleasure a hot, tight knot in his gut. Even with the dress in the way, she filled his hands. Not overflowing like the woman writhing on the bed, but natural, enough. Perfect.
He stared down over her shoulder, stared at his hands cradling her tits, shaping them, molding them. Part of him couldn’t believe he was finally—finally—touching Harper. That same part held its breath, waiting for him to wake up from another wet dream, his dick in his hand. But no. She was real. Harper, his Harper—because for the next few hours before he let her go, she belonged to him—stood in front of him, her ass wedged against his cock, her fingers locked around his wrists, her nipples at rigid attention under his thumbs.
Her head dropped on his shoulder, but her eyes remained on the couple where the man tongue-fucked his woman. She’d curled her hands behind her knees, trapping her thighs to her chest, granting her lover unhindered access to her pussy. Yeah, it was hot. But not as arousing as the slick of Harper’s tongue over her lips. Or the tiny sounds she emitted as Rion pinched her nipples.
Shaking her hands loose, he skimmed his down her arms and drew them over her head and behind his neck. He squeezed her fingers, ensuring she understood not to move, then gathered the heavy silk of her hair and flipped the dark strands over her shoulder. The tab of her dress called to him, and he answered, tugging the zipper down. The material parted, exposing inch after inch of smooth, dusky skin. She carried the evidence of her Italian heritage in the olive and porcelain tone. Made a man hungry and thirsty at the same time.
For a moment, he just stared at the slice of skin, once more reverting to that young man who had been offered the chance to touch, but with blood on his hands, hadn’t been clean or worthy enough to take. The one who had stood there, stoic and raging inside when she’d gutted him by choosing to marry someone with her parents’ stamp of approval.
But that youth no longer existed. The man who would take her over and over again tonight, satiating the craving that had dogged him for years, did. And he would do just that before walking away and never looking back.
Grim satisfaction prowled through him as he unhooked her bra strap and slid his hands inside the dress, smoothing his palms over her skin. Hell yes. He clenched his teeth, trapping the deep groan that rose in his chest. So soft. Exactly as he remembered. He almost snatched his hands from her, worried they would bruise her. Only her earlier assurance that she could take whatever he dealt her kept him from reacting… That, and the arousal blasting his insides like a blowtorch.
Pressing his temple to hers, he once again cupped her, slipping under her loosened bra. Flesh to flesh. Skin to skin. She jolted, arching into palms, fingernails digging into his nape. Relishing the bite of pain, he kneaded her breasts and pinched her nipples into tight, hard tips. Dipping his head, he trailed his lips up the elegant column of her neck and continued to torment them both. God, he wanted to jerk the dress down to her waist, bare her to his eyes and mouth. Instead he tugged on the peaks, rolling and flicking them. Harper twisted and writhed under his touch, her whimpers and low moans like a sensual symphony. She was his instrument to pluck, to play.
Once more, he wished for his camera. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to photograph her right now. To capture the sweet undulations of her petite body and the passion that tore gasps from her parted lips and clouded her beautiful eyes.
Eyes that were closed.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered, giving her breasts one last squeeze before removing his hands from her dress and gripping her hips. “Look at them.”
Her lashes fluttered, her head rising off his shoulder. Together, they watched the man deliver another long lick to his lover’s folds, pausing to tease her clit with the tip of his tongue. Then he rose and crawled over her, his muscled form crouched over her much slimmer one. He shifted her body, so their audience had the perfect view of his back, ass�
��and her flushed, shining pussy.
“Rion,” she whispered.
Rion tightened his hold on her, guiding her to an armchair tucked in the deeper shadows a couple of feet away. Instead of seating her on the cushion, he led her behind the chair, and tangling her fingers with his, curled them over the back. She twisted, glancing at him over her shoulder, but he grasped her chin and gently, but firmly, turned her forward again. With the tip of his shoe, he nudged her feet wider, and with a palm to her lower back, silently ordered her to lean forward.
“Watch,” he murmured, lowering his hands to the hem of her dress. He fisted the material, drawing the skirt up her slim legs, once more baring her inch by slow inch. She trembled, the quivers like aftershocks coursing through her and vibrating against him. With a low growl, he brushed his lips down her spine, and the shivers intensified. He straightened, fierce pleasure and satisfaction that he could make her shake and shudder pulsed inside him like a heartbeat. Determined to earn more, he finished bunching her dress around her hips, exposing her to his hungry stare.
Sin and innocence wrapped in black lace. Not the thongs most women of his acquaintance wore, but delicate lace cut high at her smooth thighs, again teasing him with glimpses of flesh underneath. One hand holding her skirt in place, he smoothed the other over one ass cheek, cupping it, squeezing it. Yeah, I’m touching her. That damn awe again. He trailed his fingers down the crease, hiding the tiny hole he wanted to caress, lick, and fuck…
She jerked. “Rion,” she rasped his name and reached back and cuffed his wrist. The restraint was either in objection to him baring her from the waist down or to the illicit stroke. “I’m not—” she stammered.
“You okay, baby?” he rasped, pausing. No one paid them attention, but he had to make sure she was comfortable, that she felt only pleasure, not embarrassment or, worse, shame. “You good with this?”
“Yes,” she breathed. After a moment, she returned her hand to the back of the chair. “Yes.”
“Good,” he praised, pressing his chest to her back, covering her. His thighs brushed the insides of hers, preventing her from closing her legs. Rocking his hips forward, he stroked his dick against her ass like he’d wanted to do earlier. He nipped her earlobe in both praise and punishment at the pleasure she gave him. “Look at how wet she is. She’s soaked. But not just for him. Because she knows all these eyes are on her. Because your eyes are on her.” He flattened a palm to her belly and slid the other one down and over her hip. She sucked in a breath. “You’re giving her pleasure just by watching, by getting hot and drenched. And you are wet, aren’t you, Harper?” He teased the band of her panties, slipping just his fingertips underneath. Soft, springy hair grazed his skin, and he ground his dick harder against her. Gritting his teeth, he growled, “Harper? Answer me.”
“Yes.” The word exploded from between her lips on a gasp. Tilting her head back, she rocked her ass up and down, rubbing over his dick, and dragging a groan out of him. “God, I am. Please, Rion. Just…”
He plunged two fingers inside her at the same time the man on the other side of the glass buried himself inside his lover’s pussy. A low, keening wail erupted from her, drowning out his hoarse “fuuuuuck.”
Slick, muscular walls. Hot like a furnace. Liquid heat that, by all rights, should be scalding him. She spasmed around his fingers, quivering as her flesh accustomed itself to the invasion. Goddamn, she was small. Tight. Perfect.
His cock throbbed as if jealous, and hell, it should be. Pushing inside her would be hell…and the only glimpse of heaven he would ever be granted.
Withdrawing his fingers, he glided them through her slit, and over her engorged little clit. Harper bucked against his hand, wild sounds spilling out of her. Jesus, she was hot. Just one thrust and caress and, that fast, she was on the verge of coming undone. With a snarl, he grasped her chin, tilted it down, forcing her attention on the fucking in front of them.
The man pounded into his woman, his dick disappearing in her thrust after thrust. The slap of flesh filled the room even through the glass. And the sighs and grunts from the others in the room, as well as from the woman in his arms, steadily rose.
“That’s what I’m going to do to you,” he growled, wrapping his arm around her waist, holding her still as he rocketed his fingers back into her sex. Like a good girl, she didn’t move her hands from the chair, but she writhed against him, voluntarily spreading her legs wider so he could have more of her. Setting up a fast, steady pace, he pumped into her, lust like a clawing beast digging at his gut every time her lush walls squeezed him. “I’m going to fuck you into the bed. Hard. Deep. Imagine this”—he twisted his wrist, corkscrewing his fingers and ripping a cry free of her—“is my dick, riding you, screwing you, branding this pretty, tight as hell pussy. You’re going to scream for me, baby. Again.” He thrust into her. “And again.” Thrust. “And again.”
He dipped his other hand between her thighs and circled the taut bud at the top of her thighs, torturing the engorged bundle of nerves with firm strokes. His fist bumped the soft skin of her inner thighs as he slammed his fingers into her, pushing her closer and closer to orgasm.
“Come, baby,” he whispered, rubbing her clit as he plunged hard and high within her sex. “Come with her. Give it to me and her.”
She came, strangling his fingers in a vise-like grip. She shook with the force of it, and he didn’t let up on his thrusts or caresses to her clit until every last shudder quieted. Behind the partition, the woman’s cries rebounded off the glass, her legs splayed wide as her man rode her through the release. Harper whimpered with her as she slumped back against him, her chest rising and falling on her still harsh breaths.
Slowly, he eased his fingers from inside her, reluctant to leave. Still feeling the death-grip of her pussy, he slid them into his mouth, humming as the first taste of her exotic flavor exploded across his senses. Damn. Sweet. Tangy. Fucking addicting. He sucked her cream clean. And it only whetted his appetite for more.
Lust beat inside him. He needed to be inside her. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass—just inside. But this—this dip into voyeurism—had been for her…for her to let go. To realize she could. Reluctant pride surged within.
Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gathered it to the side and pressed a kiss to her neck, murmuring her name. She started, ducking her head, the movement quick. And it smacked of guilt. Lifting his gaze, he followed the line of direction where hers had been before he’d surprised her. It didn’t take long to discover what had held her fascination.
Across the room, a woman with enough curves to shame Botticelli’s Venus lay sprawled over the arm of one of the couches. And most of those curves were on full display. But he’d bet his left nut it wasn’t her bared tits that had snared Harper’s attention. Two men bent over the woman. One cradled a breast in his hand, sucking hard on the nipple, his fingers toying with the other. And the second man knelt between her spread thighs, his face buried in her pussy. Absolute carnal ecstasy suffused her face, twisting it into a mask of lust and arousal.
Is it the thought of my cock that has your pussy hot? Or would any do? The question he’d asked Harper in his office ghosted across his mind. As did the flicker of emotion in her eyes that he couldn’t identify…then. Now he understood. Lust. Furtive and quickly hidden, but it’d been lust he’d glimpsed. Yeah, Harper wanted him—the force of her orgasm and his drenched fingers was proof of that. But she wanted more.
An image wavered and solidified in his head, and his gut tightened with need. Harper, splayed out on the couch, her face hard with pleasure as Rion ate her pussy while another man played with those pretty breasts.
Need, greedy and hot, surged through him.
“Do you want that, Harper?” Her head jerked up, and he studied her face. Caught the surprise and shame that flashed across her expression before she concealed it. He hated that guilt. Had seen it one too many times tonight. She, with her beauty, her passion, had nothing to be ashamed about. To f
eel dirty about. She parted her lips, but he waylaid her reply. “Honesty, baby,” he reminded her.
“I…” She inhaled, slicked the tip of her tongue over her lips. With another quick peek at the trio, she shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
She knew. Was just afraid to voice the fantasy.
“Okay,” he said, allowing her the lie…for now. “Are you ready?”
He didn’t wait for her reply but tugged her skirt down, for now concealing what he considered his, even if only for the next few hours. Without bothering to zip her dress, he extended his hand to her, and once her smaller one pressed to his, he led her out of the room. As if attuned to some internal clock, he could feel the minutes ticking away. Soon his time with her would come to an end. But not before he made every second count.
Made every one of them a memory.
Chapter Five
“In here.”
Harper walked past Rion and entered another room, noting the green door. Green. The color of youth, rebirth. Maybe that should’ve been the paint on the first room. Because damn, she’d been reborn in there. She’d discovered that all her life she’d been living in hues of gray, her world muted, placid. But now…now those blinders had been ripped away, and the colors were so vibrant, technicolor, alive, that it almost hurt. In that room, with the couple performing for them—no, not performing, because there had been no artifice between them. In that room, with the couple fucking for their pleasure, Rion had shattered her.
And the fear that had been missing when he’d warned her about what to expect, about what he planned to do to her, rushed in like a flood, crashing against her.
Because she didn’t know if she would ever be able to pick up all those pieces she’d splintered into and reshape herself into something recognizable.
Still, if it was just the fear, she could recover quickly. Or at least fake it until the unsettling sense of foreboding dissipated. But the shame dogging fear’s heels like a yipping dog refused to be silenced. Guilt’s sibilant hiss filled her ears as it wound an oily, thick path through her veins, coating her heart.