Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“You’re both looking at me,” she says, her voice a half-whisper. “Like you’re going to eat me alive.”
O’Toole’s mouth twitches. “We are.”
I laugh, a single pulse. “You got a problem with that, sweetheart?”
She thinks for a second. “No. Not at all.”
There’s a click in the radiator, and O’Toole shifts, lifting her legs so she slides down, her ass pressed to the thin cushions. “You want to run the show tonight?” he asks, voice turned almost gentle. “It’s your call.”
Stella tilts her head, hair spilling over her shoulder, gold in the lamplight. “No,” she says, but there’s mischief in it. “Not really. I want you to ruin me.”
I lean forward, teeth bared. “You want it, you ask for it. That’s the deal.”
She stretches out, arms over her head, spine arching just enough to make her chest tight against the dress. “Ruin me, Hunter,” she says. “And you, Lachlan. I want you both.”
I feel O’Toole’s eyes on me, waiting to see what I’ll do. I let my hand drift up her thigh, hiking the skirt as I go, and she bites her lip, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re not wearing any panties,” I murmur, voice pitched low. “You slut.”
She grins, slow and lazy. “I never wear them when I’m around you guys anymore. Remember? You told me not to.”
I do remember. I remember directing her to go commando so that the delicate folds of her pussy would be available to us at every turn.
I push her knees apart, slow, and lean in. The scent of her—spice and honey and the faintest metallic ghost of the tears—hits me like a memory. O’Toole moves, bracketing her with his arms, his breath loud at her ear. His mouth finds her earlobe, biting down, and she whimpers, the sound small and shocked.
“Open up for us, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice gone full desperation, nothing hidden. “Show us what you’re made for.”
Stella mewls, spreading her legs wide, the insides of her thighs pale and gleaming in the low light. She watches me the whole time, daring me to move first. Her pussy’s gorgeous, a swollen, drenched pink, with the hard bud of her clit poking from between her lips. She reaches down and pulls her labia apart, showing off her little hole as well as the steamy pink walls of her cunt.
“Come get it, big boys,” she breathes with invitation. “This is for you.”
I kneel between her thighs and run my tongue up the seam of her cunt, slow, savoring it. She tastes like sweat and salt, her clit already hard, the lips swollen and so wet it makes a sound. I work her, slow at first, circling with the tip, then hard, flicking with the flat of my tongue, until her hips buck and she grabs my hair, fingers winding tight.
“Oooh!” she squeals, her cunt gushing hard. “Mmm!”
O’Toole’s hand is on her breast, squeezing through the thin dress, thumb rubbing the nipple until it’s a sharp peak. She gasps, the sound a choked sob, and her hips buck again.
“You like that, baby?” I murmur against her, breath hot and wet. “You want more?”
“Please,” she whispers.
O’Toole laughs, deep and mean. “She’s always so polite,” he says, kissing her throat. “Even when she’s soaking.”
I slide two fingers inside her, slow, and she moans, so loud it rattles the glass on the table. O’Toole slides his hand down, meeting mine, and our fingers brush, both of us inside her at once. Her body clenches, and she gasps, head thrown back.
“Oh my god,” she moans headily. “I have two men fingering my cunt at once.”
I pull my fingers out and press them to her lips. “That’s right, baby, exactly the way you like it. Now clean up, sweetheart.”
She sucks them, greedy, tongue swirling. O’Toole slips his fingers into her mouth too, and for a moment she’s choking on too much, eyes wide and wild as saliva slobbers down her chin.
“Mppph!” she squeals. “Ummmph!”
I pull my hand out, lean up, take her jaw in my hand, and kiss her hard, tasting myself on her tongue. She kisses back, furious, biting my lip. Blood beads, just a little, and she licks it away.
O’Toole is undressing her now, pulling the dress up and over her head in one motion. Her breasts fall free, huge, heavy and perfect, nipples rosy and stiff. I take one in my mouth, sucking hard, and she arches into it, hands clawing at my shirt.
“Mmmm,” is Stella’s moan. “Oh god, yes!”
O’Toole sucks her other tit, laving it with his tongue before biting and shaking his head side to side like a dog, making her scream. But then he pauses, and watches us. His other hand is on her clit, squeezing, and I know what he wants. He wants to watch me fuck her, wants to see her break, and I want it just as much.