Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,35

further back on my elbows, I saw something on the balcony move.

I stiffened, my eyes narrowing in the space past Easton’s shoulder, and in the moment before he thrust inside of me, I understood what it was. Aaron. He was standing on the balcony, his silhouette breaking the dotted landscape of lights. In between us there was a thick floor-to-ceiling wall of windows that blocked out the sound but would give him a clear view of everything that was happening.

My husband, still clothed, his dick jutting through his pants, his belt wrapped around my head.

My breasts hanging out, nipples hard in the suite’s cool air, offered up as if for sacrifice.

The spotlight of the chandelier, shining down on me as he gripped my thighs and shoved inside of me.

I clutched at Easton’s forearm, my nails digging in. He didn’t react, his hold tightening on me as he started to thrust his hips in rapid concert, my body eagerly welcoming the intrusion. I could have told him. I could have reached back and undone the belt. Pulled it out of my mouth. Let him know that we were on full display.

But I didn’t. I didn’t because knowing that Aaron was there, knowing that his eyes were on me, that his shadowy outline hadn’t moved away from the view … it was powerful. It bound my nerves in a way I’d never experienced before. I fell back against the felt and arched my back, squeezing and tugging on my breasts. I wrapped my legs around Easton’s waist and urged him on, fucking him back as he drilled into me.

I performed, knowing that my husband’s best friend was watching. Was Aaron’s dick out? Was he stroking it? Was he watching my breasts jiggle from the impact and wanting to bury his face in between them? An inferno of arousal spread at the possibility that I had both of their attention, their arousal, their complete need.

The felt rubbed against my shoulders and Easton grunted, his eyes clamping on me, excitement burning through them. I looked down, between our bodies and felt dizzy seeing his swollen and wet cock, rigidly working in and out. Could he see the point of our connection? Could he see the tightening of my body as my orgasm approached? I stiffened when the peak came, arriving quicker and harder than any I’d ever had. Easton swore, clamping his hands on me to keep me in place, his furious pace unbroken as he continued through my orgasm.

When it finished, Easton pulled me into his arms and lowered me onto the floor. “I’m close,” he gritted. “Get on your knees.”

I did. My pussy flexing, clit tingling, my nipples aching for Aaron’s mouth—I got on all fours, my head roughly yanked back as Easton pulled on the end of the belt. And there, even closer to the windows, my husband mounted and fucked me, plowing into me, over and over again, until I clawed against the thick rug, another orgasm peaking.

Was Aaron close? Was his hand as furious on his cock as Easton’s was pumping inside me? This was it, as close as I’d ever come to my fantasies and it was happening, I was being fucked like a whore while my husband’s best friend watched. It was happening, and I was loving every single moment of it.

The knowledge, the attention, the furious sounds and feel of my body being used—it all bundled into a twisted loop of pleasure, unfurling in a crescendo of pleasure that made my eyes roll back, my back flexing, a muted scream sounding against the dry taste of the leather. Easton felt it and leaned forward over my body, his hands framed on either side of mine, his chest against my back, and gave a soft roar, the sounds muffled in my hair, his body shuddering as he gave a few final thrusts and stopped.

My knees slid out and I relaxed onto my belly, afraid to look toward the window and see if Aaron was still there. Easton gently undid the belt and freed my mouth. Working my jaw open and closed, I smiled at the soft kiss he placed on my back.

“God, I fucking love you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think we’d manage that without one of them coming out.”

“I think Chelsea’s in a coma,” I rolled onto my back and repositioned my panties into place, hopeful that he wouldn’t bring up Aaron. “How’d I compare with the Parent’s Weekend mom?”

“No comparison.” He gave me a