Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,68

no. I just…” He let out a breath. “God, you’re hot. I just—” The toe of his shoe bumped against my knee. “Just go slowly. Please.”

I inched forward on my knees and took my time, letting my tongue play along his seams and girth. He was thinner than Easton, but almost as long. His dick was like his build, strong and tall. I circled the head of him with my tongue and then worked him into my mouth, slowing the process down further as he sharply inhaled.

“I don’t know how you do it, E. I’m about to fucking come just from watching her take my cock.”

“I know. Her mouth is insane.” I heard the pride in my husband’s voice as he pulled my left hand off Easton’s thigh and put it on his own dick. I curled my fingers around his stiff shaft, swelling under their praise.

This was it. My fantasy come to fruition. I was between the two of them. Aaron’s cock was in my mouth. My husband was harder than steel and I had never been so wet or aroused in my life.

“My turn.” Easton’s hand closed on the back of my head and I turned to him, taking him as deeply as I could, and then pulled off.

Returned to Aaron. Took him to his base, and incited a string of curses from his mouth.

Went back to Easton, my hand working over Aaron, my weight shifting from knee to knee as I repeated the process, back and forth between the two men. My pussy grew heavy with need, and I shifted, bringing my heels underneath me, the strap of one stiletto abused as I ground against the clasp, dragging myself across the metal bit and still frustratingly unable to make contact with my clit.

My husband noticed my need, and his hand tightened on my shoulder, stopping my movement. “Now, it’s our turn.”

28

I stood, still bare on top, my nipples still fiercely hard and itching for stimulation. Between my legs, I was wet, my body throbbing, every pleasure sensor on high alert. The blindfold was still snug, everything dark and every sensation louder as a result.

Someone’s hand brushed down the middle of my back. A slow finger trailed around one nipple and then the other. Two hands settled on the back of my thighs and slid up, underneath the hem of the dress, taking their liberties across the curve of my ass. Was it Easton or Aaron? Before this moment, I would have sworn that I’d recognize Easton’s touch anywhere. But now, in the dark, everything was beginning to twist and mix into an unknown cocktail of eroticism.

It should have terrified me. A different woman would have held back. I wanted more.

A tongue flicked across my nipple and I reach out instinctively, capturing the head and pulling it onto my breast. Not Easton’s short tuffs. This was coarser hair, and a thrill shot through me at the knowledge that it was Aaron who was now taking my nipple into his mouth. Aaron whose hands were cupping my breasts. Aaron who was stepping closer, his clothes brushing against my skin, his groan vibrating out from his tongue. I pulled at his hair, bringing his mouth to my other breast, and pinched my eyes shut at the desperate need that flooded through me.

“Easton,” I choked out. “I need more.”

“Get on the bed.”

Aaron withdrew and Easton pulled at my waist, bringing me back. I stumbled, then felt the bed behind me and sat.

There was movement. Items rustled. Something splashed. A shoe fell. A light brush of air moved across my skin as the fan came on. Bare feet slapped the floor. I started, then relaxed as Easton’s mouth brushed mine, then kissed me deeper, a splash of champagne on his tongue.

He moved to my ear, kissing the lobe, then whispered into it. “Ready?”

“Wait.” I hesitated, turning an idea over in my head before I put it into action. Was I ready? Was I sure?

But I was. I wanted more, and part of that included sight. I reached up and picked at the knot of satin at the back of my head, working it loose, the fabric falling around my neck. I pulled it off, dropping it to the floor and opened my eyes.

Easton stood directly before me, gazing down as if he wanted to both worship and devour me. I didn’t look for Aaron, didn’t do anything but reach for the glass in Easton’s hand, tilting back the delicate flute and filling