Page 3 of The Rival's Obsession
I cup Sam’s face with both hands, holding him steady as I thrust up into his mouth.
Slow at first. Then deeper. Harder.
“Yeah, take it,” I murmur, watching the way his lips stretch around me, spit-slick and shining. “Just like that. Fucking perfect.”
His throat tenses, face flushed red as he fights the urge to gag around my cock.
But he doesn’t stop.
He’s obedient and mine—for tonight.
I pull out, cock glistening, and run my thumb across his soaked bottom lip.
“Look at you,” I praise, voice low. “Taking so much of me like you were made for it.”
His eyes flutter, and I tug him up—pulling him into a kiss that starts with tongues, swirling and teasing, until our lips finally collide.
The moan we share is filthy and raw.
Behind us, the mattress dips—Kris shifting.
“Lie back,” I say, barely pulling from Sam’s mouth, still tasting him. “Head at the foot of the bed. Legs apart. You know how I want you.”
She obeys without a word—always the picture of grace and filth.
I kiss Sam again—deeper, slower this time—before turning and crawling down Kris’s body.
The angle’s awkward, upside down, but I make it work.
My mouth latches to her breast, teeth catching her nipple while I squeeze the soft weight of her other tit in my palm.
She sighs, arching beneath me.
Sam moves behind me, his strong hand wrapping around my cock, gripping hard.
“Fuck,” I hiss as he strokes, lips brushing my shoulder. His mouth follows the movement of his hand—kissing, teasing, leaving warmth and promise in his wake.
We’re both standing now, side by side.
I turn to him, grip the back of his neck, and pull him into another kiss—rough and eager, heat flaring between us.
My hand finds his cock—thick and hard—and I stroke him as our mouths clash again.
“Lie on top of her,” I growl, breaking the kiss just enough to speak against his lips. “Fuck her throat while you eat her pussy. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be getting another?—”
Rrring.
We both laugh—dark and breathless.
Of course.
I kiss him once more, then release him, trading the weight of his body for the chill of the champagne glass.
The fizz tickles my skin as I bring it to my lips?—
then I swipe to answer.
“Frankie Lane!” I greet, too damn pleased with myself. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
