Page 24 of Not Safe for Work
He didn’t act until Hartford forced out “Yes.” Abel waited and waited for Hartford to get to that point of desperation again—two hands now spread over his thighs, his face flushed—and only then did he maneuver them both to the couch opposite Hartford.
Awkwardly, she thought. But awkwardness didn’t matter. All that mattered was how they ended up: Abel sat with her astride him, her back to his front. Her spread pussy poised over his straining cock.
Then finally, finally, she felt the bliss of sinking down on him. That sweet ache of him gliding in, made double by the sight of Hartford watching her. She could see him now clearly, without turning her head. She could watch his every reaction, with hardly any effort at all.
And it was amazing.
His face seemed to open up, like the tight bud of a flower at the first rays of the sun. All the coldness in his gaze completely melted away and left behind at least a dozen things she never thought he could feel. Desire, true, but there was also a deep affection in there. As if she really meant something to him, beyond the baser elements of whatever this was.
He was her friend, she realized, in the only way he knew how to be.
When he had said she should take an extra day off, he meant I like you. All the times he’d asked her to join him for dinner . . . they were evidence of his feelings.
And now, right now with this, he was progressing to more. They all were, in ways she wanted to stop and consider and talk about. In fact, she probably would have done so if it hadn’t been for the intense and all-consuming pleasure.
Abel had his fingers on her clit now, and his free hand was urging her to move. Not that he really needed to urge her—as soon as she felt the first stroke on her overly sensitive bud, she bucked. And when she bucked, it created a kind of chain reaction. One glide up and down led to two, and then three, and then suddenly she was working herself over him frantically, hands on his thighs for support, hips rolling, every part of her vividly aware of how this had to look.
She could see how it looked.
Hartford was practically shaking now. And his eyes had narrowed to slits.
But best of all: One hand was no longer on his thigh—it was between them.
Oh god, it was between them. It was there and he was rubbing just ever so slightly. And, oh, then he squeezed the heavy shape there, he squeezed it, like a man who has no control over anything he does anymore.
And that was when she lost it.
“Ah, god, yes, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she moaned as the pleasure surged. She shook and shuddered, blooming against Abel’s still-working fingers, her thighs seizing around his. All the bliss in the world suddenly hers for thirty long, amazing seconds.
Followed by a kind of bonelessness she’d never experienced. She sagged back against Abel, breathing in long, hard gasps, unable to move when he tried to urge her to, unable to care when he finally laid her back on the couch. She just wanted to bask for a second in all of this lovely pleasure, to really relish all of this, in case they all came to their senses tomorrow.
However, Abel had other ideas.
“Want to finish me off?” he asked.
And he wasn’t talking to her.
She opened her eyes to see him staring straight at Hartford, as if he was challenging him to some kind of fight. Hartford even looked like that was the case—his face was a perfect mixture of trepidation and . . . something else. Something that looked like untrammeled lust, to her. Though, honestly, what did she know?
She was still too drunk from her orgasm to assess anything correctly.
All she could really do was lie there and watch, most of her sure Hartford would never agree. He had already been pushed out of his comfort zone. He couldn’t go any further.
Yet somehow he did.
He stood, and he did it so abruptly it shoved her heart into her mouth. Suddenly she was as alert as she’d ever been, and not just because of the shock. There was also the shiver that went through her, to see Hartford like this. The warm flood of arousal, just as thick as it had felt when they first started.
Then Hartford knelt, and the flood became a tsunami. Her heart was now pounding in her teeth. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. She wanted to ask over and over, “Are you really going to?” Only she didn’t have to ask.
He was doing it.
All Abel had to do was rub the head of his bare cock over those stern lips, and they parted. They took him in as if they’d been doing this forever—though she was sure that couldn’t be true. Or at least, she was sure until he actually started working Abel’s cock. Slowly at first, oh so slowly. But then, after a minute, slowly didn’t seem to be enough. He took that heavy length a little faster, a little more eagerly, until finally she realized.
He hadn’t been wary when he started this.
He had been savoring it, obviously.
Savoring that salt-sweet taste, and the solid feel of Abel on his tongue. Relishing the sounds Abel made—the sighs and the gasps and the moans. And once Hartford had them, once they were ringing in his ears, he clearly couldn’t contain himself any longer. He had stopped being content with a deliberate, sensuous sort of approach. Now he wanted to devour Abel, it seemed.
