bent forward until her head was level with the men’s blank faces. She was so close she could see gold flecks in the blue eyes of the young blond one, and a two-inch scar on the chin on his older, rougher-looking companion.
It was crazy they didn’t realize they practically had a naked woman in their laps.
Not naked yet, the voice said.
Oliver took hold of her hips from behind and pressed himself against her. She still wore the skirt, but the material was thin and loose, and she could feel the hard, probing length of his arousal grinding into her. Instinctively she widened her stance and shifted her hips higher to meet him.
“Oh, baby,” Oliver said, sliding his hand over her bottom—her ass —in firm circles. Then he grabbed a handful of her flesh through the fabric and squeezed, kneaded, stroked, and patted. She bent forward a little more, a groan escaping from her throat. Then the fabric of her skirt was being pulled up and hitched over her hips. She felt cold air on the backs of her thighs, then her bottom, and finally—
He yanked her panties down her legs. The damp cotton caught on her calves, binding her legs together; she lifted one foot and kicked them off.
She was entirely exposed now. She felt the folds of her sex open, knowing he could see everything.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she waited for him to penetrate her like she’d see in dirty movies. All that pornography she’d discovered on the computers since she’d left home had scared her a little.
A lot.
Most of her fantasies weren’t about being impaled like that. Just imagining a man (or, God help her, more than one man) looking at her that way, taking off her clothes—that was enough to compel her to slide her hand between her legs and rub herself until she’d completely shamed herself.
Of course a girl like her had had to leave home before her capacity for sin was discovered. Better to flee into exile than be locked up at home, forever without a man, with her parents. Better to discover pleasure where it was allowed.
If she was going to go to hell anyway, she might as well enjoy herself.
I knew I’d chosen well , the voice said, sounding amused.
I’m afraid, she admitted to him. It was almost like talking to God.
Don’t worry, I’m not Him, the voice replied. Nor am I the other guy.
Oliver’s hand slid down between her legs and cupped her. She sucked in a breath, shocked by the feel of his finger pushing between the folds. That’s not what I’m afraid of!
What then?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Does it hurt?
His laughter rumbled through her mind, then stopped. Well, you know, it just might , the voice said. Take a look.
She opened her eyes, gazing up at the oblivious workmen’s faces and, after getting no reassurance there, finally finding the courage to turn her head and look behind her.
She’d felt Oliver’s penis—his cock, they said in the videos—but now she saw it jutting hard and enormous out of his charcoal trousers and aiming for the wet, vulnerable place between her legs.
“You’re too big,” she gasped.
Oliver smiled with pleasure and stroked himself. His thumb rolled over the tip of his cock while his eyes closed halfway. “I’ll break you in slowly, don’t worry.”
“I don’t want to break,” she said, sending him a pleading look.
Smiling tenderly, his hand slid up and down her spine in a gentle caress. “Yes you do,” he said softly. “It’s exactly what you want.”
Desire pooled in her belly. She felt a tightening, an urgency.
“Spread your legs, darling,” Oliver said.
An emptiness.
She turned away from him and offered herself again, hips high.
“My dream girl,” Oliver said roughly, grabbing her hips.
* * *
Marcus felt a moment of uncharacteristic jealousy as the handsome businessman prepared to penetrate a very willing, very ready Ashley. Marcus had never planned to take her himself, but—well, it was tempting, very tempting.
Which was, of course, insane.