Jokers: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 2) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Meg Watson
kettle drums and low horns ripple through my chest cavity, noting with a smirk how my bosom seemed to sympathetically vibrate.
As the main curtain on stage rolled swiftly up, I felt a change in air pressure in the booth. Though I ached to turn around, I sat completely still for a moment and then leaned slowly forward, resting my forearms on the curved wooden railing. The sultry air of the booth swirled over my bare back and my skin prickled with anticipation, knowing that the dress plunged so low that I probably was exposing more than a flirty furrow at the base of my spine.
Peering toward the stage, I tried to focus on the beginning of activity down there. A woman in Victorian dress sashayed furtively toward the front of the stage, apparently looking for something. I breathed deeply, willing my heartbeat to settle, wondering what was going to happen next.
As she began the first trilling notes of her song, I felt a light touch along the back of my neck. It trailed down between my shoulder blades and was quickly joined by another. The sensations of the combined touches were difficult to separate from one another and as they drew slow, symmetrical shapes down my exposed back, I felt like I could see them in my mind’s eye. Chevrons, a twisting mandala, and ziggurats of light traced paths through my mind followed swiftly by racing waves of goosebumps.
The singer swayed from one side of the stage to the other, gesturing toward the meaning of her words and opening her arms broadly to fling her emotions across the crowd. I could barely process what he was doing as the thrill of being touched by a number of un-seeable hands multiplied. I arched my back and rolled my neck, pressing my skin into the sensation and offering myself for their touch.
The first fingers that slipped inside the borders of my dress surprised me, but they shouldn't have. I could already feel the intention and determination of those gestures. Somehow it was completely relaxing. The familiar surge of luxurious confidence swelled within me. I felt like a goddess, like a luminous silver screen star. I had earned this extravagantly sensual treatment. I met it with a regal sense of entitlement and unabashed desire.
Closing my eyes, I undulated and rocked gently in my chair, almost dancing with the many invisible hands as they danced over my body. I felt a grip at the back of my neck pulling me gently and I submitted to it, falling back to rest against the plush back of my chair. Hands appeared at my ankles and slid up my inner calves, opening my knees beneath the sumptuous satin and sliding between my humid thighs.
I could feel them both beside me, on either side, pressing close against my flanks and pulling my legs open. One hand hooked behind my knee and lifted slightly, resting my leg over his knee. The other side immediately followed suit. There I was, pinned once again between two men who acted as though they were of the same mind, opening me up like a present.
I should've been embarrassed but I wasn't. I couldn't be, for I was so filled with the image of myself as the bombshell that I could only act that way. Even as they had me spread-eagled in the booth, I couldn't resist. I could see myself from outside of myself and the image was simultaneously so strange yet so correct that I clung to it enthusiastically. That's the person I wanted to be: obliterated, adored, and transformed.
Both sides of my neck were simultaneously assaulted by the hot, wet mouths of my lovers. I sighed and dug my fingers of my chair to hold on. Fingers simultaneously breached the borders of my panties from both sides. They stroked me lightly up and down a few times and I could feel the downy stubble that had just barely begun, electrified with the sensation. A low moan escaped my lips as desire mounted inside of me. I wanted to feel their touch deeper within me.
Though I had just been bruised and sore not minutes before that, suddenly I felt completely restored and filled with
As the main curtain on stage rolled swiftly up, I felt a change in air pressure in the booth. Though I ached to turn around, I sat completely still for a moment and then leaned slowly forward, resting my forearms on the curved wooden railing. The sultry air of the booth swirled over my bare back and my skin prickled with anticipation, knowing that the dress plunged so low that I probably was exposing more than a flirty furrow at the base of my spine.
Peering toward the stage, I tried to focus on the beginning of activity down there. A woman in Victorian dress sashayed furtively toward the front of the stage, apparently looking for something. I breathed deeply, willing my heartbeat to settle, wondering what was going to happen next.
As she began the first trilling notes of her song, I felt a light touch along the back of my neck. It trailed down between my shoulder blades and was quickly joined by another. The sensations of the combined touches were difficult to separate from one another and as they drew slow, symmetrical shapes down my exposed back, I felt like I could see them in my mind’s eye. Chevrons, a twisting mandala, and ziggurats of light traced paths through my mind followed swiftly by racing waves of goosebumps.
The singer swayed from one side of the stage to the other, gesturing toward the meaning of her words and opening her arms broadly to fling her emotions across the crowd. I could barely process what he was doing as the thrill of being touched by a number of un-seeable hands multiplied. I arched my back and rolled my neck, pressing my skin into the sensation and offering myself for their touch.
The first fingers that slipped inside the borders of my dress surprised me, but they shouldn't have. I could already feel the intention and determination of those gestures. Somehow it was completely relaxing. The familiar surge of luxurious confidence swelled within me. I felt like a goddess, like a luminous silver screen star. I had earned this extravagantly sensual treatment. I met it with a regal sense of entitlement and unabashed desire.
Closing my eyes, I undulated and rocked gently in my chair, almost dancing with the many invisible hands as they danced over my body. I felt a grip at the back of my neck pulling me gently and I submitted to it, falling back to rest against the plush back of my chair. Hands appeared at my ankles and slid up my inner calves, opening my knees beneath the sumptuous satin and sliding between my humid thighs.
I could feel them both beside me, on either side, pressing close against my flanks and pulling my legs open. One hand hooked behind my knee and lifted slightly, resting my leg over his knee. The other side immediately followed suit. There I was, pinned once again between two men who acted as though they were of the same mind, opening me up like a present.
I should've been embarrassed but I wasn't. I couldn't be, for I was so filled with the image of myself as the bombshell that I could only act that way. Even as they had me spread-eagled in the booth, I couldn't resist. I could see myself from outside of myself and the image was simultaneously so strange yet so correct that I clung to it enthusiastically. That's the person I wanted to be: obliterated, adored, and transformed.
Both sides of my neck were simultaneously assaulted by the hot, wet mouths of my lovers. I sighed and dug my fingers of my chair to hold on. Fingers simultaneously breached the borders of my panties from both sides. They stroked me lightly up and down a few times and I could feel the downy stubble that had just barely begun, electrified with the sensation. A low moan escaped my lips as desire mounted inside of me. I wanted to feel their touch deeper within me.
Though I had just been bruised and sore not minutes before that, suddenly I felt completely restored and filled with
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