Page 52 of Midnight Curfew

Not gonna happen.

I drop spit into my palm, meeting his gaze and starting to stroke myself, my pulse throbbing in my neck.

He doesn’t look at where my hand is, though.

He simply keeps his eyes on my face, the tension growing as for the first time I have no fucking clue what he’s going to do next.

Will he stop me?

Or will he carry this out till I come on his chest?

Amy walks over, dropping her robe onto the floor to reveal a white bikini, her blond hair a beautiful, tangled mess after her swim.

Pressing herself to me, she takes over stroking, and I drop back on the couch, opposite Callum.

He stares at me, and the more he does, the harder I grow, waiting for him to enjoy the view.

Amy glances at him over her shoulder, to see if he wants to stop this, but he’s still watching me as if this is a fucking staring contest.

I don’t know if I’m in the mood, but I know he hates this. It always pissed him off that I was attracted to women, too.

Untying her top, Amy bares her tits and climbs into my lap, sticking them in my face. I grip her at the waist, brushing her nipple with my mouth.

“Want it the same way?” she pants.

I nod.

Let’s see if he watches this.

She slides off me, onto the floor, her head between my legs as she sticks out her ass, giving Callum the hefty invitation Iron once took.

Throating my shaft, she takes all of it, her long, beautiful back stretched in front of me.

My balls tighten, blood rushing to my cock, and I lift my eyes, finding him unmoved.

He gazes at me, not even blinking, the slow, steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling almost in time with the bob of her head.

Gripping her hair at the back of her neck, I swell, fully fucking hard in her mouth.

She whimpers, slowing her sucking to take it easier.

His neck, the smoothness only interrupted by the vein popping out of the skin, is long and golden, like a painting, and I coast my gaze down the lean, toned expanse of his chest, the muscles on his arms, the long fingers, and his trim waist. There’s no fat, just the dips of his abs and the black trunks hugging his hips. The wet pull strings lie untied, and I curl my fist in her hair.

She moans, dragging her tongue up the underside of my dick.

“You were always so good at this,” I almost growl, looking at him.

She mews, assuming the compliment was for her, but I watch his lips part, the rest of him steel. I fight a smile anyway, knowing the memories floating into his head. He never let me go to the shower alone, whereas he loved me to blow him in bed. He loved being naked in his sheets.

I grip her hair, feeling his mouth around me. “Deepthroat it,” I gasp.

That shower we took that Saturday afternoon at my house when everyone was away washes over me, like another world, and I’m pumping myself into his mouth harder and faster.

Macon was almost never gone back then, and I hated it. I hated being in that house alone, but not that day. We did it on the couch, in the pool, and of course, in the shower.

Amy rocks her whole body into me, backing up her ass, and he just watches me.

I open my mouth, the waist of those trunks so easy to pull down.