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For me.
It was all for me. She knew I was there, and she wasn’t running away. Wasn’t coming out to yell at me. Wasn’t even trying to cover up.
She knew who I was. What I was. And just maybe, what I needed.
Her gaze dipped to my cock, straining behind my pants. I had no idea if she could see how tented I was, how hard she made me, but the slight smile that appeared on her lips told me she probably could.
Her fingers slipped through the arousal at her core, and then she nodded at me, smile becoming flirty as she raised her voice loud enough for me to hear through the windows. “If you’re going to stand there watching me, Zeph, you could at least give me something to watch too."
Oh Jesus. My dick kicked hard at the invitation, straining to get in on the action.
It was wrong. Dirty. Forbidden. Taboo.
And yet it was me who’d started this. Me who’d let my desires rule my head. Now there was no turning back. We both knew it. I wanted her too much.
I undid my jeans and put my hand inside my boxer briefs, stroking the thick, warm length of my cock twice before exposing it to her.
Her eyes turned hungry, and that low, possessive growl grumbled through me. I practically purred beneath her gaze, the need for her only increasing with every stroke of my hand and every plunge of her fingers. They came out soaking every time, and her arousal coated the insides of her smooth thighs. I wondered if she was always that wet when she made herself come, or if some of it had to do with me watching.
I wanted it to be because of me.
Watching her writhe on a couch, body so perfect, pussy on full display, moans loud enough for me to hear, was a punishment in itself. One I would never get enough of. I pumped myself harder, faster, matching the pace she used. Her pants became loud, her legs shook with the force of her impending orgasm, and I watched every inch of her so intently I was probably cross-eyed.
I’d never watched a woman come. Annie had never let me try, and I’d been too young and inexperienced anyway to have a real idea of what I was doing. But Lyric cemented everything I needed to know about how she liked to be touched. I learned what turned her on, how many fingers she liked inside her, how fast and hard to work her clit until she was a trembling mess on a couch that wasn’t hers.
My own orgasm built deep in my balls, sending spine-tingling pleasure through my entire body. But I held off, waiting for her, watching her every movement, until I knew she was on the verge. Her head tipped back, pressing into the back of the couch, and before I could stop myself, I was rasping my knuckles across the glass.
Her head snapped back up.
“Watch me,” I demanded, low, dark, and possessive.
Her orgasm shuddered through her, and she cried out, not with words, or my name, which I ached to hear on her lips, but with pleasure and desire and her gaze solidly on me.
She watched as my own climax took over, thick, hot cum spurting from my tip and over my hand, every drop of it for her and the way she turned me on. I pumped myself torturously slow, drawing it out as long as I could, not wanting it to end.
It had been so long since I’d felt like this. Felt this need for another person. Felt anything other than shame when I put my hand around my cock.
But the feeling was short-lived. When I looked up again, Lyric was on her knees, still naked and beautiful, her hand pressed to the glass.
The truth of who I was, and the things I needed, was never far from the surface. I’d turned it off for a moment, but the realization of that glass being the only thing keeping me from pinning her to the couch and sinking my dick inside her sweet, hot pussy was too much.
I yanked my pants up and escaped back to my car.
17
LYRIC
Iavoided the church on Monday. I was supposed to clean, but after Sunday night with Zeph, I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere near the place. Embarrassment heated my cheeks every time I thought about it, which wasn’t a regular experience for me. Normally, I didn’t give a shit, or at least, I could try to convince myself I didn’t.
But what had happened with Zeph had been next level and so kinky I’d been wet for the past twenty-four hours, his dick and the way he’d watched me permanently on my mind. It was a damn miracle I hadn’t slipped straight off the pole with how lubed up I was just from the memory. I still didn’t know how I’d gotten through my shift. I’d told Eve every detail, and her expression was one I didn’t know she could make. I’d thought I’d known all her faces, after working together for years, but one little sentence, “I made myself come in front of a priest,” had her needing a sit down and stiff drink.
I couldn’t blame her. I still couldn’t believe it either.
I was never going to the church again. I was definitely quitting. It was still months away, but thank God Amelia started school after summer and wouldn’t need daycare anymore. I was pretty sure Zeph would make himself scarce at pickup and drop-off times for the rest of the school year. Neither of us would want the reminder we’d completely lost our minds for a minute there.
On Monday, with both Amelia and my gran taken care of, and the club closed, I thought really hard about not going to Kat’s place at all. I’d been working all day to keep the image of Zeph’s dick, hard with need, and then slick with his cum, out of my head, and going back to the scene of the crime was bound to set me right back at zero on the ‘forget that you did kinky shit with a priest’ scale.
But as much as I could be a bitch, I liked animals and I really couldn’t sleep well knowing there were two cats who might have knocked over their water or run out of food.
