I can’t look away. Goosebumps sweep my skin, and I am embarrassingly turned on. My chest heaves with the effort of each breath while every part of me aches to touch myself.
This is definitely a first. I’ve never watched porn. I’ve never read gay romance. But I might have been missing out this whole time. These two going at it is hot in ways I can’t define. My feet refuse to take me to my car, and I definitely can’t look away.
The guy from the restaurant turns his head toward me, and I gasp as our eyes meet. My stomach sinks, but he grins. A wicked, dirty, knowing smile that has me wishing for the second time in under an hour for the ground to open up and take me to the depths of anywhere but here.
“Wanna join in?” He tongues his top lip. “I’m sure Séb here wouldn’t mind you sucking him off while I fuck him.”
The other guy doesn’t seem as brash, he looks like he’s not quite sure whether he’s down for that or not, but he’s also enjoying himself so much that I don’t think he cares.
“If that’s not your jam, he could fuck you while I fuck him.” Restaurant guy shrugs like he’s discussing the weather, and not a deeply personal, physical act, while standing with his penis inside another human being.
Does this man have no shame? Clearly not. But he’s just so… on display.
I mean, I’m not a virgin. Not that it would be weird if I was. I’m eighteen, school has barely started, and let’s face it, I’m a small-town girl who has lived a relatively sheltered life. But I’m definitely not used to someone so… so…
“What? Don’t nerds fuck too?”
My body flares with another wave of heat, and a teenie tiny, itty bitty little part of me is tempted to join in solely to prove him wrong. At least that’s what I tell myself. It’s not at all because it looks so dang hot that I want to experience what they’re clearly both enjoying.
But logic and reason win out, and I manage to take a step back.
He’s moving his hips, and the guy he’s having sex with has dropped his head forward against the brick wall of the building. Apparently, he doesn’t mind that I’m watching them both either. I suppose that’s the risk you take when you have sex in a public place, right?
Restaurant guy wags his finger at me. “Don’t look at me like your panties aren’t wet right now.”
I should reply, I know how to speak, but I can’t find words. He’s having a conversation with himself, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.
Something must register on my face under the streetlights’ glow because his grin widens. “Yeaaaah. They totally are, aren’t they?” He licks his lips again, and I’m a gazelle being stared down by a lion who hasn’t eaten in days.
He’s probably getting off on my anxiety and discomfort of the situation. He probably took a guess that parts of my body are totally into what I’m seeing right now as confusion seeps through my pores and into my veins.
“I bet you wear cotton boy shorts, don’t you? Pretty pink panties with a growing wet patch from watching me and my boy here.”
I squeeze my thighs together like that might stop whatever signals I’m giving that this is hot as hell. I always thought I was plain Jane, missionary is my jam, and the realization that watching gay men having sex turns me on isn’t something I’m equipped to deal with right here on the sidewalk. Especially when one of the aforementioned gay men seems to have an obsession with my underwear and is smirking at me like he knows how wet I am right now.
Is he bi? One of them must be, right? Why would he taunt me like this if one of them didn’t like women?
Or is he messing with me? I’m pretty gullible and easy to mess with…
I need to leave. Now.
I resist the urge to fan myself, or to jump in my car, crash into the fire hydrant, and stand under the gushing water to cool down. But only just. It’s a really strong freakin’ urge.
Restaurant guy finally turns his attention back to his lover and it’s a behemoth effort to get my feet moving toward my car.
What the heck just happened? And who the heck does that? Takes a time out from having sex to engage a passerby. Granted, I kind of asked for it when I got stuck in place and couldn’t leave. I crack the window of my car, pressing my ear against the glass.
My heart’s racing, my fingers are stroking the inside of my thigh, and the temptation to bring myself to orgasm right here in the driver’s seat is almost overwhelming.
Muted whooping and cheering come through the window. Restaurant guy must have climaxed. Every inch of my skin prickles.
After a deep, steadying breath, I pull my car away from the sidewalk. It’s time to drive home like a responsible adult. There’s no reason I need to keep picturing strong fingers and smooth skin and tight thighs.
As soon as I get home, I’m digging out my one and only vibrator from under the bed and taking care of this pulsing ache between my thighs.
CHAPTER4
Ares
