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He is not gentle. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my legs and he goes hard, starting with shallow pumps and then broad strokes that pull him almost out completely before he buries himself as deep as he can go. I’ve never had it like this, never felt a man this deep. His cadence is aggressive and he pulls back just enough to stare into my eyes. Even when I would close mine, the steely blue force of his holds me hostage to an intimacy that makes no sense. We haven’t known each other even an hour, and he’s unlocked my body’s secrets, feelings and desires I didn’t even know lay dormant, waiting for someone to coax them out of hiding.
I whimper, bearing my teeth down into my bottom lip to keep the cries contained.
“Let it go,” he says. “Let me hear it.”
He thrusts so deep, I suck in a breath.
“Let him hear,” he adds, a dare glinting in his eyes. “Let everyone hear.”
Somehow I’d forgotten there was anyone else in this house, in this world, besides Harper and me. This is a swing party. It’s the wildest thing I’ve ever done, fucking a stranger with my husband under the same roof. It’s illicit, ribald, irreverent, but I wanted to reclaim my voice, right? May as well let everyone hear me roar.
The next time he shoves inside, thrusting deep, sending a jolt of pleasure to my toes, I let the sounds loose. At first merely a grunt and then a groan and then a moan and then a low hum and then a shout and then a wail. It’s like a siren. My voice reverberates off the walls, harmonizing with his grunts and groans. He squeezes my legs, kisses the bruises forming on my neck, bites my shoulder, stirring in faint pain with bliss. I bang my head back against the wall when the orgasm descends and force my eyes open so I can see his face. He’s staring back at me, and oddly enough, here with this stranger, it’s the most intimate moment of my life. Tears wet the corners of my eyes because I’m grateful to have something like this. These moments feel out of time, like on the other side of that door is the real world, and it will pale in the shadow of this dream. It will be dry and dusty compared to this lush, verdant interlude.
He holds my stare as long as he can, but when he pushes in one last time, so deep he must be writing his name inside of me, his eyes close and he drops his head beside mine. And just when I think this couldn’t be any more perfect, he makes it better.
“Sin,” he whispers against the damp curve of my neck.
It’s not anonymous. He knows my name. He knows my body. He brought me the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known, and even if I never see Harper again, this night is sealed in my heart as something special.
The office door flies open, banging against the wall and shattering the sweet, filthy, tender moment Harper and I made. Trey stands in the doorway, disheveled, his sweater on backwards, his belt dangling unbuckled. His expression is livid.
“I heard you, Sinclaire,” he shouts. “I heard you fucking this guy. You called his name.”
“Did I?” I don’t remember that, but I’m not surprised. I lean my shoulders back into the wall and rest one arm on Harper’s shoulder for support. With my other hand, I trace Harper’s wide, sensual mouth. “Good.”
Harper grins, leaning into me deeper and running his nose along the line of my naked shoulder.
“What the hell?” Trey storms into the room, up to us and pokes Harper’s shoulder. Harper lets my legs drop to the floor, making sure I land gently, and turns to face Trey. He’s seemingly unphased that his dick is out, his pants and boxers ringing his ankles. At the clear evidence that Harper has indeed been inside me—the full condom still attached—Trey’s expression goes dark, twists with rage.
I step between the two men, and my nakedness only seems to enrage Trey further. He grabs my arm, dragging me over to the pile of clothes by the couch.
“Get dressed,” Trey snaps, averting his eyes, hands stuck to his hips. “Now.”
“First of all, you don’t tell me what to do.” I take my time slipping the body shaper and dress back on, but don’t bother putting on my shoes. “And second, why are you so angry? Isn’t this why we came?”
“But you . . .I thought you were going home,” he says lamely like a petulant boy.
“You grabbed the keys so I couldn’t take the car.” I laugh in his face. “How’d that work out for you?”
“Just come on. Let’s go. This was a mistake.”
I look closer, and though his clothes are rumpled, I know the slackness of his face, the look of satiation after he busts a nut. His jaw is too tight. Lips pinched at the corners.
