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She rolls her eyes at me, but she does as she’s told.
My cock twitches as I contemplate her. I love watching her walk in heels. Some girls look like newborn fawns—I’ll never know why they bother to wear them in the first place if they can’t manage them. It’s more awkward than hot. Morgan’s walk is flawless, comfortable, and natural. She clearly has experience wearing heels.
She has long legs in the first place, but they look fucking endless now. Part of me wishes she’d wear heels every day, but I doubt her feet would agree. I still cringe when I think about the state of them in the summer. Her wellbeing ranks above my desires. Ever so slightly. Besides, the fact that she so seldom wears them makes each occasion special.
She sits on the sofa, eyebrows scrunched up as she watches me, wondering what I’m up to, no doubt.
“Where did you learn to walk on heels?” I ask as I join her.
I sit in the corner and scoop Morgan up to press her flush against me, between my legs. I stroke her bare arms softly.
“Silks,” she replies, cryptically. “The strip club where I used to waitress.”
Ah, yes, I forgot the name of that dump on the other end of town. It makes sense that she’d work on fuck-me heels there.
“Anything else you picked up at Silks?” Nate quips, his tone as suggestive as possible.
Morgan tosses her head. “I’ll never know why people assume you can justpick uppole dancing. That shit ishard. I don’t have the core strength for it.”
“Shame,” Dimitri says. “I would have loved to see you dance for us.”
He likes Morgan. Of course he does. He and I are similar in many respects, and we’re attracted to the same qualities. I don’t doubt that when he eventually finds a woman, she’ll be to my taste, too.
If I were any other man, I would have cause to worry. Morgan’s also attracted to him, that much is plain, but Dimitri would never poach from me. We’re practically family. He wouldn’t stealwhat’s mine.
Borrow? Certainly.
“You wouldn’t. I suck at dancing.” Morgan’s smiling one moment, but the next, she’s glancing toward the opening doors. “There’s a lot more people than before,” she notices, her voice small.
“Of course.” My hand moves from her arm to her bust, tracing the outline of her breasts over her dress. Her breathing catches. “The club is rarely very busy before eleven or twelve.”
I don’t tell her the truth: the Heritage’s newsletter likely sent a notification to let members know there would be an initiation today. They’re here for her—either to fuck her or to watch her get fucked. Morgan’s stressed enough without that detail. I’ll tell her later, when she’s writhing in pleasure and loving all of the attention. For now, I soothe her. I kiss her cheek, her forehead. I slide my hands down her legs and lift the hem along her skin, gathering the fabric at her waist.
Underneath, she’s wearing black stockings with lace trim. If my cock hadn’t been hard already, that would have done it. The stockings are held up by little strings leading up to her waist, but the fabric over her bust is boned, reinforced, and I can’t pull it down to take a peek. Instead, I eagerly work on the ties at her back. She arches forward to give me room to work, letting me undress her.
I smirk, thinking about the girl I met at Chase’s wedding—or even the one I met in June. She would be astounded if she could see herself today, willingly getting stripped in a room full of strangers. Soon, her dress falls off her chest, revealing her naked breasts, and a garter belt made of black strings.
“I like this, princess.” I’m pleasantly surprised. “Show me.”
She gets to her feet, kicking her legs to let the gown pool around her Louboutins.
Jesus.
I’m not the only one cursing under my breath.
Morgan’s wearing nothing but her fuck-me heels, garter belt, and a pair of panties so fucking small it only covers her clit.
I see her from the front, but the guys watch her back, and if the glint in their eyes is anything to go by, it’s quite the vision. Morgan does have a plump, firm bubble butt.
“Turn around.” My voice is thick.
She spins on her heels slowly, teasing me—us. So much for her not learning from what she saw at Silks.
Her ass is so fucking perfect. I want to bite it. Mark it. Own it.
“Did you wear this for me, princess?”
She nods, and it’s all I can do not to throw her over the nearest flat surface and pound into her.
