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Emerson’s body is hard against mine and he’s still holding me around my waist. In the dark room, the man has moved to the front of the throne with the ladies. He leans over and kisses the kneeling woman. Then, he keeps moving until he’s standing behind her.
A subtle gasp escapes my lips when I realize what he’s doing: pulling up her dress and undoing his pants. And then even in the darkness there’s the unmistakable motion of his hips as he enters her.
I turn my head, trying to look away. But a strong hand holds my chin gently, turning my head back to the window.
“Watch them. You know you want to.”
I do want to. But the ache between my legs is almost unbearable. My knees begin to buckle, and Emerson holds me tighter.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers in my ear.
“Nothing,” I stammer, forcing my voice to stay level.
“You can touch yourself back here, Charlotte. No one can see you.”
“No,” I snap. “I can’t.”
My hips shift, and I feel something hard against my lower back. As I brush along the length of it, he groans and squeezes me tighter, driving his hips into me.
I take in a sharp inhale, my vision growing blurry. He’s hard.
Emerson is hard, and he’s rubbing his erection against me.
“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me.”
Me? Not the display of sex all around us? The orgasm cries and sounds of bodies slapping together?
Knowing the effect I have on him drives me to shift my hips back just slightly, and he responds with a growl in my ear.
Maybe because it’s dark or because this is just how his business is, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels…right. We’re not crossing a line…just sharing an experience. It’s natural and normal, and I’m not ashamed.
His hand glides down my arm until he catches my fingers in his hand, and I’m confused by what he’s doing until the other hand gathers my dress, pulling it up until I’m exposed. I can hardly breathe or think when he leads my own hand to the front of my panties.
“Touch yourself, Charlotte.”
A whimper escapes my lips. I resist, trying to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let me go. When my fingers reach my clit, even over the cotton of my thong, pleasure radiates through me. At this point, I couldn’t pull them away if I tried.
“It’s okay. Don’t feel ashamed.” His lips are touching my ear, and I relax against him, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder as he slides my panties aside and presses my fingers against my clit. I don’t even bother fighting anymore.
The man in the throne room has picked up speed, slamming into the kneeling woman at a steady rhythm. Their moans and cries are audible now, and it only urges me deeper and deeper in this steady current toward my climax.
“That’s it, Charlotte. Good girl.”
His words spur me on, sending bolts of lightning through my body. My own fingers rub my clit in fast circles, and it feels so good; it’s a relief. Emerson’s hand rests over mine, but he isn’t touching me. Instead, he grips my hip with one hand and grinds his erection against my backside.
Any thoughts about this being inappropriate are far away from here—outside of this moment and this dark hallway. Because right now, there’s only one thing I want, and that’s to come. I don’t even care that it’s in public anymore.
“You are so fucking beautiful. Make yourself come, baby.”
And his words don’t stop, like a river of praise I’m coursing down, heading straight for a cliff. My eyes don’t leave the throne room for a second, and when my orgasm comes crashing into me, I nearly crumble to the floor. My free hand grips the fabric of Emerson’s suit as he wraps his arms around me.
“So perfect.” His lips brush my ear, then my cheek, and trail down to my neck. I can’t even hear anymore—my ears are ringing, and my skin is buzzing. The orgasm just keeps knocking me down, wave after wave after wave. His hand finds mine again, and I feel his fingers carefully brush my delicate skin. But he doesn’t stop as he runs his fingers deeper into my panties, and I stiffen in his grasp when he reaches the evidence of my orgasm.
He moans darkly against my ear. Then, he pulls his wet finger out and lifts it to his mouth. I turn to look up at him just as he slips it past his lips, licking my arousal off of his finger.
“Emerson,” I whisper, and our eyes meet. It’s a long, heavy moment as we let everything that just happened swim in the tension between us. Does he feel bad for crossing this line? Do I?
No, I don’t. I keep waiting for shame or regret to hit me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m…excited. I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, and I don’t want to turn back now.
