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8
Cora
The heat envelopesme when I sink under the covers. My hands roam freely, like I’m helpless to even try and stop myself from reacting to the filthy thoughts roaring through my head.
My lips tingle with the feel of Bishop’s mouth. The feel of the beast of a man who could have pinned me to my bed and taken anything he wanted from me. And I’d have given it. I’d have begged him to take it in that moment.
My hands push down my stomach and under my shorts. They slide over my slick, aching pussy. I gasp when I sink a finger deep into my heat. I moan, rocking my hips up against my hands and grinding my clit against my palm.
I kissed two men tonight. I kissed two men I had no business kissing. But what makes it even worse is that it was the most thrilling experience of my life. My mind starts to replay both—first Tanner’s hands all over me while he tasted my lips. Then Bishop’s hulking form all but pinning me to the wall as he kissed me hard.
And then, my mind runs wild. I start to imagine both of them, together. I imagine them both coming for me at the same time—both taking turns claiming my mouth and running their hands over me. I whimper, and my hips grind faster. I rub my throbbing clit and feel my slickness coat my fingers.
I writhe under the covers, imagining for the first time ever just how fucking sexy it would feel to be with two men, at the same time.
I groan. I’ve never dreamed of two guys before. It’s never been a fantasy I’ve explored even in my head. The fact that Bishop and Tanner are both so much older makes it even steamier. They’re both so hot, rough, and built…
I rub my pussy faster. My slickness coats my hands and drips down my thighs. I imagine two hard bodies manhandling me—four hands touching me everywhere, prying my legs apart. My free hand moves to my mouth. I suck a finger between my lips. I moan and twirl my tongue around it.
In my head, it’s them. One finger is one of them between my legs. The other is claiming my mouth. I imagine them gripping me from both ends, utterly making me theirs in every conceivable way.
I turn and bury my moans into the pillow. I suck and slurp at my finger, lost in the fantasy as I rub my clit faster. My body coils and tightens, my skin tingling and my breath catching. My pulse skips, my eyes squeeze shut.
Suddenly, I can’t hold it in any longer. I come hard, and my entire body shudders and shakes. I scream into the pillows. My body twists and writhes, and I grind my clit against my fingers when the orgasm trembles through me.
After, I collapse panting into the sheets. I blush deeply and curl into a ball. I shiver in my aftershocks, glowing. Though my mind is still racing with everything that’s happened to me in the last twenty-four hours, somehow I fall asleep.
But my dreams are far from sweet.
When I wake,the house is silent. I stay in the guest room for a while before even poking my head out of the door. I almost can’t even bring myself to leave the bed. Because I’m mortified in the light of day about what happened last night.
But eventually, I tip-toe to the door and peek out. When I don’t hear a thing, I slowly step out. I follow the hallway back to the kitchen and look around.
Yep, empty.
But there’s a note by the coffee machine that says, “help yourself,” and it’s signed “-T.” I remember that this is in fact Tanner’s house, and that Bishop doesn’t even live here. But I wonder where both of them are, just the same.
I pour some coffee and sip it slowly while I walk around the house. God, it’s freaking beautiful here. It’s not the majestic cliff-side ocean views of Loretta’s place, but it’s still stunning. Through the huge windows, I drink in the sight of the dunes and the ocean beyond them. My mind keeps trying to drag me back into the darkness of what I saw and why I ran.
But being here is helping.So is coffee. So is the memory of kissing both of my gorgeous, hunky, older rescuers last night.
As if on cue, I see a shape suddenly jog over the dunes. I peer at it. I’m scared at first, but then I realize it’s Tanner. I blush. It’s Tanner looking really, really good.
He’s in just a pair of well-fitted swimming shorts. He’s also carrying a surfboard under his arm, and he’s dripping wet. I watch him through the window as he jogs over to the house. He clicks the surfboard into a rack on the side of the porch and then climbs the stairs. The door swings wide and he shuffles in.
“Hi.”
“Fuck!” He shouts and whirls at the sound of my voice. He smiles a little when he sees me. But then his shadowed frown comes back. “Didn’t know you were up.”
“I just woke up.” I smile bashfully. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem.”
He yawns and rubs his face. He honestly looks exhausted.
“Did you…” I worry my lip. “Sleep okay?”
“Not really,” he says flatly. “I slept out on the dunes.”
