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“I know you do, baby.”
“Please make me come.” It’s as good as I can give, especially when the man beside me leans down to scrape his mask against my face like he, too, can feel my lips on his.
“Only if I can come right here,” he fires back. “Just like this. Can I do that?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,what?”the one beside me demands, dragging my attention to him.
“Yes,please.”
It’s definitely the magic word. The man between my thighs grinds against me in earnest, holding onto my thigh that’s around his waist and using his other hand to tease my clit so harshly I definitely see stars. My toes curl in my boots and seconds later I’m coming, body uncoiling like a spring as I cry out a sharp, clear,“fuck!”right against his ear as he buries his face against my throat. Black hair peeks out from under his hood, but before I can see more than that and a bit of pale skin, his partner sharply yanks his hood down over his hair, pulling him back up before the mask can do more than move an inch.
“God,” he growls, letting his partner tow him back up so he’s not in danger of losing his mask. “You’re too perfect, little cat.” When he pulls away, I look down to see my thighs are a wet, sticky mess of his cum and mine. “But my boyfriend hasn’t come yet. Could you help him, please?”
It’s thepleasethat gets me. I let the auburn-haired man pull me gently off of the counter, and I’m not really all that surprised when he guides me to my knees.
“Open your mouth for me, gorgeous girl,” he orders so sweetly I could melt. “And stick out your tongue.” I do what he says, though non-tipsy me would be having an internal crisis right now at how I’ve never done this with anyone, let alone a stranger. But it’s so easy to do it, so easy to tilt my head back just enough that I can watch him stroke his cock, gloved fingers gripping it tightly. His partner moves to stand behind him, mask nudging the side of his hood, and pushes his hand away so he can do it instead. He murmurs something in his ear and the auburn-haired man leans back against him, a soft groan leaving him that’s just so remarkably vulnerable that I wonder if I heard right.
“Good girl,” one of them says, just before he comes. I hear a few soft curses, more murmurs that definitely aren’t meant for me, and instinctively close my eyes as thin strings of cum splash against the mask and my skin. My tongue gets it too, and the sharp, bitter taste is such a stark contrast to everything else that I swear it helps sober me up.
But I don’t move. Not until his boyfriend is tucking him back into his jeans and he reaches forward to stroke his fingers over my hair, then runs them through the mess on my face, making it worse.
“You sure we can’t keep her?” he asks, as they disentangle to help me to my feet. The black-haired one shakes his head, running water over a rag that he hands to me. “Because I swear I could learn how to be responsible for a petreal quickif this is the one you let me keep.”
His partner chuckles. “You can’t keep her,” he informs him, though he’s looking at me as he gently runs the rag over my face. “Not until you know her better.”
I’m in a daze while they talk. It feels like part of my brain is disconnected, and it’s made more so by the fact that no one hasevertreated me like this post-sex. Or, well, post almost sex, since neither of them fucked me. They take their time putting me back together, rinsing off my face, and helping me with my clothes, before the black-haired one leans in, his mask so close to mine I could reach up and take it off to see what he looks like.
God,I would die to know what he looks like right now.
“Go find your friends, little cat,” he tells me, as his partner runs his fingers down my shoulder. “Before I let him have his way and you end up with a collar and a bell in our house before you’ve even sobered up.” Then he releases me and, not having any idea what to say, I offer them both a smile that doesn’t fit my face and slip out of the door, leaving them in the bathroom by themselves.
Chapter8
As soon as I swim into consciousness, memories from last night pummel my brain unforgivingly.
How dare I have a few minutes—a few seconds, even—to wake up peacefully, pretending ignorant bliss before remembering last night?
Allof last night.
Emily is dead.
And I nearly fucked two strangers at a house party across town.
“Fuck,” I sigh, flopping back on my sofa. I’m so used to falling asleep here that I have a second comforter dedicated to this space instead of my bed. The television is still on, proving that I really did pass out the moment I fell onto the sofa instead of setting an alarm.
But instead ofThe Golden Girlsthat I’m pretty sure I’d been watching, a detective show that I don’t recognize is playing at a volume that’s too soft to have woken me up.
It’s hard to pull myself out of my drowsiness as I stare at the television without really seeing it. So difficult, because my brain wants me to relive every touch, every caress, and every sweet, filthy fucking word that had come out of their mouths.
Though of course, the memories certainly aren’t bad ones. Not by any means.
My fingers come up to stroke the side of my neck lazily, running over skin that had been held so tightly by fingers longer than mine.
God, I still can’t believe what I did. But I’m also not averse to remembering, so I let myself slip back into drowsiness. My brain takes off reliving the sensations and feelings that had mescorchingfor so much of last night.
My hand moves, fingers stretching around my own throat as much as they’re able, though I can barely simulate the feeling of the night before. But it’s enough. Enough to remember the growling words of the more aggressive of the masked men.
