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Quietly, Beau falls into the blue velvet wingback chair behind him.Too quietly.He yanks his tie off, dropping it on the floor before he unbuttons his collar, studying me the whole time, while I can’t read him when I used to read his mind so well. In college, I told him it was as hard as reading a “SLOW” road sign.
But now it hits me fast.
This is more than a game between us.
Beau Bronson is intimidating as hell. He’s sexy, talented, and — yes, I’ll never confess it to him — smart, too. The NFL’s never had a quarterback like him. He’s the best they have, and why he just lost the Super Bowl, everyone is talking about it. They’re shocked.
I wonder, too, and I think I know why. I suspect I’m theonlyone who knows why.
But I won’t question him. Not tonight.
Deep down, I know what Beau’s hiding, and maybe that’s why he lost the game. Maybe his secret is finally catching up to him. It hurts him. I know it does. With a busted lip, he told me about it that night, years ago, before I hugged him.
I don’t give a damn about football, but I never stopped secretly giving a damn about him.
I hated to see him suffer.
After all the pranks we played on each other, we surrendered one night. He held me in his arms, and we admitted our feelings, and he trusted me. He shared his heart with me. I’ve never known a young man to be that brave, thathonest and open, and he’s looking at me the same way again.
Like his desires are painful and dangerous.
Like he craves everything he can’t have.
Like he needs me to help him, like he can’t take much more.
It makes me want to do this for him. To finally share something with him since we couldn’t that night.
It’s not degrading, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve fucked in threesomes before. Wait, okay, a fivesome also last year. Who could say no to two couples who wanted to share me for a night?
Getting on all fours in front of him. Lifting my tail so he can see. Teasing my pussy over the protruding dildo. Parting my lips, both pairs for his enraptured stare. He can see it all in my eyes and the mirror’s reflection.
The lights glow brightly in the room, as does his burning gaze, melting me even more. This sweet surrender makes me so wet and open for him. I sigh as the cool dildo slowly penetrates my heat, pushing out my breath and truth and his name, “Beau.”
“Damn, Blair,” he murmurs, his intense eyes trapped by my gaze, by my performance. “Yes, baby,” he sighs, “you’re so beautiful. Let me watch your pretty pussy fuck for me.”
Leaning forward, he sets his elbows on his spread knees. It’s like he’s about to pounce, watching me and the mirror, fucking myself.
So I roll my hips in circles for him before switching directions, feeling the hard latex swirling through my slick sex and wishing it was his real cock. The one surging in his pants.
“Can you see how dirty I am?” I gaze up at him and sigh. “Can you see my cream for you, Beau? Can you hearit? How I’m so wet? How hungry my naughty little pussy is for you?”
“Fuck, yes,” he growls, watching my hips grind, my back arching open so the dildo, sliding in and out, is the only thing capturing his sight, his mind, his imagination, but this is very real.
The attraction between us sucks the air from the room and my lungs. It always has, and now we get to satisfy it, and I don’t think either of us can breathe.
“Get your phone,” I huff. “Take a video. Take a video of my pussy fucking for you.”
This is going to get me off, I know it as he grabs his phone off of the desk and aims it at the mirror, and I trust him. Though our pranks sometimes verged on mean, Beau never was. We were just trapped. Trapped in feelings we couldn’t express, and I can’t express them now. I can’t let myself feel again what broke my heart for so long. The only thing I’ll let my body feel is the desire I had for him for so long, too.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, rising from his chair.
He stalks around me, aiming his phone so he can capture me from behind and on all fours with a hard, long dildo disappearing into my splayed sex, the gentle smacking sound of it filling the air, too.
“Yes, that’s it, kitten,” he growls. “Rock that pretty pussy over that cock. I can see your cream all over it. Damn, you’re a dirty little girl for me, aren’t you?”
I moan. I edge. I roll my hips so hard, my pussy is starving for him, and this isn’t enough.
“Beau,” I sigh. I don’t care if the camera records my voice or face; I trust he’ll protect us. He’ll protect me. “Beau, come here. Please.”
