Pub Date: December 1st, 2013
Price: $2.99 (initial price, will increase to $3.99 after initial promo)
I love two men. I screw two men. I am in a relationship with them both,
and they are both aware there is another. That is all they need to know, that
is all I let them know. They don’t need to know a name; they don’t need to know
anything, but that they are not alone in my heart.
They have accepted the situation. Stewart, because his life is too
busy for the sort of obligations that are required in a relationship. Paul,
because he loves me too much to tell me no. And because my sexual appetite is
such that one man has trouble keeping up.
So we exist, two parallel relationships, each running their own
course, with no need for intersection or conflict. It works for us, for them,
and for me. I don’t expect it to be a long-term situation. I know there is an
expiration date on the easy perfection of our lives.
I should have paid more attention, should have looked around and
noticed the woman who watched it all. She sat in the background and waited,
tried to figure me out. Saw my two relationships, the love between us, and the
moment that it all fell apart.
She hates me.
I don’t even know she exists.
She loves them. I love them.
And they love me.
Everything else hangs in the balance.
Alessandra
Torre is a author who focuses on contemporary erotica. Her first book,
Blindfolded Innocence, was published in July 2012, and was an Erotica #1
Bestseller for two weeks. Alessandra lives on the beach in Florida and is married, with one young child. She enjoys reading, spending time with her family, and playing with her dogs. Her favorite authors include Lisa Gardner, Gillian Flynn, and Jennifer Crusie.
Learn more about Alessandra on her website at www.alessandratorre.com.
Author Links:
Email her at alessandratorre4@gmail.com
* Like her on facebook
* Follow her on twitter
* Fan her at www.goodreads.com/AlessandraTorre
* Follow her on pinterest
RATED X:
I pull off of him, gasping for breath, his arms pulling me
to my feet before I even speak, his arm pining me to his body as his other hand
wraps around, slides underneath the edge of dress and squeezes my ass. Hard. So
hard I gasp, his eyes tight on mine and he releases it, running his fingers
down the crack of my ass and fingering the channel of my sex, covered in lace,
his fingers running back and forth over the spot, a grin stretching across his
face at the dampness there.
“Is that for me or him?”
I don’t answer, reaching between our bodies and fist his
cock, wrapping my hands tightly around the stiff meat, every vein in the organ
outlined in the rigidity of his arousal.
“Answer me Madd. Answer me while I fuck you right here.
While I make you scream so loud that people walking by will hear.”
“Make me,” I whisper, a challenge in the tones.
His hand tightens around my waist at the words, his eyes
holding mine with a fierce look as he listens to my words.
“Make me scream your name while he conducts his business. Make
me your slut, right here and now and send me back to him with your cum dripping
out of me.”
He groans, pushing me back against the wall, spreading my
legs with his knees. He reached down with both hands, gripping my panties and
pulling, ripping the sheer fabric with one strong jerk. Then his body is back
against me, his chest hard to mine, his bare cock rough and bobbing at my
entrance, pushing for and then finding the wetness of my sex and pushing
inside. “Jesus Christ Madd,” he groans, shoving upward, his hard thighs pinning
me to the wall, his hands yanking at my straps, pulling my cashmere cardigan
off my shoulders and jerking the top of my dress down. He thrusts again, his
thighs relaxing and then flexing, every fuck bouncing me back against the wall,
his hands clasping my breasts, squeezing them into his palms.
“Make me scream,” I grit out, my eyes on his. They are
tortured blue, cloudy with arousal, latent with need. “You know that he fucked
me? Before we came here. I straddled his cock and rode him. His hands rough on
my skin, his cock taking my body. He was inside me Paul, right where you are
now.” He roars, his voice raw and primal, pushing me against the wall, losing
control as he slams against me, faster and faster, until my body becomes a shaking
sea of desire, my core rattled, breath gasping, his thrusts urgent and
dominant, his breath ragged, his hands finding my face and bringing my mouth to
his.
“You are mine,” he guts out, pumping into me, the length and
level of his arousal brutal. “Mine,” he swears, as he releases my mouth and
turns me around, pushing me forward as he yanks my legs back, one hand hard on
my back, the other gripping my ass. He doesn’t slow the movement, giving me
full, hard thrusts, my breasts bouncing from the top of my dress, the mirror
above the sink giving me a full view of my slutdom.
Paul, in worn jeans, a white tee-shirt, light hair mussed,
mouth open, intensity over his face. His reflection pulls at my hair, tilting
my head back, and I find his eyes on mine in the mirror.
“You like what you see?” His words are terse, thick. He is
conflicted, but – from the level of his erection – fully aroused at the same
time, his speed increasing, his breath loud in the small space. “You like being
fucked while he’s in the next room?”
I don’t answer, my climax too close, every muscle in my body
tightening in anticipation of the act, my cunt throbbing and contracting around
him, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation.
“God, Madd. You are so fucking good…” He pulls out abruptly,
leaving me gasping, my chest aching as I turn to him, feeling his hands before
I fully move; they shove me back, wrapping around my waist and lifting me,
setting me on the low counter of the sink and pulling me to the edge. He jacks
himself, looking at my pussy, at the swollen pink lips of sex, then glances up
to meet my eyes. He steps forward, pressing himself at my base, pushing my chin
up when he sees me glance down. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me what he did
to you. Tell me what he did and make me come all fucking up inside of you.”
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