Vanilla Iced Scones #2
She was wet, incredibly warm, the slick, inviting heat of her sending an involuntary surge of blood straight to his groin. His hand instinctively moved to slide a finger inside her. Talia let out a sharp, breathless gasp, her head falling back against the sofa.
Andre moved his finger slowly, exploring the soft, slick folds, his mind swimming in a haze of cannabis and arousal.
What am I doing? a small, distant voice in his head asked.
This is wrong! This is wrong! He stopped, his hand still between her legs, and looked up, scanning the room, suddenly remembering that they were not alone. He found Liam.
Liam was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. He wasn't asleep. He wasn't laughing. He was watching them, his green eyes dark and intense, his pupils blown wide. His jeans were unbuttoned, pushed down around his thighs. He was gripping his own cock, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
Andre stared. He couldn't look away. Liam's penis was hard to ignore — thick, uncut, easily eight inches long, the pale skin flushed with blood, the head shining with pre-come in the dim light.
The sight of it, combined with the slick, wet heat of Talia surrounding his fingers, created a cognitive dissonance so profound it felt like his brain was short-circuiting.
Liam caught Andre's eye. He didn't look away. He didn't stop moving his hand.
A slow, wicked smile spread across Liam's face. "Do you think you remember how to fuck a woman?" Liam asked, his voice a low, challenging rasp that cut through the heavy air of the room. "Show me."
The words hit Andre like a punch in the gut. The challenge, the voyeurism, the unapologetic obscenity of the request dissolved whatever remained of his hesitation.
Talia moaned, shifting her hips against Andre's hand, demanding his attention.
Andre forgot about the voice in his head. He forgot about the flat in South Kensington.
He forgot about the tournament in Melbourne.
He pulled his hand away from Talia and reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head.
She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were small and perfect, the nipples hard and dark.
Andre leaned down, taking one into his mouth, his tongue licking the sensitive peak.
Talia cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.
Yes. He remembered how to do this.
He unbuckled his jeans, pushing them down, freeing his aching, heavy erection.
Talia shifted, straddling his lap, her knees bracketing his hips.
She reached down, her hand wrapping around his cock, guiding him to her entrance.
Andre pushed upward, sinking into her with a slow, deliberate thrust. The tight, wet heat of her, the soft weight of her body pressing down on him, the heavy, intoxicating haze of the cannabis — it was a sensory overload that left him breathless.
The sex was a complete blur. Andre felt as if he was floating above watching the scene below, not feeling, not participating.
But he was there. He was participating. And that part of him felt the tension mounting in his groin, a deep, relentless ache winding tighter and tighter.
"Andre," Talia gasped, her eyes flying open, her gaze locking onto his. "I'm on the pill."
The words registered in Andre's drug-addled brain, a green light that pushed him over the edge.
He gripped her hips harder, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper.
He could feel the tension in her body snapping, the sudden, violent clench of her muscles around him as her orgasm shuddered through her frame.
The feeling of her climaxing around him was the final trigger.
Andre threw his head back, a harsh, guttural cry tearing from his throat as he came, his body rigid, pumping his load deep inside her.
"Now it's my turn." The voice was right beside them.
Andre opened his eyes. Liam was standing over them. He had kicked his jeans away entirely. He was fully erect, the head of his cock red and engorged, his hand stroking the shaft with quick, urgent movements.
"Do you want this?" Liam asked, his voice thick with need.
Andre thought Liam was speaking to Talia. He started to pull back, to give them space, but Liam moved closer. Not to Talia. To Andre.
Liam stepped into the space between the sofa and the coffee table, his hips level with Andre's face. The head of Liam's penis was inches from Andre's mouth. Andre could smell the musk of his skin, the sharp, salty tang of arousal.
"I'm going to cum," Liam announced, his voice tight, his breathing shallow.
He pushed his hips forward and pierced Andre's lips. Before Andre knew it, Liam's penis was deep in his mouth, Andre's tongue swirling around to accommodate the intrusion.
Liam let out a sharp, broken shout, his hands tangling in Andre's dark curls, holding him in place. He thrust forward once, twice, and then his body went rigid.
Andre felt the sudden, hot rush of fluid hitting the back of his throat. He swallowed, taking all of it, the taste sweet and heavy and overwhelming. Liam groaned, his hips stuttering as he pumped the last of his load into Andre's mouth.
Liam pulled back, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his legs trembling.
He looked down at Andre, then at Talia, who was still straddling Andre's lap, watching them with wide, dark eyes.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the harsh, unsteady breathing of three people who had just crossed a line they could never uncross.