Chapter 7 #2
Alone in the penthouse again, with all this empty space and all this energy mixed with a fair bit of anxiety, I itched for something, though I didn’t know what.
Still, in a last ditch effort to sate that growing hunger, one I suspected only three towering men with clever hands and sinful mouths could fully cure, I finally found it was time to approach Alexei’s bedroom doors.
After the hidden safe door hiding potentially nefarious secrets, the double doors of deep-stained wood were a piece of cake. I twisted the knob and they practically flung themselves open, revealing the center of sensuality, the peak of opulence in this whole richly-appointed place.
At the center of Alex’s bedroom was an enormous bed.
Bigger than a king size, I thought, and on a raised platform that made the whole thing feel like a stage.
A black duvet that looked heavy and soft, a pile of neatly-arranged pillows wrapped in dark satin, an artfully-arranged throw in a deep blood red draped over the foot of it.
It was foreboding and inviting at once, just like the man himself.
I didn’t intend to lay on the bed. Not consciously, not with any rational part of my brain.
But the next thing I knew, I was stretching my limbs across the softness that Alex slept in each night, and my mind was wandering to dark, twisted corners as I felt my blood turn molten with desire.
The forbiddenness of this moment was the match that struck, turning me to flame. What would happen if he found me here? If I fell asleep in his bed and he joined me at the end of his day and couldn’t resist the urge to touch?
I’d let him, of course.
I wanted it even more now that I knew the full magic of the experience. If I’d thought I was horny and lonely and desperate for touch before getting fucked by these three men, now the need had only sharpened to something harsher. Something with claws.
My hands slid over the silky soft material of Alex’s shirt. Down my arms, across my chest, barely brushing over my nipples and turning them to hardened peaks.
I’d never noticed just how sensitive they were before the three men touched them and brought my entire body to life.
The scandal of it, touching my body and wishing for three different men’s hands on mine while I rolled around in the coziness of one of their beds, had me throbbing between my legs. Begging for relief I’d have to give myself for now.
But I wanted to enjoy this moment of rebellion. To make it last. To embrace this new sensuality I’d unlocked, and get to know it, and worship it in equal measure.
Instead of bringing my fingers immediately to the center of my pleasure, massaging my clit in quick, hard circles like I would if I was hurrying to get myself off in the quiet at home, I let my hands caress over my skin.
Let my legs fall open, my fingers tracing the soft, sensitized skin of my inner thighs. Teasing myself, almost.
If Alex knew what I was doing in his bed, would he be angry?
Would he turn those cold blue eyes on me with a harsh expression that chilled me to my bones even as it warmed my blood, heightened my arousal?
Would he grip my wrists, yanking them away in his strong grip so I couldn’t reach my aching pussy if I wanted to?
I was panting, now. Just the thought of getting caught had me soaked, writhing, yearning for the vibrator I’d left hidden in my bedroom.
It wasn’t as big or as satisfying as any of the three men’s cocks I’d gotten to experience last night, but my inner walls were quivering, screaming with a desire to be filled and stretched and claimed.
My fingers found their way to my cleft over my panties. I didn’t decide it actively, but it happened, the slow, tentative strokes up and down the wet seam.
It felt so decadent, feeling my own dampness through the fancy panties.
Knowing I was already claiming the pair, marking something Alex had bought, maybe with some other woman in mind, with my distinct scent.
I cupped one of my breasts in my other hand. Relishing the fullness of it, the way the flesh swelled, the portrait of femininity. I’d never thought to love my body this way before, and now I wished I could see myself like this.
A mirror on the ceiling was a tantalizing thought, something I was almost surprised wasn’t a reality in Alex’s room.
So I could watch myself, see that my breasts, so neglected before, were all the proof I needed that I was a mature, sexual being.
God, I wanted one of the men—all of them, any of them, maybe Devin and his wicked tongue in particular—to suck my straining nipple hard into his mouth and pull.
I was still tracing over my pussy’s slit, sighing at the glorious pleasure of it even as I was pulsing with a need for more, when a sound startled me.
My eyes flew open—I didn’t remember closing them—and I snapped my head up to see the chilling Adonis I wanted and feared at once.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Alex’s rich, smooth voice spoke from the doorway.
His expression was as blank as ever, and maybe it was my own arousal coloring the scene rose-tinted, but I was sure I detected lust in his gaze.
I didn’t move my hands away from my body. Made no effort to hide what I’d been doing.
Instead, I locked eyes with him as I slid my hand lower, nearing my covered entrance.
While he watched, I traced back up to the apex of my need and let myself give the tiniest bit of pressure.
An amplification more than a relief, but I let out a whimper anyway.
Alex took it exactly as I hoped he would.
As a challenge.
A defiance.
Fresh waves of need flooded through me, soaked me further at my core, and I could have cried out when he said, “Oh, Frankie. You have no idea what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”
His eyes said, You should be scared.
And I was. But I made sure my own expression said, Bring it on.