45. Neomi
Christy drapes herself over me like she owns me, bare skin hot against my dress, hair brushing my shoulder as she moves.
To my right, Lars is tense but turned on, every exhale sharper than the last. His hand is still clasped with mine, his thumb pressing into my skin like he needs the anchor as badly as I do.
His eyes track every movement of the dancer’s body against me, and when I glance at him, he looks hungry.
And then there’s Gabriel.
Lounging in his chair with a champagne flute in hand, his attention never strays.
His gaze is heavy and unashamed, following every arch of my back, every sound that slips past my lips.
He doesn’t hide the bulge straining against his tailored pants.
He wants me to see it. He wants me to know what this does to him.
My voice comes out rough. “Give him some attention.”
The dancer pauses before following my gaze to Gabriel. Her lips curve, and without hesitation, she rises from my lap and crosses to his chair.
I watch her climb onto him the way she climbed onto me, her bare thighs bracketing his suit pants in his chair, her hands gliding across his chest. Gabriel’s grin widens, his eyes flicking to mine as if to say you wanted this—now watch.
And God, I do want to watch.
Lars’ hand tightens on mine. Together we watch the redhead drag her body against Gabriel, her breasts pressing into his face. He doesn’t break eye contact with me as she moves, as her hands roam down his torso, while his cock strains visibly beneath her grind.
The sight burns through me, my thighs clench, my chest rising faster.
I want to touch Gabriel. I want to kiss him. And what’s crazier is I want Lars to kiss him too. I want to drag him onto this couch and make the three of us lose ourselves to the tension and want.
Instead, I grip Lars’ hand harder, swallowing a moan, as the dancer grinds against Gabriel.
His head tilts back, lashes low, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as she writhes against him.
And then his gaze drifts, sliding past the red curtain of her hair, past her arching back.
Though now, he’s no longer watching me, he’s looking somewhere else.
He’s looking at Lars.
It hits me all at once, the intensity in Gabriel’s stare. He isn’t idly glancing. He’s locked on my husband, gaze steady, like the woman in his lap is nothing more than a bridge between them.
His eyes meet Gabriel’s across the table and holds there. The dancer keeps moving, oblivious to the tension that’s shifted the room, that she’s no longer the center of gravity.
The two men are.
When the song is over, the dancer pulls back from Gabriel’s lap, sits beside me, and she pats the couch as she speaks to Gabriel.
“Come on. Sit with us.”
He stands, adjusting his cock in his pants with no shame. The couch dips under his weight as he settles on my other side, close enough that the heat of him bleeds straight into my skin.
I’m pinned now with Gabriel to my right, Lars to my left. The dancer straddles me again, her hands sliding down my arms, her thighs caging mine. She moves against me, her hips circling in my lap. Then she catches my chin, turning my head toward Lars. Her voice is low and sultry.
“Kiss him.”
I don’t need persuasion as I crash into Lars’ mouth, our lips colliding with heat and knowing each other’s rhythms. I’ve been starving for his touch. His tongue claims mine, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, holding me there. I moan into him, and he devours the sound.
The dancer pulls back just enough to tilt me the other way, her grip firm, steering me toward Gabriel. My stomach knots, my thighs press together, and I feel the electricity between us before I look at him.
He’s waiting and watching. His eyes locked on me, and I freeze for a heartbeat, caught between fire and fear, and turn to Lars. His chin tips toward Gabriel. The motion is permission, but his eyes tell me it’s a command. It makes my clit pulse, makes me lightheaded.
When I lean into him, Gabriel’s mouth captures mine and it’s gentle, testing.
But when I nip his bottom lip, it builds into something rougher, hungrier, teeth scraping as he claims me.
His hand fists in my hair, pulling me closer, forcing me deeper into the kiss.
It’s intense, dangerous, and somehow everything I would expect from this stranger.
My gasp is swallowed whole, my body arching as if he’s pulling me toward him.
My brain is consumed with a haze of lust. My hand grips Gabriel’s thigh as he takes my jaw in his hands, then he takes and takes, every drag of his tongue staking a claim that scorches down my spine.
And then a hand drops and he reaches further.
His arm slides behind the dancer where she straddles me, until his hand lands on Lars’ thigh. I pull back and look to the point of contact. Gabriel’s hand firmly on the inside of Lars’ thigh, gripping tight.
I’ve never been this turned on.
Gabriel speaks to Lars, “Your wife tastes incredible,” he says, licking his bottom lip, voice low and edged with heat. “Generous of you to share.”
The words slam through me; a filthy punch of arousal that has my panties ruined. When his eyes meet Lars’, the air between them sparks hot, the tension thick and heady.
And I know it in my bones that we’re crossing into something I don’t want to return from. The thought rises before I can stop it, but it burns too hot to ignore. I turn my head, eyes flicking between them, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“If you like me…” My throat works around the words, heat climbing my neck. “You should taste my husband.”
The moment hangs heavy in the air around us.
Beside me, Lars’ grin spreads slow and wicked across his lips, and I know it’s because he’s just been handed an invitation he won’t refuse.
Gabriel’s hand lingers on Lars’ thigh, thumb sweeping once against the fabric.
The dancer moves to one of the side chairs, pours herself a glass of champagne and lounges back like a director satisfied with the scene she’s created.
My body is on fire. Saying it out loud doesn’t make me nervous, it makes me throb. Every nerve in my body is a live wire.
Because right now, I’m not just watching the line blur, I’m the one erasing it.