“Then you are concerned for my delicate sensibilities.”
He paused. In the soft glow from the partition she could see his features, which now appeared etched in granite, as he considered what she was saying. She’d visited casinos, poolrooms, tenements and dives all around this city. Any delicate sensibilities she’d possessed had long disappeared. Furthermore, she didn’t need him to shelter her from the unsafe or unsavory. God knew her parents had tried to do that for the majority of her life—and it hadn’t worked then, either.
He moved out of her way, shifting to stand behind her. “If I tell you no, you’ll watch out of spite. So go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He knocked twice on the glass, presumably to let the occupants know they had an audience.
Out of habit, Florence ducked. “Can they see us?”
“No, it’s too dark in here.”
“Oh.” Feeling foolish, she straightened. The window was rectangle shaped, roughly the size of a piece of paper. Just big enough for Clay and her to watch at the same time. She moved closer to see what was happening.
A man and a woman stood in front of the fire, kissing, the man in trousers and shirtsleeves. The woman was dressed in a corset, chemise, drawers, stockings and boots, with her brown hair piled on her head. Their mouths moved feverishly, lips parted slightly to reveal how their tongues rubbed against each other. The man moved his hands to the woman’s breasts, cupping them, his fingers digging into the plump flesh rising above her corset. Warmth slid through Florence, her skin prickling at the scene in front of her.
The man loosened the laces of the woman’s corset and she helped him, the two of them continuing to kiss as they worked together to get the piece off. When she was down to her chemise, the man began kissing her throat, his hands cupping her heavy breasts. Her hand went to his groin, where she stroked him through his trousers. Florence’s nipples tightened behind her corset, her breasts growing heavy with want. Her own amorous sessions hadn’t been this . . . carnal. They had been civilized. Almost polite.
Boring.
This was something else altogether, wild and raw. Desperate. Her body reacted with blood pulsing in her veins and gathering between her legs. Clay’s scent, the outdoors and faint cigar, filled the small space, making her quite aware that she wasn’t alone. He stood behind her, not speaking, a potent hulk of masculinity she couldn’t ignore. Yet, she didn’t take her eyes off the couple in the next room.
Now the man tore off the woman’s chemise and immediately began sucking the tip of one breast, and she threw her head back, eyes closed in ecstasy. Florence could hear her own breathing, rapid exhalations that gave away her arousal, but she didn’t care. She could neither look away nor could she leave. Her feet were rooted to the floor, her body both hot and cold as desire dug its claws into her flesh. She remembered the sweet tug, the pressure of what it felt like to be suckled by strong lips.
Heaven. Pure heaven.
Then something unexpected happened. After untying the woman’s drawers, the man lay down on the floor and brought her atop him. Just when Florence thought the man might kiss the woman’s lips, he wriggled lower until the woman straddled his face. “What on earth . . . ?” Florence whispered.
A soft chuckle sounded behind her. “Say goodbye to your delicate sensibilities.”
Florence swallowed. The woman was . . . sitting on the man’s face, his mouth and lips feasting between her legs. Florence had never dreamed anything like this was possible. Her one serious lover, Chester, certainly hadn’t kissed her there. Was this . . . Did everyone do this?
The woman rocked her hips, her hands molding her breasts, squeezing them, as the man pleasured her. Her eyes were closed tight, her face slackened in bliss. Florence had never seen a woman in such a state of euphoria before, like she’d been drugged. Her own core was slick and swollen, jealous of the attention, throbbing insistently between her legs as she observed the couple.
I’m aroused just from watching.
Actually, aroused was a tame word for what she was experiencing. She was on fire. Burning alive. Sweat rolled between her shoulder blades, her clothes confining and uncomfortable. Her chest heaved, each exhalation pushing her breasts against the hard whalebone of her corset, cloth dragging across her nipples. God, I’m dying. They would find her here weeks from now, expired from lust.
Soon. She’d soon leave, return home and ease this awful craving with her own hand under the covers. Until then she had to keep a level head.
“Do you like what you see?”
Clay was behind her, his voice a dark whisper in her ear. She shivered and tried not to melt into a puddle on the floor. “I had no idea,” she rasped.
“He’s eating her. Licking her juices. Sucking on her clitoris.”
Florence gasped for air, the raw words sinking into her bones to weaken them. Her knees nearly buckled. She was dying to ask him if he’d ever done the same but her mouth had gone dry. Speaking felt like too much effort.
“There’s nothing like the taste of a woman’s arousal,” he continued. “Sharp and spicy, utterly delicious.”
Oh, sweet Lord.
A buzzing built in her ears, as if she could hear the blood coursing through her body. Craving gnawed at her, and she wondered what Clay would do if she spun around and pressed her mouth to his.
“Or when her thighs shake around your head,” he said. “When her tiny bud hardens and swells on your tongue right before she comes.”
Florence placed a palm on the wall to steady herself. The pounding of her heart echoed between her legs, a steady beat of desire that only grew stronger. Needier. Hotter.
“She’s climaxing. Watch.”
As if she could look away.
Florence pressed her thighs together and stared as the woman began quaking, the shouts clear through the wall. The woman trembled until she nearly fell over, but the man steadied her as he moved a hand to his trouser fastenings. When she recovered, she helped to free his erection. The flesh was hard and thick, capped with a round head. Florence had seen a penis, of course, but not for any length of time. With Chester, the unveiling had happened mere seconds before the instrument was put to use. There hadn’t been a pause for her to take it all in.
Now, she took it all in. What a marvel this piece of anatomy was, so tall and proud. Designed to give and receive pleasure. The man stroked it, using his hand along the shaft as the woman shimmied down to align their hips. She lined up and he angled himself toward her core, preparing to penetrate her.
Florence nearly crumbled. Oh, my God. How will I possibly last?
“Had enough? Shall I close the partition?”
“No,” she wheezed and he gave a soft chuckle. She didn’t care. Let him laugh at her, if he chose. This was too . . . educational to resist.
The man’s cock slowly disappeared inside the woman’s body—and Florence heard herself whimper. It was faint, a sound of pent-up frustration and hunger, but no chance Clay missed it. And she was beyond caring. The scene was the most arousing thing she’d ever watched. Her body was tight, on edge. If she rubbed her thighs together, she might possibly combust. If only Clay weren’t here . . .
“Would you touch yourself right now if you were alone?” he whispered.
Heat burned her skin. Was he reading her mind? Or was her desire so obvious?