Both guys grunted audibly and Rome shifted in the seat next to me. I didn’t have to look his way to know that he was adjusting his no-doubt-erect dick in his pants.
“Jesus Christ, woman, you’re going to make me snap in half, I’m so hard.” King’s voice was low and throaty.
“Wait. Are you?” He stared out to me, eyes intense, and intently focused on me, and I knew the answer to my question.
“Yeah. I’m so...” His jaw slackened, and I knew there was going to be no completion of that sentence.
“King. You can’t just...” But he was, and short of ending the call, there was precious little I could do about it.
I chanced a discreet look across to Rome. He’d slid a little farther down into the seat, and had his head tipped back, leaning his head on the top of the backrest. His eyes were clamped shut, and he was squeezing the outline of his dick in his tight black ripped jeans. He’d worn a beautiful vintage velvet tux jacket, but had totally eschewed any kind of formal pants. Or shoes.
His concession to formal dressing was black Converse, and I was there for that. He looked good, whatever he wore, but tonight he was something else. That didn’t mean I wanted to be caught in a ‘three-way’ while the two of them jerked off with me in the middle. I eyed Rome suspiciously, noting that his hand wasn’t moving, so my guess was that he was trying to stop from coming, rather than the other way around.
I turned my attention back to King on the screen, just as he started speaking. “Touch yourself for me. I want you to get off too.” His voice was thick and heavy with arousal.
I looked toward the driver through the tinted privacy screen. What I could see of his face in the rear-view mirror showed no signs of being aware of what was going on in the back, so I hoped that meant that he couldn’t hear or see us.
“I can’t.”
“Yeah you can.” The look of concentration on King’s face intensified, as the top of his arm jerked faster. He was close.
“I can’t. Rome—”
“Has seen it all before,” King urged.
I was so torn. The thing was, like I’d told King, I was dripping wet, but what he probably didn’t know was that I was aching to come, and my clit was literally throbbing in anticipation.
“Please,” he urged again.
I sidled another look at Rome. His eyes were still closed and he hadn’t moved a muscle since I’d turned away from him to look back at King.
“Okay.” I mouthed the word silently, then gently maneuvered my hand beneath my sequined gown, leaning slowly back into the plush leather seat, and tilting my hips for easier access. Slipping my index finger inside myself was such sweet relief, I could scarcely believe I’d even tried to resist.
I kept my gaze fixed firmly on King’s, as we both rode toward the inevitable in silence.
When King’s arm suddenly stopped moving, and he flipped the phone around to show me the bottom half of his body while he came, I tensed, attempting, and failing to contain my own orgasm. I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out, but King made no attempt to hide what was going on. He came loudly, his final battle cry, “Jesus, fuck!” rebounding around the cab of the limo.
He quickly flipped the camera back to his face.
“You there too?” The words were delivered as a breathless pant. I nodded, and bit down harder as my climax hit with full effect. “Good girl.”
As still and quiet as I was trying to keep, I couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through my body at his words. I pulled my finger away, shaking a little more before sliding it into my mouth and sucking hard, allowing my eyes to fall closed for the first time during the encounter.
“I want to be there to taste you.”
It was as though he was daring me to say something within Rome’s earshot. Instead, I licked my lips agonizingly slowly, knowing it would drive him crazy, possibly even give him another hard-on.
“Jesus Christ, you’re killing me here, Quin.”
Chapter 7
Rome
I was out of the car before it had even fully come to a stop, and stalked up to the house without looking behind me. I realized I was being rude, but nobody who knew me expected Prince Charming, least of all Quincy. Besides, I was way too pissed to care about etiquette.
It wasn’t long before I heard her footsteps hurrying behind me.
“Rome! Wait. What the fuck? What’s going on?”
She was still a ways away, and I didn’t stop, instead, I pressed my finger to the fingerprint pad at the front door. As it clicked unlocked, and I started pushing it open, she finally caught up with me.
“Rome. I know you can hear me.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Stop, would you. What’s wrong?”
I spun around, angrier than I’d even realized when I sprang out of the car. “What’s wrong? Gee, I don’t fucking know. I mean, I can’t drink, or smoke, and I’m not supposed to fuck, or do anything else that brings me joy. I spent the night in a room full of booze, and all the other things I’m not allowed to do or have, and I got up on that stage with you what, six, seven times, and was nothing more than set dressing. Scratch that—I’ve seen more eloquent scenery. It was like you were my minder, or I was this lump of deadwood around your neck while you carried my ass. And the whole thing was committed to video forever. Great.
“People must have thought I’d had a fucking lobotomy. Then watching you cyber-fuck my best friend in the car on the way home made me wish I actually had.” Jesus Christ, I sounded like a whiny bitch. I almost added that to my list of “Shitty Things That Have Happened To Rome Today”, but realized than in doing so, I’d make myself sound whinier than ever.
“You saw that?” She looked embarrassed as all hell.
“Every last thrust and sigh.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I thought you had your eyes closed. If I knew you were watching, I wouldn’t have...”
“Yeah, it’s a skill I learned traveling around with the performance troupe. Actual privacy isn’t exactly a thing when you’re in such close quarters with other people twenty-four seven, so everyone gets real good at pretending not to see and hear whatever it is that someone else doesn’t want them to see and hear.”
“Well, I knew you could hear, which is why I was pretty-much silent, but I had no idea you were watching. I’m so sorry. I would never have—”
“Will you stop fucking apologizing. It was hotter than living hell. That’s not the issue. The issue is that it’s just another thing on the long and growing list of things I want, but can’t have.”
“What is?”
“You.”
“Oh. I—”
“You don’t need to say anything. Ignore me. I’m just feeling sorry for myself, and being a whiny ass, is all.”
She was through the door, but we’d stopped in the hall with it wide open, so I reached behind her and closed it.
“See you for the flight in the morning.”
“Wait.” Her hand was still on my shoulder, but she applied a little more pressure this time. “Are you okay? I mean, maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now.”