Page 30 of Watch Me

So it isn’t just dinner with Nick’s friend. It’s so much more. It’s a show—for two men in an intimate setting. I’ve never done anything like that before but I’ve fantasized about it many times.

I look at Nick, who’s watching me with eyes that are so much like Tate’s. Same color, same shape, same lashes. But Nick looks at me in a way Tate never has—with hunger. And it’s fucking hot.

“Would you like to watch me give David a lap dance?” I ask bluntly, and a Cheshire Cat smile curves the full line of his lips.

“Yes, Zoë,” he says, matching my tone. “I would.”

* * *

Context is everything. Pulling my t-shirt up over my head in Nick’s dining room for an audience of two is an entirely different experience from stripping on stage in front of a room full of people.

A large audience is anonymous. Two men eyeing me wolfishly is a situation. And one I’ve stepped into willingly, even if it is making my heart race.

I turn my back to David, where he’s pushed his chair back against the wall, and face Nick as I bend over to slide my leggings off, giving David a view of my ass and my lacy pink thong before sitting down on his lap. Then I lock eyes with Nick as I start grinding myself on David’s crotch.

A lap dance at the club is a delicate balance of touching and showing. As much as possible, erections are tactfully avoided. But here in the privacy of Nick’s home, I don’t bother with the niceties and move on David’s lap in a pure imitation of sex, rubbing myself back and forth against the taut swell in his jeans.

“That’s so good, baby,” he murmurs, clasping my waist with his hands and digging his thumbs into my lower back. “You’re making me nice and hard.”

The way he says it makes my breath hitch. This feels so much more sexual than a lap dance at the club, and when I raise my eyes to Nick’s, where he’s sitting at the table watching us, his expression is incendiary.

“Why don’t you take your bra off?” he suggests.

I reach back for the clasp and my fingers meet David’s, where he’s already eagerly unhooking the metal eyelets. The garment slips down my arms, and I drop it onto the floor just as David’s hands engulf each one of my breasts. The heat from his palms makes my nipples go hard, and the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

When I first moved into this house, I was trying to imagine a future with Tate. I never could have imagined how much things would change, the dramatic turn things would take. Now, here I am in this dining room in the same house, with Tate’s father watching me, his friend’s hands on my body, and everything is so different. But this, here, now, is what I’ve always wanted to feel. Every cell in my body is singing. With Tate, I was constantly judged and shamed. Strangely, in this situation with his father and his friend, I feel so much safer. And so much more alive.

David’s hands eagerly massage my breasts. He lets out a low, pleasurable groan. And Nick just watches, staring at us avidly. He watches me like I imagine he might if we were in bed together, just the two of us, and it makes David’s hands feel like his hands, David’s lap feel like his lap. David’s body becomes a tool for Nick to be with me.

I have the wildest, most shocking urge to go further. To have Nick watch me while another man takes me, for him to see me dissolve in ecstasy, for him to watch me come.

But I don’t know what the rules are, how far it’s okay to go, so I just lean back even further, lift my hand up to David’s hair and pull his face closer to me until he’s kissing the back of my neck, and grind my pussy against his crotch until I can feel myself getting close to the edge, my sex swelling and my breath coming quickly.

My attention contracts with the rhythmic motion, drawing inwards, pulling me away from Nick as the sensation moves from something mental to something purely physical. I’m getting close to orgasm, and I want to come. My vision is getting so tunneled, I hardly notice that Nick has pulled his chair closer so that he’s right in front of us.

“Is this turning you on, Bean?” he asks, in that serious professor-like voice, as if he’s just called on me to give an answer in the lecture hall. “Are you enjoying putting on this little show?”

“Yes,” I breathe, rolling my head back onto David’s shoulder.

His hands run down my sides to my hips, pulling me against him so that the bulge in his pants presses harder against me—right there, just where I need it.

“Touch her, David,” says Nick. “This little girl wants to come for us.”

“Yes,” I choke out, desperate.

I want to be touched by anyone, anything. The relief feels urgent and necessary.

David chuckles, a low tremor traveling down my back, and then his fingers are probing under the lace waistband of my panties, sliding mercifully over my skin until they reach my clit—the aching, pinpoint center of my need—and begin stroking.

I gasp, lifting my hips, my whole core clenching.

“Look at me,” commands Nick.

I’m right there. I’m going to come. I manage to lower my chin and look Nick dead in the eyes just as David slides his thick forefinger over my clit in the caress that breaks me, and I shatter. I lock my gaze on Nick’s black eyes, searing with nuclear intensity as he watches me.

The orgasm rocks through me like a seismic wave, leaving me panting for breath, and Nick is the anchor at the center of it all, keeping me rooted. It’s the most earth-shattering, intimate thing I’ve ever experienced, looking right into someone’s eyes during an intense orgasm.

A small smile curls his lips, and absolute warmth radiates from him. It’s the most loved I’ve ever felt.

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