Page 140 of Look, Don't Touch

I want to tell him I love him, but it doesn’t seem like the right time for that. So I give him what I can.

“Then I’m yours, always. Broken bits and all.”

“Not broken. Perfectly unique.” He kisses me with the ease of a Master, confident in his reign, sure of his possession. I let him. I fall into the suck and pull. I let the debauched noises of kissing and sucking that echo around the room flow into my ears and turn my body into an amplifier. I’m moaning against his mouth and writhing on his stowed cock.

He pulls away and turns me to face the trio.

The woman has worked the men’s thick lengths to her mouth. She slathers one with her tongue and open lips, and then the other. Their tips are less than an inch apart. Their fat heads are slick with moisture. My cunt spasms, wondering if their tips will touch.

“If you’re mine,” Arlo rasps, “I can share you with my friends.”

My body goes hot. Well, hotter.

“If I wanted, that could be you, slobbering over their cocks. If you want, you could feel them and fuck them, and I would blow my load watching you.”

My pussy hums. Yet… “I don’t want to be between them.”

“What do you want?”

“Your cock.”

“You’ll have it.” He kisses my lips and then turns my head toward Hota. “But first you owe me orgasms.”

I stare into bottomless eyes and whisper, “Why am I looking at Hota?”

“Because, Hailey, I want you to.”

His friend is utterly still. The curve of his jaw and the pout of his lips are the real art in this room. He’s a still life, threatening to burst forth through the canvas. I can see the desire in his eyes, the restraint too. The utter loyalty to the man at my back.

“Wh…while you make me orgasm?” My voice trembles because I already know the answer.

“No, my siren. While he takes them from you.”

“Come here.” Arlo barks the command before I have a chance to piece my exploded brains back together.

Hotaru stands with a grace that belies his size. His steady gaze jumps from me to Arlo. He draws a deep breath and then walks toward us.

“Yes, Sir?” Hota stops between Arlo’s feet, the place I was a handful of minutes ago, getting off on a piece of fabric, Karris’s manipulation of it, and my lover who was ultimately pulling the strings. My lover, who still pulls the strings.

“On your knees.” Arlo points at the ground, but Hota is already sinking. When he hits the rug, Arlo straightens, pressing us both forward.

Hota’s eyes stay locked on my lover’s as though he is the only thing that matters. Not the rising global temperature averages or melting glaciers. Hell, I’m pretty sure an impending meteor shower headed for Earth wouldn’t pull his attention from Arlo. I know the feeling. It’s interesting to see it from someone else.

A tiny part of me thinks about getting jealous, but then I remember who Arlo is, what he’s endured, and what he deserves. That look—from me or Hota—he deserves them both.

“What am I holding in my arms?” Arlo demands.

“Your heart.” Hota’s jagged Adam’s apple bobs.

My throat works as his words, the weight of them, the meaning, permeates my skin.

“If I were to share my heart with you, how would you treat it, Hota?”

“Better than my own.” The man’s eyes go a bit glossy, as if this means more than what it means. And what it means already is a fucking lot.

“I know you will.” Hands at my hips, Arlo gathers my skirt into his fists one slow inch at a time, just as he had the back. His cock goes impossibly harder against my ass as he reveals my stocking covered thighs, the white flesh above it, and finally my puffy pink cunt. He hikes my knees on the outside of his, and then spreads his legs—our legs—wide. They brush across Hota’s hips and thighs. “Which is why I want you to get this pussy ready for me.”

Hota’s elegant, strong hands form fists.

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