Page 7 of More Than We Know

The knowledge that people are watching us, seeing the way he touches me with the expertise that comes from so many years of knowing each other so intimately, sends electricity buzzing through my body.

Quentin slowly pulls off my lingerie, letting his touch linger on my sensitive skin as he removes the fabric and leaves me standing there completely naked.

“On the bed,” he commands. “And spread your legs so everyone out there can see that perfect pussy.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I comply. As I situate myself on the bed and spread my legs as much as I can, a familiar feeling settles in my gut. It’s the result of being so exposed, a mix between apprehension and exhilaration at doing something so taboo. I’ve always loved that feeling—the minor discomfort of feeling exposed but with a positive twist. Weirdly enough, it’s the same sort of frenetic energy I’d feel in a haunted house or… well, sneaking around with Kat.

Shit. I shouldn’t be thinking about her right now.

I partly recline on the bed as I watch Quentin undress before me. He takes his time slipping out of his clothes, purposefully forcing me to wait in anticipation, and I enjoy every second of it.

When he’s fully naked, he sits beside me on the bed so everyone still has a view of my body as he dips his head to my chest and plants kisses over my breasts before sucking a nipple into his mouth and grazing his teeth over it. I cry out at the sharp sensation that shoots straight to my core, and he plucks my other nipple with his fingers until I’m arching my back and breathing heavy.

“That’s right,” he says, “show everyone out there watching us how good I make you feel.”

I gasp as he slips his hand between my legs and pushes two fingers inside me.

“We have an audience,” he murmurs, glancing toward the window where shadowy figures move on the other side. “They're all watching you, all wishing they were in my place getting to touch you like this.”

The reminder that we’re being watched makes Quentin’s touch feel even more intense as he crooks his fingers inside me.

“Then make them jealous,” I murmur. “Show them what they’re missing.”

Quentin needs no further encouragement. In one swift movement, he’s flipping our positions so he’s on his back and I’m straddling him.

Grabbing the back of my neck with one hand, he pulls my face to his and kisses me again as his erection rubs against my pussy. I grind against his hard length, putting much-needed pressure on my clit, and he groans softly.

“Ride me,” he demands.

He doesn’t need to ask me twice.

I grab his cock in one hand and guide it to my entrance before sinking down on it.Fuck, that feels good.

Quentin grabs my hips as I steady myself with my hands on his chest. Once I’ve adjusted to his size, I lift my hips then slide back down, feeling his cock slide in and out of me. We find a rhythm, slow at first but increasing with every moment.

My hair falls across my face as I roll my hips, and the pressure inside me grows. Quentin’s hand leaves my hip, but the absence of his touch is immediately followed by a sharp smack on my ass. I gasp at the sudden pain, but I fucking love it.

The pleasure builds inside me at the sting of his palm against my ass coupled with how he lifts his hips to fuck me from below. Even with me on top, he somehow manages to take control of the situation and put me at his mercy.

He notices my eyes fluttering closed as my orgasm threatens to overtake me.

“Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Right there. Please don’t stop.”

He keeps up the pace and pounds into me over and over again, and I reach down to rub my clit to push me over the edge.

My orgasm hits hard, and it takes every ounce of effort to keep myself upright as my body convulses.

“That's it, baby,” Quentin pants, his voice strained. “Come for me. Let them see you come undone on my cock. Show everyone how fucking good I make you feel.”

I cry out and shatter around him, and he picks up his pace as I come down from the high. Quentin follows a few seconds later, spilling into me with a low groan and gripping my hips so hard I wonder if his fingers will leave bruises.

After a moment, I roll onto the bed beside him, and we lie there for a while to catch our breath.

Quentin turns his head to face me. “Just like old times,” he says with a playful grin.

I smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, because as happy as I am, and as much as I love falling back into our dynamic like this, it’s not exactly like old times. One thing is different.

---