Page 71 of Going Deep
She opened her mouth to say—what? But before a sound could emerge, she felt Michael’s hand tighten on her neck.
“No speaking.” The almost soundless whisper was right in her ear. “Trust me, Ginger.”
She swallowed hard. Her eyes were locked on the couple—the man in dress slacks and a button-down shirt, the woman in a skirt and blouse. Her hair was cut in a jaw-length swing, the color a dark brown that gleamed like mink in the bright lights. Her pale white skin glowed like a pearl.
As Ginger watched, the man turned the woman to face the door. He stood behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other stroking her hair. “Tell them your name, sweetheart.”
“Abigail,” came the soft reply.
“Very good, pet.” His voice rumbled with approval. “Tell them why you’re here.”
“Because I like being watched.”
Ginger sucked in a sharp breath, and she turned to look at Michael. His fingers tightened warningly on the nape of her neck. “Just wait,” he murmured, his voice too soft to carry over the music soaring through the speakers.
The man’s hand stroked over Abigail’s hair and down to her throat. “And what do you like to do while you’re being watched?”
Abigail tilted her head back, exposing her throat to his hand. When he closed his fingers around her neck to press lightly, she moaned. “Fuck. I like people to watch me while I fuck.”
“No, pet, you’ve got that wrong,” the man corrected with a low laugh. “You like it when people watch you get fucked.”
Oh, my.
Michael shifted so his body pressed against Ginger's, his chest to her back, his hips to her ass. One arm came around her waist, the other rising to circle the base of her throat. “Some people,” he murmured into her ear, “like being on display. Abigail and Jack, for example.”
In front of them, Jack licked the edge of Abigail’s ear, and Michael mirrored the action. Ginger shuddered, heat flooding her body.
“They like knowing we’re here. Watching.” His breath was warm against her neck. “With the lights on them, they can’t see us. But they can hear us. They want us to watch.” His voice lowered to a throaty purr. “And I know you want to watch.”
Ginger swallowed hard, her throat working against the light press of his hand. Her eyes were locked on the couple standing in the circle of light, her mind racing. They couldn’t see her. She could watch. And she wanted to watch.
“Do you want to watch, darling?” Michael asked her, his voice pitched just a little louder than before. Ginger watched Abigail shiver and realized he’d deliberately spoken loud enough so they could hear him.
Oh, yes. “Yes,” she said, her voice already husky with lust. “Yes, I do.”
“Then watch,” he said.
In the circle of light, Jack grinned and fisted his partner’s hair. He tugged her head back, smothering her throaty moan in a rough, deep kiss.
Ginger’s body felt tight, as though her skin had shrunk over her flesh. Everything felt tender, sensitive. Her breasts were swollen and tight under her snug top, her nipples already hard. Her inner thighs were slick with moisture, her pussy throbbing in time with the beat of her heart.
Michael’s hands suddenly shifted, going to the neckline of her top. The scoop neck left most of her upper chest bare, the stretchy material clinging like a second skin without being too restricting. He hooked a finger in the neckline and tugged it down, then used his other hand to lift first one, then the other breast out so they were exposed, the top pressing them up from underneath.
She made a sharp move with her hands, an instinctive motion to cover herself. Michael let out a low growl, the arm around her waist tightening slightly, and she dropped her hands back to her sides.
His “Good girl” was barely a whisper.
She kept her eyes on the couple in front of them, desire building as she watched the man—Jack—tug his partner’s dress down to her waist. Her breasts spilled out, larger than Ginger’s, with dusky pink nipples. Still holding her head, still kissing her, he palmed one soft globe.
Ginger’s breath came out in a rush when Michael’s calloused hand cover her breast, his strong fingers massaging firmly. Her moan sounded loud in her own ears, and her teeth sank into her lower lip to bite off the sound.
“No.” Michael pinched her nipple hard, his fingers ruthlessly pressing down until a whimpering cry escaped. “They want to hear you, Ginger.” His voice lowered, for her ears only. “Every time you bite off a sound, I’ll hurt you until you can’t help but make noise.”
She struggled to keep her focus. The scene in front of her, the pain blooming in her breast, Michael’s hard cock pressed to the curve of her ass—it all combined to push her head right up into the clouds. “Yes, Sir,” she managed, and his fingers gentled on her nipple.
She let out a quiet sigh, and Michael chuckled in her ear, the sound dark and rich. “Good girl,” he murmured, and the approval in his voice made her sigh again.
With an effort, she pulled her attention away from the riot happening in her own body and back to the couple in front of them.
