Page 41 of Allure
Syra felt her body vibrate, caught between the need to touch herself, using Monica’s soft groans and Layla’s muffled ones to coax her own pleasure out of her, and the desire to paint this exact scene on a canvas—to fill the white material with muted colors for the audience and wild vibrant colors to show each individual person coming together in an explosion so big it swallowed not only the painted audience but the painting’s viewer as well.
Her legs opened wider, but she couldn’t move her hands—couldn’t bring herself the pleasure her body was desperate for, going by the shift of her hips in her seat. Asli’s hand came down on Layla’s ass cheek once again, and a gasp fell from her lips so loud Asli’s eyes snapped toward hers. She tried to look away—feeling caught, like she was doing something she shouldn’t—but Marco was in her ear, his hand wrapped around her throat, forcing her to keep Asli’s gaze.
“You don’t have to shy away, Syra,” Marco purred in her ear. “Asli likes it when you watch. He can feel your eyes on him. I bet it’s making his cock ache for you.”
She tried to protest—tried to find words that refuted his claim, but they never passed her lips—especially not when Asli’s lips pulled back into a smirk and his eyes dipped in between her legs.
“See how he looks at you, estrellita?” Marco cursed under his breath. His grip on her neck tightened, and she may have moved her hips more, causing her dress to rise up higher and giving both men a peek at what lay beneath the barrier of her dress. She was bare underneath, she could feel the wetness coating her inner thighs, but she still hadn’t moved either hand to dip in between her soaked lips.
What was holding her back?
Her body wanted this.
She wanted this.
But there was a small part of her that was afraid once she got a taste of this—a taste of Marco again, and this time, maybe Asli—she wouldn’t be strong enough to withstand them. They’d be a tornado, sweeping her up in their path and having no clue where she would land or who she would be when she found her footing again. The unknown may not have been as scary as it was when she was younger, but they were connected in a different way than they had been years ago. It wasn’t just their feelings Syra worried about. They had a whole business and people attached to that business that could and would be affected by things going wrong.
And why are you so worried about things going wrong?
What happens if things go right?
Marco eased his hold on her neck and dropped his hold on her wrist. He brought her gaze toward his—concern filling his green eyes. Why was she always thinking negatively? She thought negatively about her body. Her artwork had suffered from her thoughts—thinking she wasn’t good enough to paint, and when she did paint, she didn’t think it was good enough to show the world. Her thinking about divorcing Joel made her feel like it would never happen, and taking on Sirens had been met with all the reasons why it wouldn’t work.
Had these always been her own thoughts in her head, or had they belonged to someone else?
She realized her negative self-talk about her body had been planted through the undertones of Joel’s “well-meaning” words; had he been behind everything else?
How many opportunities had she missed because Joel had been in her ear telling her it wouldn’t work and to come back to the safety of his arms—his sanctuary?
Why had she been so afraid of failing that she didn’t push past what had been her comfort zone?
“What’s going on, estrellita? Do you need to use your safe words?” The back of Marco’s hand gently brushed her cheek, and she leaned in to the touch.
Her heart beat in a different rhythm when his hands were on her body like this with comfort and concern. His touch could invoke a flame even the coldest and darkest nights couldn’t extinguish, but it was the gentle caress that always gave her courage to just be. It filled her with warmth—a guarantee that no matter what happened, she was safe with him.
Marco was to her what safe words were to an atmosphere like this. It was one of the reasons she loved the idea of safe words, especially when she realized they didn’t only occur within a BDSM lifestyle. They could and should be incorporated into everyday things—even outside of sex. They gave her power—control to take a step back and breathe before deciding to keep going or walk away. She knew no one would think any less of her if she walked away from the room right now. There would be no dirty looks or whispered words from Marco that would seep into her blood, take root in her mind, and turn into a living breathing thing that she’d have to battle with silently after this.
Syra hesitated before she reached for the hand touching her face, letting their fingers intertwine. She feared her feelings for him once because they led her into the unknown. She hadn’t thought her heart was safe with him, but she’d been foolishly wrong. She should have taken what he helped her build with her art as a sign that he was the freedom and safe space she’d been seeking—the very thing she thought she had with Joel.
Marco’s lips touched the back of her hand holding his. “Whatever you want, Syra. All you have to do is voice it and it’s yours. If you need to use your safe words, use them. We can leave and check out another room or go home. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
His voice coupled with the way she could feel Asli’s eyes on them seemed to tip the scale in the decision she’d been warring with. “What was the name of this room?” she whispered, not remembering all the names of the rooms he had told her.
“Allure.” He ran his thumb against her hand. The move was meant to be calming but she felt it down her spine, making her pulse race.
Allure felt like the perfect name for the room. The temptation of Asli and Marco in this moment, and maybe even because she wore a mask, lured her into what she might have been too afraid to voice in a different setting. She was going to cross the line she drew in the sand. She knew it was only a matter of time before it happened, but if she was the one who wiped away the line she threw down, maybe when she woke up in the morning she wouldn’t be filled with worry or some fake remorse.
“No safe words,” she whispered, bringing her lips toward his.
The kiss was soft, meant as nothing more than a reassurance—two strangers saying hello. The second Syra tried to pull back, Marco’s hand gripped her chin, pulling her back toward him. She felt the tease of his tongue against her lips and she opened up for him, letting him consume her and drive her need for him higher.
She squirmed in her seat, wanting to get closer to him, hating that she couldn’t just climb onto his lap because he chose to stand behind her. He dropped his hold on her chin, and she whimpered at the loss of possession his touch could entice only to sigh into his mouth when she felt his hand wrap around her throat.
He eased off her lips, nipping at her bottom lip. “I’ve missed these lips, estrellita,” Marco growled.
“Show me how much you’ve missed them.” She smiled when she felt Marco’s hand tighten around her neck and his jaw tick.
“Only if you behave. I might reward you with my cock in your mouth.” The promise in his voice made her close her legs, hoping to ease the ache his words caused. She could already taste his cum on her tongue—could already picture the way his body went taut and the guttural groan that ripped from his throat when he climaxed down her throat. But there was someone else there with him, and she wondered how well they tasted together.
