Page 111 of Flawed

"Why them?"

She stares at the couple, answering, "It's easier to watch others have what you never will than lie to yourself that it's attainable."

It's another knife in my heart. Is Chanel right? Our situation is full of hurdles we have to get over, but something deep within me believes we'll be together. Am I only fantasizing about something that will never be?

The woman behind the glass moans, arching her back into the man. Chanel shifts, grasping the ledge so tight her knuckles turn white. Her breath quickens, and she licks her lips, leaning closer to the window.

We watch the couple in silence for a few moments. They seem to know each other well. It doesn't look like it's only sex, which doesn't happen at this club. There's intimacy, a connection I've never witnessed in action.

It's something I've only experienced with Chanel.

My erection grows, aching not only for her but for what that couple exhibits.

The woman's incoherent sounds get louder and more prominent. Chanel takes a shaky breath, and I slide my hand to her inner thigh.

She freezes, saying in a barely audible voice, "You should go, Luca."

I inch my hand higher, stroking the wet fabric of her panties, challenging, "Neither of us wants that, do we?"

She closes her eyes.

I kiss the curve of her neck. Her body relaxes against mine, and I slide my finger under the material.

She turns her head, and the fight I saw months ago streams across her expression.

I put my other hand in her hair, hold her firmly, and press my mouth against hers. My tongue parts her lips. She resists for a split second then caves, flicking her tongue against mine. Her body releases any remaining resistance to me.

I murmur, "Open your eyes, stellina."

She obeys, her greens full of fiery lust, burning with desire. And I wonder who needs this more. Me or her?

"Turn back and watch," I demand.

She arches her eyebrows, parting her lips.

I kiss them quickly then reposition her head toward the glass. I push her body closer, so she's sandwiched between it and me, and put my cheek on hers.

Our breaths create a light fog on the window. The man flips the woman over then tugs her to the end of the bed. He positions her on her knees, then splays his hand on her back.

Her arms stretch in front of her. He holds her head on the bed, tugs her hips into the air, then enters her.

Her cries ring through the air, competing with the music. I slide my finger inside Chanel, and she gasps. I inch in and out, add another finger, and circle my thumb on her clit.

She whimpers and attempts to stay quiet, but the more turned on the other woman gets, the louder my stellina becomes.

Everything about this moment makes me feel crazy. Insanity for the love of a woman I've craved for a decade. Desperate for a sliver of what the couple inside gets to have whenever they want. And completely deranged to find the high I can't find with anyone else.

I take my other hand, bunch her dress above her hips, and tug at her panties until they rip.

"Luca!" she chokes out.

I shove them in my pocket, pull my fingers out of her, and rub her clit. I release my pants. In one thrust, I enter her, groaning as her wet heat blankets my shaft.

Her hips meet my thrusts within seconds, with no clumsy or awkward adjustments needed. She presses her palm on the window, and her mouth forms an O.

"We're better together than they are," I claim, increasing the speed of my circling thumb.

"Oh... oh...!" she breathes, trembling between the glass and my body.

---