of his cock. Then Andre was entering me, slowly, carefully, as only a man who’s fucked a woman’s ass before can. I pictured the same girl I’d seen in my mind earlier, the one in the back alley, taking him into her ass. I pictured Brent fucking me while we watched them, and soon my backdoor muscles were drawing him deeper into me.
‘Oh, God, yeah,’ he said, easing slowly back and forth.
Andre lost his cool, dom, collected demeanour after his cock plunged all the way into my ass. ‘You’re so fucking tight, Nadine, I bet your husband doesn’t fuck your ass often enough, does he?’
I’d have been disloyal if I’d answered the question, so I just moaned, because it was true and not true; Brent fucked my ass plenty, but, with Andre’s dick inside me, it definitely didn’t feel like I was getting my proper share of buggering.
Soon his words melted into nonsense, his full length seamlessly working its way in and out of me. ‘I’m not going to get to fuck your pussy, Nadine; he’ll have to do that, because I’m gonna come very soon,’ Andre said, leaning down and biting the back of my neck, surely hard enough to leave a mark.
I squirmed and bucked back towards him, then shuddered when he reached for my clit. His tongue and teeth on my neck, his cock inside me, his gorgeous fingers on my most tender part, were too much. I screamed into the sheet, my orgasm taking over, and moments later I felt him explode inside me. The pulse of his seed seemed to go on for minutes.
Andre eased out and lay next to me, panting. My phone beeped again and he reached for it, then handed it to me.
‘Having fun?’ Brent asked. The phone beeped again while I held it, with an incoming photo of Brent’s cock, hard and firm, making me smile.
‘Yes, baby,’ I typed. ‘But come back soon; it’s never truly fun without you.’
I knew Andre was watching over my shoulder, and I didn’t care. He knew my secret, and he wasn’t put off by it. We’d enjoyed each other and that was more than enough; sure, if I were single, I’d have gladly spent the night with him, but I didn’t feel like I was missing out. I never did, not with Brent, my Brent, ready to join me.
Andre proved to be an old soul. I’m sure plenty of guys his age would have been offended, would have taken my text as an insult. He simply got up, washed himself off, then put his clothes on. ‘I’d give you my number, but it sounds like you don’t need it,’ he said, then gave me a kiss that took my breath away. We both heard the key card in the door just as Andre put on his jacket, and my two lovers for the evening passed in the night without so much as a word.
Brent climbed into bed and kissed the same spot on my neck where Andre’s lips had been only twenty minutes before. ‘Tell me everything,’ he said, and, as he lifted my hips and entered me, I did.
Tea Dresses
Sommer Marsden
The bell made me look up. I put my chopsticks in my soup bowl and straightened up to try and peek. It was hard to see a clear way from the counter to the front door with all the stock I’d just bought.
Maybe it was best I didn’t see him coming. The look of him slammed me like a fist wrapped in cotton.
‘I’m looking for a dress.’
‘You’d look much better in a vintage suit, if you don’t mind me saying,’ I teased.
I was shocked I got even that out. He was tall and broad and looked very much a thug from the 1920s. His dark hair so close-cut it almost looked like he was bald on first glance. He had dark-brown eyes – so fucking dark you couldn’t distinguish the pupil from the iris – and they seemed to see right down into the bones and meat of me.
But he smiled and, when he twisted his mouth that way, something in me twisted.
Jesus.
‘I think you’re right. But the dress isn’t for me. It’s for this girl I’m seeing. For a party my boss’s wife is throwing. A tea party.’ He wrinkled his nose when he said it and I laughed.
My ears picked up two things. The way he said ‘this girl’ meant she wasn’t a serious thing. He didn’t say ‘my girlfriend’ or ‘my fiancée’ or ‘the woman I’m dating’. It was way more casual than that, and that sent a shiver up my spine like a tiny piece of ice being dragged along my skin.
‘I see. You sound very excited about this tea party.’
‘I’d rather be dipped in shit. Or boiled in oil.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘Mack.’
‘Gretchen. And I think I have just the thing. Believe it or not, today of all days, a woman brought in a whole case of clothes from her great-grandmother’s attic. At least three of them are tea dresses.’
‘No shit,’ he said. He spoke like a thug too. But those eyes were intelligent and underneath the beleaguered I-am-annoyed gaze … soft. Kind.
I imagined his hands on me, I couldn’t help it. And, when I let myself go there, a slick rush of fluid slipped free of me, staining my panties with my sudden and intense interest.
I sucked in a shuddery breath. ‘No shit. Can I get them out for you?’
That’s when he really stopped to look at me. His dark gaze dragging from my chocolate-coloured bob cut to my sweetheart-neckline sweater to my pencil skirt. And then back up again.
Heat and lust rushed colour to my cheeks and he didn’t miss it. Not for a second. ‘Yeah. Get them out for me, Gretch. If you will.’
He planted his meaty hands on my spotless glass counter. I’d just washed it. But I didn’t mind. I was too busy trying to breathe without panting like a dog.
‘Be right back.’
I hurried off. When had my shop gotten so close? So tiny? There didn’t seem to be enough air in the place for me and Mack. But I would make do. I would have to.
I pulled the first dress from the garment bag. A butter-yellow frock with crinoline beneath the skirt. Low-cut without being slutty, floaty without being too much of a princess dress. I put my hair up … down … up and then down again. Letting it float around my face as I tried to steady my breathing.
‘What the fuck,’ I sighed and nixed the panties, leaving them in a heap on the floor in the corner of the dressing room. When I exited, I pushed my feet into taupe-coloured heels someone had brought in on consignment.
‘All in,’ I said and, as I passed the front door, I quietly flipped the sign to CLOSED and locked the door by pressing the button on the knob.
I rounded the corner to find him lounging in my chair behind the counter like he owned the joint. The cocky nature of his demeanour made me squirm beneath the dress. I wanted him. There was no denying what my body was saying.
‘Nice,’ he grunted. And, as if Mack could read my thoughts or feel the lust coming off of me, he crooked a finger at me and said, ‘Come here. Give us a close-up look.’
I stepped to him as if we’d done this a thousand times before instead of having just met. He ran a thick finger over the smooth embroidered skirt of the dress.
