Hers? Or his? Maybe both. “Real life tends to be more complicated than fantasy.”
“Quinn’s just gonna watch tonight.” He raised his voice. “That cool with you, man?”
“Are you kidding me?” his friend said. “I’m here to be the dirty eyes you want on you. Or I can close them and just listen. I’m totally flexible like that.”
Serena giggled despite her nerves. “Good to have flexibly pervy friends,” she whispered into Hunter’s neck and he chuckled with her.
“Perv with training wheels for vanilla friends like me.”
“You’re not so vanilla,” she breathed.
He didn’t answer her. Instead he stroked his hand up her thigh.
It felt wrong, and right, and totally electric.
She could feel Quinn’s gaze on her bare legs. Was he watching the flex of Hunter’s arm, too? The bulge of his bicep as he traced the swelling lips of her slit?
The temperature in the limo skyrocketed as Hunter nudged her legs open. He found her wet and wanting, eager for his fingers, and she shamelessly threw her head back as he filled her with two thick fingers.
What could Quinn see now? The bare stretch of her thigh, all the way up to her ass? A flash of Hunter’s arm as he finger-fucked her?
Could Quinn hear how wet she was?
The riot of her thoughts only made the whole experience hotter. Add in Hunter’s tight grip on her waist, the thick slide of his fingers stretching her open, and she was already climbing toward an orgasm.
It was fast and dirty, but they only had a few rides up and down the Strip. Hunter nipped at her ear, his breath hot and hungry against her temple as he curved his fingers and stroked her G-spot. She didn’t have a chance, because he was intent on his mission. His fingers fucking her hard and slow, then faster, his thumb working her clit in the same way, until she cried out, her knee pulling up tight as she came all over his hand.
Her skirt slid dangerously high on her thigh as she curled into Hunter’s chest. No way her ass wasn’t totally hanging out.
He didn’t tug it down again.
She turned her face toward the opening in the roof. The over-the-top lights of the Strip, now with a special Christmas touch, flitted by. More of the same through the windows, those obscured by the tinting.
Hunter stroked her hair. Against her cheek, his heartbeat thumped fast enough that in the fade of her orgasm, worry started to kick in.
Faintly she heard the driver ask where to go to next.
Hunter hesitated.
“The Flamingo first,” he finally said, and his voice sounded strained.
What had they just done?
