She half coughs, half gasps as soon as I graze my knuckles against her.
Anna lifts her eyes to Gemma’s.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Gemma squeaks, lifting her glass. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
“Maybe you should slow down,” Anna says with a laugh.
I realize this is totally messed up. I’m playing with my sister’s best friend right in front of her, but I can’t stop.
Gemma tilts her pelvis ever so slightly, just enough to press against my fingers. I move my hand back down her thigh and begin to draw slow, tight circles over her skin.
Her spine straightens and she sucks in a deep breath when I hover back over her entrance, running my fingers over her wetness before withdrawing my hand completely. My cock thickens beneath my zipper.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Anna says, concern etched on her face.
“Mm-hmm,” Gemma responds, snaking her hands underneath the table and gripping my wrist.
Anna drops her fork and leans in closer to whisper-shout. “Are you holding in a fart?”
“No!” Gemma says, looking thoroughly mortified.
April appears behind Anna to refill her glass. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” Gemma grinds out, tightening her hold on my wrist. I’m still able to move my fingers, so I do, sawing the tips of my fingers back and forth over her slit as subtly as possible.
“Gemma just has a little gas trapped, that’s all,” Anna says.
“Oh no,” April says. “Do you think it’s the food? Have you had too much dairy? I told James we overdid it with the cheese.”
“It’s not the bloody dairy,” Gemma grinds out.
I hide my smile by lifting my wine glass with my free hand and taking a long pull, finding her discomfort far more entertaining than I should.
“Is this like that time you douched too hard, and all the air got trapped in your bum?” Anna continues.
The wine almost escapes from my nostrils as I hold in the liquid, forcing myself to swallow rather than spray it across the table.
“Anna!” Gemma hisses, shooting a panicked glance around the table to see if anyone else heard. “Can we not?”
“I’m just looking out for you.” Anna shrugs, completely unbothered. “You couldn’t fart properly for three days.”
“Oh, yes!” April says, snapping her fingers as she recalls the memory. “That was awful, remember? You were in so much pain. I have a container with all sorts of medications in the utility room. Help yourself if you need to.”
April walks away, refilling empty glasses as she goes before taking her seat.
“Anna, not everyone wants to hear about Gemma’s hygiene issues over dinner,” Mason cuts in.
“Excuse me,” Gemma says. “I donothave hygiene issues.”
Anna waves a hand at Gemma. “Exactly. Because you don’t douche anymore.”
Gemma looks at me sheepishly. I agree entirely with Mason. The topic isn’t exactly dinner party material, but right now I’m too caught up in the way Gemma’s squirming under my touch.
Her pupils are blown wide, chest rising with a shaky inhale as I keep a steady rhythm—fingertips dragging back and forth across her skin, teasing her pussy with feather-light strokes before pulling away again. Then her thighs clamp shut around my hand, trapping it.
If it weren’t for company around us, I’d sink three fingers knuckle deep inside her.
