Cute? No, Pheobe’s goddamn gorgeous. And chipper is an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. “You think so? Thinking about her while you take my cock, Queenie?”
Sex isn’t about pleasure for her. Not here. She gets off sometimes, but it’s more of a transaction for her. I do my best to make it as pleasurable as possible for her, though.
“You know, I’ve had more women than you have, baby,” she says and backs her ass up against my body every time I thrust forward. Her sign she’s more than ready. “But let’s stop with the games. I’m not the one thinking about her right now.”
I still, watching as she moves along my length. “What?”
“Oh, come on. I know you’re picturing a tall, skinny blonde bent over in front of you rather than me right now.”
Damn her. It’s one thing for me to know, but it’s another for her to. And calling me out on it as I’m inside her is just bordering on rude.
At least anything that happens in here with Queenie stays here. She never shares anything intimate with us.
Taking her hair in my hand, I pull her head back and grip her hip with my left hand before slamming into her pussy. It’s the only real option I have to relieve this craving that won’t go away.
I’m dying to know how Phoebe feels. Assuming she isn’t a virgin, I suspect she’s as tight as one. Is she a closeted freak? Does she like being tied up? Spanked? Or would she prefer something of the vanilla variety?
I don’t know her well enough to say for certain, but I suspect she’s on the vanilla side. It’s not my favorite, but I might be willing to get on board with it if we could find a way to do it without having her look at me while I fuck her.
Surprisingly, it’s hazel eyes I imagine as I stare at the wall rather than the brown ones that haunt me. Damn Phoebe.
Yanking her hair harder, I’m careful not to pull too much. I slam into her, and one of the best things about Queenie is that nothing I’ve done so far is off-limits. Hell, she seems to enjoy it when it gets a little rough. She only comes when I pound into her without mercy.
One night, after too many drinks, Kannon and Capone asked me if I’d ever made her come. Neither of them has, and I’m a little proud to say I had. Felt it. Heard it. Liked it.
“Fucking Yellow Crayon,” I mutter as I come with her face in my mind, and a roar growls from deep within my throat.
“You really like her,” Queenie says as I release her hair. “You never come that fast.”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Smirking, she waits for me to pull out before reaching down to rub furiously between her legs. This is new.
“Queen?”
“Trevor’s got some medical issues, and I haven’t gotten laid at home in months. I was close, but I didn’t realize how bad I needed it until now.”
Guilt takes over even though her pleasure really isn’t the point here. Doing something I normally wouldn’t, I still her hand before pulling her back against my front, my soft cock nestled between her ass cheeks.
“Pacino—”
I slide my hand down, kneading her fake tit for a moment before continuing down between her legs. Taking over for her, I let her head rest on my shoulder, her chest heaving. I’m thankful she closes her eyes as she does because this is a little too close for comfort, but if anyone deserves a favor like this, it’s her.
After all she does for me, this is the least I can do.
My lips press against her neck while I play with her overly large fake tit with my free hand. Her small moans as she reaches to cup the back of my head keep me going, and I wonder if Phoebe’s already rubbing off on me. She wants to please those around her and keep them happy. And this is definitely to make Queenie happy.
“I’m right there,” she mutters, frustration laced in her tone. “So fucking close.”
Slipping down further, I shove three fingers into her wet pussy, and she rides my hand as I finger-fuck her at the same pace I just did with my cock.
She gasps and digs her nails into my neck as she screams out, her body shaking against mine. “Yes, yes, fuck, yes!”
Releasing my head, she falls forward onto the massage table, and I unwrap myself from her. Her body completely relaxes, and she pants.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I know it’s not our usual agreement.”
“Sorry I didn’t last long enough to get you there.”
