Chapter 8

Had enough?

No. Not yet.

And at Pete’s voice and shift to glance at Bobby, the world suddenly sharpened. The haze lifted from my mind.

“No! Sexier.” When I spoke, Pete’s eyes flashed to me so fast I gulped. After lifting an eyebrow, I chewed on my lower lip and glanced at Bobby. Then his crotch. “Okay. Got it.”

Heck, I’d already done—a lot. What harm was there in getting a little—sexier. And I had just the outfit. After flashing a mischievous, if nervous, smile at both, I managed a shaky spin on my heel and headed for the small bathroom.

After closing the door and looking in the mirror, all the air in my lungs hissed from my shaking lips. The fingers of one hand still cupped my bare tit while the other held the crumpled dress at my waist. When my gaze drifted downward, the world blurred and darkened. Both inner thighs glimmered. My arousal’s syrupy aroma flooded my nose. With a gulp, I stared at the closed door. It must’ve also inundated the torture room.

“Holy shit!” I whispered with enough force to fog the glass. “I’m being photographed in a fucking torture chamber.”

A giggle slipped from me as I let my breast fall so my shaky fingers could grip the countertop. Fuck, I hadn’t giggled like that since smoking dope in college. While prying the sodden lace free of my petals, a second giggle disappeared into a low, winding moan. Once again, the room blurred, and my entire frame swayed forward.

Oh, and in that torture chamber, I’d had a body-shattering orgasm. Several. While forcing the rolled sticky lace down my quivering legs, I struggled for air.

“Before a stranger,” I muttered. “Tall, dark, handsome and with the most dangerous gray lasers for eyes.”

So, there was that. And beyond the closed door, Pete was waiting for me. He wasn’t the type to wait long for anyone or anything. The giggling stopped. Instead, as my heartbeat raced ever quicker, I slipped into the new outfit and glided white heels onto my shaking feet.

While attempting to slow my pulse, I fixed my hair and touched up the makeup. After sliding into fresh panties that immediately soaked, I exhaled while inspecting myself in the mirror. With a quick, anxious grin, I turned and shoved open the door.

As soon as I strutted from the bathroom, Pete whistled under his breath and Bobby’s eyes became saucers. Although my chest tightened and the still-holding wave intensified, I beamed at them before twirling.

That’s right, boys. I own both your horny asses. Oh, I didn’t say it, but there was no need to. Their expressions spoke volumes.

One of my favorites; I’d also never worn this outfit with Bobby. Instead, it was for when I was feeling a little naughty on a grocery run or while doing errands. And it always had the same effect. Both Bobby’s and Pete’s breathing had become very shallow and quick.

Cut short enough to bare my midriff, the brilliant white top was so tight there was no danger of my tits flying out. They didn’t need to. The taut, almost sheer material adhered to every swell and curve. Its gliding over the darker circles of my areolas and pointed nibs continued to fan the heat searing through my core.

A matching white micro-skirt clung to my pelvis. Its waistband was tight across my pubic bone, and cut so low that if I didn’t shave, they’d see the top of my pubes. The hem was so short it bared the bottom swell of my butt as I stood. And when I walked, it floated upwards, giving my audience a clear view of most everything beneath.

Gaping, both men remained frozen while I click-clacked under the lights, thrust out a hip and grinned. Though my pulse galloped, I broadened my smile as both sets of eyes swept over my tightly clad frame.

Owned. Boys.

“Oh, my fucking God, Bobby boy.” Pete laughed. It was a wondrous sound. So pure. I’d amused him. My heart sang. “You bastard. I hate you.”

As I held in a chuckle, Pete weaved his way to the camera while Bobby simply stared, his mouth open and lower jaw trembling. Like I said, he’d never seen me in it.

“Alright, baby. Show Pete what you’ve got.”

Baby? Show Pete?

When I flung him a narrowed-eyed gaze, Pete only widened his grin while switching on the music. Yes, I’d caught him, but Bobby hadn’t. My husband’s silent gaze remained locked on me as I moved once more.

Because of course I’d obey.

Every sway of my chest, sliding the stretched material over my nipples, pushed that swirling wave deep inside me ever higher. Despite my pulse pounding so loud I could barely discern the vocals of the thumping melody, I was already spinning while flipping up the tiny skirt.

Showing Pete almost everything I had.

“Yeah. That’s it, baby. Oh, that’s cute, Lisa. Now get dirty for me.”

Dirty? At first I hesitated, but even as I glanced at Bobby, my hand moved along my pelvis. At their slide beneath the snowy lace, my breathing hitched.

“Yeah! Like that. Come on, baby. Sex it up for me. Get those fingers in those pretty panties.”

As I spun, my digits’ motions tightened the narrowing lace, pressing it tight against my sharp button. As I whirled, the room grew hazy, and my ability to detect Pete’s voice over the pounding in my ears wavered.

“Okay, hold up the skirt. Oh, yeah. There you go, baby. Give me that ‘I’m gonna fuck you so goddamned hard’ look.”

What? But I complied. With lips parting, I tilted my head towards him. Tongue slid around my panting mouth. Through fluttering eyelashes, only Pete remained in focus.

“Oh damn. So slutty! Fuck. Yeah, that’s the one, baby. Hold it.”

While frozen, I pointed my heated face at the whirring camera, focusing every iota of sexiness on it. And behind it, at Pete’s huddled form. At the jump in his slacks, the universe wobbled. When Bobby moved into my peripheral vision, he was only a swaying blur. With all my attention on the camera—no, the man beyond it—my husband’s whimpers faded.

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