Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(14)
“’Bout time,” Caleb says gruffly. His hand slows on his erection but doesn’t stop, and he angles his body ever so slightly to greet this newcomer. Who steps into the lamplight coming from the desk, and holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.
I’m glad the storm echoes and reverberates around the barn because the breath I draw seeing this man is not quiet. It’s jagged and rough and out of my control. I can’t help it, though, because this man is the perfect complement to Caleb’s open, wholesome good looks.
Eyebrows slash over eyes so dark, they look nearly vampire-black in the shadowed barn, and a rough cover of stubble can’t hide how pretty his face is—high cheekbones and a perfect jaw and a nose as straight and strong as any model’s. Furthermore, the stubble only serves to highlight his painfully perfect mouth, which curls up slightly at the corners as if it was formed to do so. But nothing about his face looks happy, and if you mistook that curled-up mouth for a smile, those glittering onyx eyes would chill you right out of the notion that this man smiled. Ever.
Longish hair, dark and thick and tousled, frames that magnetic face, and it’s paired with a body as tall and firm as Caleb’s, though this man has a leaner bent to him—less bulk and more grace.
I breathe out again as it occurs to me in a clit-throbbing surge of insight that he must be—
“Ben,” Caleb groans, his hand starting to speed up again. I watch, fascinated, as Ben leans against the desk and crosses his arms, his gaze on the other man’s stroking hand.
“She must have you twisted up something good if you’re out here like this,” Ben says silkily.
“Yeah,” Caleb says, dropping his head down. I can only just hear them talking over the din of the rain drumming on the barn, and I can’t hear the sound of Caleb’s hand on his flesh at all, which is very disappointing, as I think I’d like that sound very much.
I creep a little bit closer to the stall opening, hoping the two men are distracted enough that they won’t see me peering out. Ben leans in a little closer, as if to give Caleb an order, and his voice carries over the rain, as if the words themselves are made of silk and can thread themselves through the raindrops.
“Show me how much you want her, Caleb. Show me how much you want to give her.”
“Fuck,” Caleb whispers. “I want her so much. I want to give her…so…much…”
His lips part as his hand pumps his cock faster, and his other hand drops to cup himself, and my cheeks burn with needy heat when I realize he’s talking about come. He wants to give me lots and lots, and it’s so caveman and so fucking hot. And even hotter is the way Ben stirs up Caleb more with his dark words, the way Ben ignores his own erection now straining at the front of his jeans.
“That’s it,” Ben coaxes. “Show me. I haven’t seen you this worked up in ages. Is this all for her? Do you want to fuck her? Do you want to push into her pussy and fuck her until you come?”
“Yes,” moans Caleb. “God.”
“Did you make her wet, Caleb? Did you show off this big, strong body of yours to make her want you?”
Yes! I want to shout from my hiding place. Yes, I’m wet. Yes, I want him!
Caleb’s response is another low moan, utterly helpless, and a wave of lust rocks me back.
It does the same for Ben, I think. His eyes flutter closed and his hand drops to his cock, still caged behind his fly. He doesn’t stroke himself or even palm himself properly, simply pressing against his need as if he can make it go quiet.
Unfortunately, nothing is going quiet on my end. The raw sight of Caleb panting as he pumps into his hand and the somehow-just-as-erotic sight of cold, sharp Ben on the edge of succumbing himself is enough to make me desperate.
I slowly work from my half crouch to a kneeling position and unbutton my jeans, grateful again for the storm, which hides the metallic purr as I tug down my zipper. I slide down the front of my panties and shudder the moment my finger grazes my clit. I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before. Normally it takes a fair amount of porn or several pages of a smutty book to get myself going, but now I think I could climax with just a few circles of my finger.
“Come all over your hand,” Ben urges. “All over this floor. Like you’re coming all over her cunt and thighs to mark your territory.”
My fingers delve lower, sliding between the lips at the apex of my thighs and finding them impossibly slick. Almost embarrassingly wet. But I don’t care because it’s all part of this heady feedback loop: Ben voyeuring on Caleb as I voyeur on them both, all of us unable to keep our hands away from the places where we ache to fuck and be fucked. It feels as undeniable as the rain, as urgent as the wind. If I don’t come, I might die right here in this barn, only mere feet away from two men who look born to screw.
“Yeah,” Caleb mutters. His head falls back, his face tilted toward the ceiling with closed eyes and an expression of ecstatic agony, and then with a soft grunt, his cock releases a fountain of thick, white semen. Jolt after jolt of it, landing all over the dirty floor, and it feels like it comes forever, like his orgasm must have been pent up for years and years, because there’s so much, and the noises he makes are the noises of a man who’s been denied for far too long. And I’m so close myself, so very close; I’m close enough that I bury my teeth in my lower lip in preparation to stifle my gasp, that I brace myself against the contractions I know are imminent.