Chapter 10: Surprise
The penthouse door clicked shut behind Alex, sealing them in the hushed, scented air. She stood framed against the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, more striking than Mark remembered. Her dark hair fell in loose waves, her smile wider, more knowing. And her breasts – Christ – they strained against the thin silk of her blouse, undeniably fuller, heavier. Mark’s gaze snagged on them, the involuntary pull of his eyes impossible to hide.
Alex caught his look. A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. She didn’t speak, just stepped closer, the expensive fragrance she wore mingling with the candles. "See something you like, Mark?" Her voice was a low purr, teasing. Her hand lifted, not to cover herself, but to gently cup one full breast through the silk, lifting it slightly. "Why don’t you touch them? See for yourself?"
Clara watched from the plush velvet armchair, a glass of wine untouched beside her, her expression unreadable but intently focused. Mark’s heart hammered against his ribs. The phantom ache in his groin, the memory of the pills’ fire and the monstrous weight they’d given him, flared anew. He hesitated for only a second, then reached out. His fingers brushed the soft silk, then slid beneath the deliberately low neckline. His thumb found the hard peak of her nipple, already stiffening beneath the fabric. The flesh was impossibly soft, yielding, yet dense. Fuller, hotter than Clara’s. A small gasp escaped Alex’s lips as he squeezed experimentally.
"Fuck, they are bigger," he muttered, the words tumbling out, thick with disbelief and a sudden, raw hunger.
Alex’s eyes darkened. Before he could process his own forwardness, before Clara could react, Alex moved. Her hands flew to the buttons of her blouse, popping them open with practiced ease. The silk slid off her shoulders, pooling around her waist, revealing a lacy black bra barely containing her swollen breasts. She didn’t give him a chance to look his fill. Her hands cupped his face, pulling him down, and her mouth crashed onto his.
It wasn’t tentative, like the drunken pecks during the last threesome. It was deep, hungry, demanding. Her tongue pushed past his lips, claiming his mouth with an urgency that stole his breath. Mark froze for only a heartbeat, the shock electric, then instinct took over. He kissed her back, hard, his own tongue meeting hers, a surge of possessive heat flooding him. His hands dropped from her breasts to grip her hips, pulling her tight against him, her softness molding against the hardness already straining his pants. He forgot Clara watching. Forgot everything but the taste of Alex, the feel of her, the intoxicating power of having her want him.
A low chuckle came from the armchair. Clara. Mark broke the kiss, pulling back, a flush burning his cheeks as he met his wife’s gaze. Clara wasn’t angry. She was grinning, a wide, predatory smile, her eyes glittering with dark amusement and something else – approval? Excitement? "Well," Clara murmured, swirling her wineglass. "Someone’s enthusiastic."
Alex didn’t even glance at Clara. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with lust, were locked on Mark’s. Her breath came fast. One hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, fingers deftly finding the button of his trousers. The zipper rasped down. She shoved the fabric aside, dipping her hand inside his boxers. Her fingers wrapped around his cock.
Her sharp intake of breath was audible. She squeezed, her grip firm. "Holy shit, Mark," she breathed, genuine surprise widening her eyes. She pulled his cock free, letting it spring up, thick and heavy and veined, already fully hard, the head glistening with pre-cum against the low light. It stood rigid, a near absurd testament to the pills’ chemical tyranny.