Chapter 3: The Forbidden Feast
The wet, obscene sounds of Dylan’s tongue working her asshole mingled with Stacy’s high, keening moans, each one vibrating through her petite frame as she knelt, hands fisted in the plush carpet. He gripped her hips hard, fingers digging into her soft flesh, his mouth sealed tight against that forbidden star, his tongue a relentless, probing invasion that drew gasps and whimpers from her trembling lips. "You love this, don't you?" Dylan rasped against her skin, his breath hot on her exposed flesh, his tongue circling, then spearing deep again, drawing another ragged cry from her throat. "Tasting your ittle hole... fucking tight..." Across the room, reflected in the ornate mirror, Pete watched, his jaw clenched tight, his own cock slick and hard in his fist, his knuckles white as he pumped furiously, mesmerized by the slick sheen of Dylan’s spit on his good Girl's ass, the desperate arch of her back. "Fuck," Pete choked out, the word raw, his eyes fixed on the mirror image of Dylan’s head buried between Stacy’s cheeks, "Can't hold... Stacy... oh god..."