Chapter 9: Riding Julian While Marcus Watches
Julian's hands stayed flat on the leather like she'd ordered, but his hips had a mind of their own. Every time Rose sank down on him, he bucked up to meet her—short, sharp jerks that buried him deeper than she'd planned to take him. She gasped and braced her palms on his chest.
"I said don't move."
"He's not moving," Marcus said from the chair. His voice had gone low and rough, the way it got when he was holding back. "His hands are flat. His hips are fair game."
Rose shot him a look over her shoulder. Marcus sat with his legs spread, one hand wrapped loose around his cock, stroking himself with lazy pulls while he watched. The come from earlier was drying on his stomach in pale streaks, and he didn't bother wiping it off. He looked like a man who'd won something.
"Lean back," he told her.
She leaned back. The shift drove Julian's cock against a spot inside her that made her vision white out at the edges.
His hips punched up into her before she could finish the thought, and the angle dragged the head of his cock along a ridge inside her that made her elbows buckle. She caught herself on his chest, nails biting into the muscle there. Julian hissed through his teeth but didn't move his hands.
"Shit," Rose gasped.
Marcus leaned forward in the chair. The wood creaked under his weight. "Lean back. Show him your tits."
She arched her spine and let her shoulders drop, and the shift pushed Julian even deeper. Her breasts jutted up toward the mirrored ceiling, nipples tight and dark against the amber light. In the reflection she could see all three of them—Julian pinned beneath her, Marcus stroking himself in the chair, her own body bowed like a drawn bowstring.
"There," Marcus said. "Just like that. Now bounce."
She bounced. Slow at first, lifting almost all the way off Julian's cock before dropping back down, and the wet sound of it filled the alcove. Julian's jaw went tight. His fingertips dug into the leather like he was trying to keep from grabbing her.
"Harder," Marcus said.
She went harder. Faster. Her thighs burned and her knees ached against the chaise, but she didn't stop. Julian's cock dragged along her walls with every stroke, thick and hot and slick with her, and she could feel herself starting to clench around him—small flutters at first, then something deeper.
"Faster," Marcus growled. "Fuck her like you mean it."
Julian's hands came off the leather.
He grabbed her hips and slammed up into her, hard enough that her teeth clicked together. Rose cried out and braced her hands on his shoulders, and then he was fucking her—really fucking her, driving up into her cunt with a rhythm that had nothing to do with gentleness. The chaise scraped across the floor. Her tits bounced with every thrust. Sweat ran down her spine.
"You like that?" Julian's voice was wrecked. "You like getting fucked while your husband watches?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
Marcus stood up. She heard the zip of his trousers, the rustle of fabric, and then the familiar sound of his fist moving over his cock. She couldn't see him from this angle, but she could picture it—his jaw tight, his eyes dark, his hand working himself while another man pounded into his wife.
"Don't come yet," Marcus said. "She goes first."
Julian's rhythm stuttered but didn't stop. "I'm close."
"Hold it."
Rose felt the orgasm building—deep and inexorable, like water rising behind a dam. Julian's pubic bone ground against her clit with every thrust, and his cock hit that spot inside her over and over until she couldn't breathe. Her nails raked down his chest. Her thighs shook.
"I'm gonna—" She couldn't finish.
"Come," Marcus said. "Now."
She came with a scream that bounced off the velvet walls. Her cunt locked down around Julian like a fist, pulsing in waves that rolled through her whole body. Julian groaned and kept fucking her through it—short, brutal thrusts that drew it out until she was sobbing.
"Pull out," Marcus said. "Come on her ass."
Julian yanked himself free. Rose felt the sudden emptiness, the cold air where he'd been, and then the first hot rope of semen splashed across her lower back. She flinched. The second stripe landed higher, near her shoulder blades. The third dripped down the cleft of her ass.
Julian collapsed back onto the chaise, breathing hard.
Rose stayed where she was—bent forward, shaking, his come cooling on her skin. Her mind had gone blank and white. She heard Marcus moving behind her, felt the chaise dip as he knelt.
Then his tongue dragged up her spine.
She jerked. "Marcus—"
He didn't answer. He licked the come off her skin in long, slow strokes, from her tailbone up to her shoulder blades, lapping at it like he was cleaning a plate. The wet heat of his tongue sent shivers through her. When he reached the last stripe, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
Then he turned her head and kissed her mouth.
She tasted it—Julian's come, salty and bitter on Marcus's tongue. He pushed it into her mouth with his own, and she swallowed without thinking. When he pulled back, his lips were shiny and his eyes were black.
"You okay?" he asked.
Rose laughed—a cracked, breathless sound. "I don't know what I am."
Marcus brushed her hair back from her face. "You're mine. That's what you are."
Julian sat up behind her. "Should I go?"
Marcus didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on Rose. "Not yet."
Rose turned her head. Julian was still hard, still flushed, watching them with an expression she couldn't name. She reached back and touched his knee.
"Stay," she said.
The word hung in the air. Marcus didn't argue. He just pulled Rose into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned her head against his chest and listened to his heart slow down.
None of them said anything for a long time.
Then Julian cleared his throat. "You two are something else."
"We know," Marcus said.
Rose laughed again—realer this time. She felt something loosen in her chest. Something that had been knotted up for months, maybe years. She didn't know what happened next. She didn't know if Julian would come home with them or disappear into the night or what she'd feel about any of it in the morning. But right now, in this room with its velvet walls and its mirrors and its smell of sweat and come, she felt awake.
More awake than she'd felt in a long time.
Marcus kissed her temple. "Ready to go home?"
She nodded. But she didn't move. Not yet. She stayed in his arms and watched Julian in the mirror, and let herself want whatever came next.