The turquoise water lapped at their ankles, the setting sun washing the private beach in gold. Mark stood between two women, and for a moment, he wondered if there was any place on earth more dangerous—or more perfect. On his right: April, his wife. The epitome of caring, devoted to family, gentle with every word and gesture. On his left: her identical twin sister, Vicky. The bad influence. Vicky wasn't just outgoing and wild; she seemed to feed off chaos, craving pleasure as if it were the only air she could breathe. Sex wasn't just something she enjoyed. She needed it. And she made sure the world knew.
He felt the water, cool and persistent, weaving around their feet, and tried not to notice the way Vicky glanced his way under her lashes, or the subtle way April reached for his hand, grounding him. For a second, Mark thought: If anyone saw them now, three figures caught in the gold and blue, would they ever guess the storm beneath the surface?
April, so careful and constant, radiated a kind of peace he’d always relied on. Vicky, grinning wide, tilted her head and let out a soft, reckless laugh that carried over the tide. The contrast between them crackled in the air; even the sunlight seemed to split around them, bright and sharp and dangerous.
Mark, a fit man of thirty-four, tried to keep his gaze fixed on the horizon, a cold beer doing little to cool the heat simmering in his gut. It was impossible not to look. Every glance felt like a betrayal since both women were breathtaking in minuscule bikinis that left everything to the imagination, their long blonde hair flowing over tanned shoulders.
Vicky noticed. Of course she did. Her sharp blue eyes, a shade colder than her sister’s, missed nothing. She saw the way his gaze snagged on the swell of her hip, the way his throat worked when she bent over to pick up a seashell, giving him an unintended but calculated view of her cleavage.
Perfect, she thought, watching his eyes dart to her cleavage before guiltily returning to the horizon. Her tongue traced the edge of her teeth as she imagined him losing control. It won’t be long before I have his married cock pumping a baby inside me.
This vacation had been calculated from the moment April had cornered her in that café three months ago, stirring her latte with painful precision while delivering another lecture on responsibility.
"I think it’s time you stop being so wild and sexually aggressive,” April’s voice echoed in her head, soft and pleading. “Maybe find someone stable. You know Someone like Mark.”
Pffft, she thought. Yeah, right, as if her loyal husband would never stray.
“Vicky!” she heard snapping her out of her thoughts. “You can’t just… keep doing this. It never ends well.”
But "well" was never in Vicky's vocabulary. She craved the spectacular, the forbidden. When her perfect twin had whispered about fertility treatments and ovulation charts, something had clicked inside Vicky's mind. A baby. Not just any baby. Her husband’s baby, to be precise. And hopefully drag April along for the ride.
Oh, the thought of her perfect sister breaking her sacred little vows… it made Vicky’s nipples harden instantly. She wanted to see April give in, to watch her face flush with shame and desire as she let another man—in some twisted, perfect moment—touch her where only her husband should. No more pretending. No more “good girl” act. Vicky wanted April to taste corruption, to feel it deep inside, until she couldn’t ever go back. That would be the ultimate victory.
Later, at the pulsating beach club, the tequila flowed freely. Under the strobe lights, the boundaries blurred further. Mark danced with his wife, his hands respectfully on her waist, but then Vicky would cut in, her movements aggressive, sensual. She pressed her back against his front, a human flame in a little black dress.
She ground her ass into his groin, a slow, deliberate rotation. Mark stiffened, a shockwave of pure, illicit arousal shooting through him.
This is wrong, this is so wrong, his mind screamed, but his body wasn’t listening. His blood heated, rushing south, and he felt himself growing hard against the soft fabric of her dress.
Vicky felt it too, arching her back to press harder, a low, throaty laugh escaping her as she reached behind to briefly graze the growing bulge in his trousers.
He gasped, recoiling as if burned, muttering an apology before stumbling back to April’s side, his face a mask of flushed confusion.
Hours later, the world was a fuzzy, tipsy blur. They staggered back to the villa, arms linked for support.
April, yawning, announced she was hopping in the shower to wash the salt and sand away.
Mark, his head swimming, mumbled something about needing to get some ice.
Vicky pressed her ear to the adjoining door, her pulse quickening as she heard the bathroom door click shut and Mark's footsteps fade down the hallway. This was the moment she'd been waiting for.
Vicky waited three heartbeats, then, like a thief, she quietly slid through the door and into her sister's room. Her fingers found what she was looking for—April's black lace negligee hanging in the closet. The silk whispered against her skin as she slipped it on, its familiar scent still clinging to the fabric. She glanced in the mirror, her reflection barely visible in the dim light. Perfect. Even she couldn't tell the difference.
Tip-toeing back into her room, she shut the door and patiently waited for her prey’s return.
It wasn’t long before she heard Mark’s unsteady footsteps shuffling up the hall.
“Hey, you,” she whispered, mimicking April’s softer cadence perfectly. She took his free hand, her touch firm and gentle.
“Our room is this way, baby,” she whispered, her fingers interlacing with his, as she led him not toward the master suite, but through the shadowed doorway of her own bedroom.
The door closed with a soft click, plunging them into darkness. She lifted the ice bucket from his grasp, setting it on the nightstand with deliberate care. Then she was against him, her perfumed warmth pressing full-length along his body, her lips seeking and finding his mouth in the velvet shadows.
The kiss wasn’t like April’s. It was hungrier, more demanding, all teeth and tongue, a desperate need. Mark moaned into it, his hands cradling her face, his drunken mind too foggy to question the subtle differences. His fingers tangled in her long hair as she walked him backward toward the bed.
He tumbled onto the mattress, and she was on him in an instant, her lips trailing down his neck, her hands fumbling with the button of his shorts. She freed his erection, her breath catching at the sight of him in the sliver of moonlight. Thick. Hard. All for me.
Her hand wrapped around his length, stroking him with a firm, knowing pressure. A groan tore from his chest. His own hand slid up her thigh, under the lace hem of the negligee, finding her core. She was already wet, soaking, her hips bucking against his searching fingers as he slid two inside her.
“Yes… right there…” she hissed, her head falling back.
He worked her, his thumb circling her clit while his fingers curled and plunged deep inside her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body tightening around his hand. “God, don’t stop… please…”
He didn’t. He replaced his fingers with his mouth, his tongue lapping at her sweetness with a desperate hunger.
Vicky’s eyes flew open. She’d never been tasted like this before. It was apparent Mark knew how to pleasure a woman, and the sensation was electrifying, a direct line of pure, shocking pleasure that made her back arch off the bed.
His tongue was relentless, circling, flicking, diving deep. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her fingers fisted in his hair, holding him tightly against her as a climax, violent and unexpected, ripped through her.
“Oh God!” she cried out, a raw, guttural sound she didn’t recognize as her own, her body shuddering uncontrollably against his mouth as waves of pleasure kept rolling through her. Oh God… oh God… she can’t believe how good this feels. It’s like nothing she’s ever experienced, the sensation so sharp and hot it almost hurts. She’s gripping his hair like she’ll drown if she ever lets go, her thighs clamping tight around his head, and she sobs out, “YES! Yes, don’t stop, please don’t you dare stop!” Her hips jerk and grind against his tongue as another aftershock slams through her.
Mark pulled back, breathing heavily. “God, April… I’ve never felt you come that hard before.”
Vicky didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed him onto his back and took him into her mouth without hesitation. Her technique was exceptional, fueled by a feral, greedy enthusiasm. Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock before she took him deeper, her throat constricting around him.
Mark cried out, his hips bucking off the bed. “April… God…”
His groan of her sister’s name was like fuel on her fire. She needed more. Now. She rose up, straddling his hips, positioning herself. She guided him to her entrance, her own body trembling with a mix of anticipation and a deep, primal need she’d never allowed herself to feel.
Then she sank down.
The sensation was explosive. She cried out, a sharp, guttural sound as he filled her completely.
The deed was done, Mark was inside her, and she paused, holding his thick, meaty cock deep while she relished the sensation.
Mark’s eyes flew open.
The tightness. The way her pussy clenched around him like a fist. This wasn’t the same pussy he’d been fucking since he’d been married. This was different.
Her name escaped his lips in a strangled gasp. "Vicky?"
The realization crashed through his alcohol-fogged brain as she stared down at him, her lips curled in wicked satisfaction. His hands clutched to her hips. "Jesus Christ—what are you doing?"
“Shhh.” She pressed her hands against his chest and let out a low, satisfied purr. Then she started to move, slow at first, hips rocking against him in a way that took his breath away and left them both gasping for air. “Just feel it, Mark,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “Let it happen.”
"Ohhhh God..." he groaned, the words tumbling out in a ragged breath as he struggled with what he was letting happen, just for a moment. It was a weak, half-hearted show of resistance, because the dark, electric thrill rolling through him wouldn’t let go. No matter how wrong it was, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t love it. Couldn’t ignore how much he liked the feeling of his cock moving inside his sister-in-law.
“April…” he mummbled, the name was a panicked reflex, his mind desperately groping for the familiar, for the rightness of routine, even as his body betrayed him, thrusting up into Vicky’s tight, hungry heat. The wrongness made it hotter.
“She’s showering,” Vicky whispered, leaning forward so her blonde hair curtained their faces. Her voice dropped to a husky, dirty whisper. “While your fucking her sister.”
Mark’s hands slid up her ribs before he could stop himself, his palms rough against the fragile lace.
Vicky rode him harder, hunched forward, her hair coiling around his neck like a hangman’s noose.
Don’t you like how tight my little pussy is around your cock Mark? How it’s pulsing for you? I bet April’s never felt like this, has she?”
Her words were a devil’s seduction. He could feel it, the truth of them in the exquisite, impossibly tight heat gripping him. His resolve was shattered. With a guttural growl, his hands snapped to her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he stopped her movements and took control.
He thrust up into her, hard and deep. Vicky screamed, her head falling back as she melted into pure, undiluted pleasure. She rode him with a newfound ferocity, meeting every one of his powerful thrusts, her inner muscles clenching around him rhythmically. The room filled with the sound of their ragged breathing and the slick, wet sound of their joining.
This was so wrong, Mark thinks. But… Oh god help me. She feels so fucking good!
Mark's conscience screams at him to stop, to push her away and flee, but his body betrays him with every movement. Each time Vicky rises and falls, each tight, wet grip around him sends electric currents through his spine. His thoughts fragment into incoherent bursts. This sensation—this forbidden, overwhelming pleasure—it's unlike anything he's experienced before. Not with his wife. Not with anyone. The realization terrifies him almost as much as it intoxicates him.
Vicky leans forward, her hair falling over his face, her body undulating above him like she was fucking born for this. “
"Yes… God, yes… I can feel it, I can feel it, oh fuck, Mark, I can feel you're getting close!” Vicky’s voice is wild, broken, her whole body shuddering as she rides him, her slick heat pulsing, squeezing, devouring every inch of his cock.
Mark’s body tightened, his thrusts becoming frantic, erratic. His hands gripped her waist, trying to lift her off.
“I’m going to come,” he grunted, his voice strained. “I need to pull out."
“Yesss yesss,” she hissed as she moved her hips a little quicker.
“Vicky, oh God… Let me… oh fuck… oh fuck…”
But Vicky leaned over, her lips brushing his ear. “Do it, Mark, cum inside me.”
The implication sent his mind reeling, shattering any remaining control. She ground down on him, taking him impossibly deeper. “That's it, Mark. Fill me up. I want to feel you pump your seed deep inside my womb.”
“Vicky, I... Oh GOD! I, I…” he gasped, teetering on the very edge. “Please, it’s… Oh fuck! It’s…”
She increased her pace, a woman possessed, her own orgasm cresting. The convulsions of her body around his length were the final undoing of his control.
“Do it, Mark! Give it to me! Give me your cum!”
“Fffuck!” he groans, and with one final, shuddering thrust, he exploded inside her just as the adjoining door swung open, framing a stunned April, a towel wrapped around her body, her wet hair dripping onto the floor.
Frozen in disbelief, April watched them finish in a final carnal crescendo. As Mark gasped in shock, Vicky cried out one last time, reveling in the sensation of his warmth filling her. She looked directly at her sister, a triumphant, breathless smile on her face. "Mmm, Yesss! Keep going, Mark, keep cumming inside me..."
April’s expression crumbled from shock into pure, unadulterated rage. Without a word, she slammed the door shut. The sharp, final click of the lock echoed in the sudden silence.
“April! Wait! It’s not—” Mark’s explanation was cut short by the definitive sound of the lock.
Vicky slid off him, standing next to the bed, a picture of sinful satisfaction. "Let her be Mark. She needs to cool off. Come back to bed with me."
Mark gaped at her. Reality had crashed down like a wave. "Have you lost your mind?" he whispered hoarsely. He had lurched from the bed, snatching his clothes from the floor, his thoughts having churned with self-loathing even as his body had still hummed with the aftershocks of what they'd done.
As he fumbled with his shorts, Vicky thought, You can’t fool me, Mark. I know you loved it.
Mark staggered from the room, his mind a white-noise tangle of panic, guilt, and the animal hunger still slick on his skin. He nearly crashed into the hallway wall, his hands shaking as he fumbled his shorts over his softening cock, the taste of sex and betrayal thick in his mouth. OH FUCK. What had he just done?
April. APRIL! he thinks as he makes his way outside and into the darkness.
April sat on her bed, her heart shattered, as her mind replied, "No. No, this isn’t real."
She can still hear the slap of Vicky’s ass on Mark’s hips, smell the sex in the air, see her husband’s face twisted in forbidden pleasure. April tries to fight it, tries to cry, but the memory won’t stop replaying, sharper and hotter each time. Mark’s desperate grunts. Vicky’s wild scream. The way her sister’s pussy milked every drop of his seed.
Oh god… why am I wet? Why does this turn me on? April clenches her thighs, trembling, torn between hate and hunger. Finally, she snapped out of it and thought. This has to be Vicky’s fault. She must have seduced him, manipulated him. That’s what she always does!
But April's vision swims again, the tequila turning the room into a carousel. That image won't stop—Vicky's hips rolling, Mark's hands gripping her waist, both of them glistening. Her lungs seize. Something hot and treacherous blooms low in her belly, pulsing stronger each time she pictures her sister's thighs straddling what belongs to her. The damp towel catches on her nipples as she gasps, her flesh responding with a hunger that makes her sick even as her heart cracks open. She buries her face in the pillow, sobbing her husband's name into the cotton until she falls asleep.
Mark lay on the beach, the cold sand scraping his skin like judgment itself. Sleep wouldn't come. Above him stretched the night sky, stars glaring down at him like a thousand witnesses to his betrayal. Waves crashed against the shore, their rhythm failing to drown out the chaos in his mind where shame collided with self-disgust and—worst of all—the lingering sensation of Vicky around him, gripping him in ways April never had.
"I knew," he whispered to the darkness. "I fucking knew it wasn't April and I let it happen anyway." He pulled his knees to his chest, bile rising in his throat as he remembered how he'd erupted inside her, how she'd looked at her own sister while he did it.
****
The first rays of dawn found him hollow-eyed and shivering. He trudged back to the hotel, his body heavy with a fatigue that went straight to his soul. The door to the master suite was unlocked. He pushed it open slowly.
April was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed, her posture rigid. She didn’t look at him. The silence in the room was heavier than any accusation.
“April... Honey,” he began, his voice rough. “I… there are no words.”
“Try,” she said, her tone flat, devoid of its usual warmth.
He sank to his knees before her, his hands resting on her thighs, not in desire, but in supplication. The story tumbled out of him in a ragged confession—the tequila, the dizzying blur, the hallway, the kiss that felt wrong but so right, the moment of horrifying, exquisite realization. He didn’t soften it. He didn’t excuse it. He gave her every damning detail, his voice cracking under the weight of his own weakness.
“I felt it… how tight she was… and some sick, dark part of me didn’t care. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
He expected fury. He expected to be thrown out. He did not expect the single tear that tracked a slow path down her cheek. She finally looked at him, and the pain in her eyes was a physical blow.
“I know my sister,” she whispered. “I know how she gets what she wants. And you… You were drunk, and you were tricked.” She placed a hand over his, her touch cool and gentle. “I... I forgive you, Mark.”
Relief, sudden and staggering, washed over him. He buried his face in her lap, his shoulders shaking. But as he looked up, he saw it. The forgiveness was there, yes, but so was a new distance. A wall had been erected overnight, and he was on the outside of it.
He needed to connect, to shatter that wall. His hands slid higher up her thighs, his touch shifting from pleading to possessive.
“April,” he murmured, his lips brushing the fabric of her shorts. “Let me show you how sorry I am. Let me show you who I belong to.”
A flicker of something—need, perhaps—crossed her face before the guarded look returned. But she didn’t stop him as he undid the button of her shorts and slid them down her hips along with her panties. He urged her back onto the bed, spreading her legs and settling between them. He didn’t enter her. Instead, he lowered his mouth to her, his tongue seeking her out with a desperate, worshipful intensity.
He licked and suckled, trying to lose himself in the familiar taste of her, to erase the phantom sensation of Vicky’s climax on his tongue. April moaned, her hips lifting from the mattress, her fingers threading through his hair. But her response felt… practiced. It was the right sounds, the right movements, but the deep, primal abandon he’d elicited from her sister was absent. He brought her to a quiet, shuddering peak, her cry soft and stifled.
He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, her breasts, her neck, before finally sliding into her. Her warmth enveloped him, familiar and comforting, but it lacked the shocking, illicit tightness that had driven him mad hours before. He fucked her with a determined, almost frantic rhythm, each thrust a plea for absolution.
She clung to him, her nails digging into his back, meeting his pace. But her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, and when her second orgasm came, it was with a choked gasp that sounded more like a sob than a release.
He followed quickly after, spilling into her with a groan that was equal parts relief and anguish.
They lay together afterward, a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. The wall was still there.
Later, dressed and armed with a fragile truce, they found Vicky. She was a sun-kissed goddess stretched out on a lounger by the pool, a vision in a bikini so scant the triangles of fabric seemed like an afterthought. She lowered her sunglasses, a slow, infuriatingly confident smile gracing her lips as they approached.
“Well, well, I see the lovebirds are back together,” Vicky purrs, stretching like a satisfied cat. She doesn’t bother to cover her body, not that there’s much left to the imagination anyway. The bikini barely covers her nipples, and Mark’s eyes can’t help but flicker there, just for a split second, before he guiltily looks away.
April’s voice was ice. “We need to talk about last night, sister.”
Vicky sat up, all faux concern. “Oh, honey. I was hoping we could just forget that… unfortunate misunderstanding.”
She glanced at Mark, her eyes lingering on him just a moment too long. “The tequila really did a number on all of us. I was horny. He was available. One thing led to another.”
April’s voice quivers with anger, icy but shaking. “You tricked him, Vicky! You knew exactly what you were doing! You put on my clothes. You made him think you were me!”
Vicky shrugged, her smile having gotten wider. “Did I?” She leaned back on the lounger, stretching her arms over her head, not having bothered to hide the way her nipples tented the thin bikini. "We were all three sheets to the wind last night, and besides, it was a one-time thing. A blur as far as I’m concerned.”
Mark felt a fresh wave of nausea. Her lie was so smooth, so effortless. A blur. It had been the most vivid, defining moment of his life.
April studied her sister, her eyes narrowed. The twin bond was a strange thing. She could see the truth flickering behind the cool blue of Vicky’s eyes, but the spoken words were just plausible enough to grasp onto. “It can never happen again,” April stated, her voice firm. “Ever.”
Vicky closed her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling upward. "Absolutely," she said, her voice a lazy drawl. "Just a drunken mistake."
But as April turned to lead Mark away, Vicky’s hand slid discreetly down her own stomach, her fingers slipping under the waistband of her bikini bottom. The sun warmed her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat that bloomed between her legs at the memory. She replayed it all—the stretch, the fullness, the raw power of him taking control, the hot pulse of his release deep inside her.
A one-time thing? Her fingers found her clit, circling it with a gentle, knowing pressure right there in the open, hidden by her lounger.
Not a chance. She watched Mark’s broad back as he walked away with her sister, her core clenching with want. He thought he was consumed by guilt. He had no idea he was now consumed by her. She’d felt him erupt inside her, and she already craved it again.
The danger of it, the risk of getting caught a second time, only made her wetter. Her plan was already forming, a wicked, delicious plot to get him behind April’s back. She’d have him again. Soon. And next time, she wouldn’t have to pretend to be anyone else.
The fragile truce held through the day. They swam in the cerulean pool, the cool water a stark contrast to the heat simmering beneath the surface. They ate a late lunch at a beachside grill, the conversation carefully orbiting safe, mundane topics—the food, the weather, the book April was reading. Mark watched his wife, every laugh line around her eyes, every soft curve of her smile, and ached with the need to truly cross the distance between them. Vicky was conspicuously absent, a fact for which Mark was pathetically grateful.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of violet and orange, they found themselves back in the master suite. The air was thick with unspoken words. April stood by the glass doors leading to the balcony, her silhouette outlined against the fading light.
Mark came up behind her, circling his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her coconut shampoo. “I love you,” he murmured, the words feeling both completely true and utterly inadequate.
She leaned back into him, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “I know.”
He turned her in his arms, his lips finding hers. This kiss was different from the frantic, guilty coupling of the morning. It was slower, more deliberate, a careful rebuilding of a bridge he’d nearly burned to ash. His hands roamed her back, tracing the contour of her spine through her thin sundress. Her hands came up to his shoulders, her grip tightening as the kiss deepened, becoming less about reassurance and more about reclamation.
He walked her backward toward the bed, their lips never parting. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she broke the kiss, her blue eyes searching his. In their depths, he saw the hurt, the doubt, but also a flicker of the old, trusting heat. It was all the invitation he needed.
He peeled the sundress from her body, following its descent with his lips, worshipping every newly revealed inch of skin—the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach. He laid her back and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, drawing them down her legs with a slowness that was its own form of torture. He needed this to be perfect. For her. For them.
He spread her legs and lowered his mouth to her core, his tongue delving into her with a focused intensity that had her gasping his name within seconds.
This, he thought, this is my wife. This taste, this feel. He lavished attention on her, using his tongue and fingers in a synchronized rhythm he knew drove her wild. Her hips rolled against his face, her breath becoming shallow pants. Her climax built quickly, a tense, coiled spring, and when it broke, she cried out, her body arching off the bed, her fingers twisting in the sheets.
He didn’t let up, drawing out every last shuddering wave of her pleasure until she was limp and breathless beneath him. Only then did he rise, shedding his own clothes, his erection straining against his stomach. He sheathed himself in a condom from the nightstand—a silent, sobering testament to the new boundaries between them—and entered her in one smooth, deep thrust.
Her warmth enveloped him, a familiar and comforting embrace. He moved within her, a steady, deep rhythm aimed at connection, not conquest. He watched her face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. He kissed her, swallowing her soft moans. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and for a glorious, fleeting moment, the wall was gone. They moved together in a synchronized dance, a perfect, healing friction. Her second orgasm washed over her silently, a series of intense, internal flutters that milked his length. The sensation pushed him over the edge, his own release a quiet, powerful surge that left him collapsed on top of her, spent and, for the first time that day, hopeful.
He held her as they drifted to sleep, her body curled against his, her breathing slow and even. The peace was a blanket, but it was thin.
Hours later, a full bladder pulled him from a deep sleep. He carefully untangled himself from April, who murmured softly but didn’t wake. The room was silent, bathed in the pale silver light of a half-moon filtering through the windows. He padded quietly to the bathroom, did his business, and stepped back into the bedroom.
That’s when he heard it.
A soft, rhythmic sound. A sigh. A hitched breath.
The sounds floated through the gap of the adjoining door—the one he'd thought was locked.
His blood, so calm moments before, instantly sparked with a dark, familiar current. He told his feet to move, to carry him back to the safety of his wife’s bed. They refused. Instead, they carried him to the door. His hand, seemingly of its own volition, rose and gently, so gently, cracked the door open just another inch.
The room was dark, but he could still make out Vicky's form splayed across her bed.
She was nude, one hand pinching and pulling at a taut, pink nipple, the other hand buried between her legs. Her head was thrown back, her long blonde hair spilled across the pillow. The moonlight caressed the elegant line of her throat, the perfect curve of her breast, the hypnotic motion of her hips as she circled against her own fingers. The slick, wet sound of her pleasure was unmistakable.
Mark’s breath hitched. Look away. Close the door. Now. The commands screamed in his mind, but his body was a traitor. His cock, soft just moments ago, began to swell and thicken, pressing insistently against the fly of his pajama pants. He was paralyzed, a prisoner of the lurid, beautiful scene.
He watched, hypnotized, as her movements became more frantic. Her fingers worked her clit with a focused, desperate energy. Her back arched, presenting her breasts to the ceiling, and a low, continuous moan spilled from her lips. It was a raw, unfiltered sound of pure need.
His own hand moved, ghosting over the hard ridge in his shorts. He pressed his palm against himself, a jolt of electricity shooting through him at the contact. He was fully hard now, painfully so, his own arousal a dark mirror to hers playing out in the moonlight.
Her moans climbed in pitch, becoming breathy whimpers. Her body began to tremble, her thighs shaking. She was right on the edge, teetering.
And then, as her climax ripped through her, she cried out, her voice cracking with the force of it. “Oh God… Mark…”
His name. She whimpered his name.
The sound was like a physical blow. He stumbled back from the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. He fumbled the door shut, the soft click sounding like a gunshot in the silent hall. He leaned against the wall, breathing ragged, his cock throbbing with a need that shamed him. He could still see her—the silhouette of her ecstasy, the sound of his name on her lips—burned onto the back of his eyelids.
Back in her room, Vicky’s trembling slowly subsided. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face in the darkness. She had seen the shadow through the cracked door, had heard the sharp intake of breath. She’d timed her performance perfectly.
She brought her wet fingers to her lips, tasting herself and the sweet success of her manipulation.
He watched, she thought, her core clenching anew at the thought. He liked it. She rolled onto her side, humming with satisfaction.
He was fighting it, but his body was already hers. She just needed the right opportunity, the perfect moment to make him admit it. And she knew, with utter certainty, that she would create that moment very, very soon.
