Page 23 of Sweet Girl

I sit down on the edge of the bed with the full-length mirror directly in front of us, the door to my bedroom right next to it, and I pull Emma onto my lap. Her naked body is so pliable in my large arms, and I easily situate her, her ass against my hard cock, each leg spread over mine, opening her up wide. My eyes don’t leave our reflection in the mirror. She arches and gyrates against my cock that’s pressing heavy against her lower back through my pants. My calloused hands run roughly up the smooth skin of her sides until I can cup her tits with my palms. She arches further into me, dropping her head back against my shoulder as I pull on her nipples. Rolling the stiff little buds in between my thumb and pointer finger, I pinch, just until she makes that sweet as fuck wince that I love to work out of her.

Fuck, I love the way this woman feels in my arms. The door in front of us flies open and Emma stiffens, trying to close her legs and cover herself with her hands. I keep her spread open, holding her still and on display.

Aidan stands frozen in the doorway, his eyes on my sexy girl. I recognize the feral, hungry look on his face—the one reserved for when he looks at Emma. The three of us planned this weekend expertly. We eased her into the idea of sharing her and now it’s time for the grand finale. She’ll either go for it or put an end to it. But I know my sweet girl, she wants them just as bad as they want her, and I can’t fucking wait to watch it all unfold.

“Like what you see, brother?”

His eyes flick back to me, uncaring and unashamed that he just walked in on me about to fuck my woman, even if this was the plan all along. But Emma doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Look at her, Dom. She’s fucking sweet perfection.”

I drag my fingers across Emma’s neck, pushing her hair off to hang on one shoulder. My lips connect with the soft space under her ear before whispering to her.

“Are you okay with this,milaya devochka?”

“Are you?”

“Only if you are.”

She nods her confirmation, and my heart rate picks up. Such a good girl for me.

“You wanna taste of my girl, Aidan? Come get it.”

I spread my legs further to make room for him between us, spreading Emma impossibly wide, opening up that little pussy for him to devour. Aidan’s eyes flash to mine before stepping into the room, focused on the meal in front of him. Each of his steps is slow and purposeful, his eyes heavily lidded, taking in every smooth piece of her lithe body, her perfect, soft skin, her small, perky breasts, the tightness around her trim waist, and her glistening pussy—a beacon straight to her sweet cunt.

Aidan steps between our legs before dropping to his knees. Emma’s breath hitches, leaning back further into me.

“Relax, sweet girl. It’s going to feel so good,” I reassure her as I pull on her nipples some more. Her little moans fuel Aidan because his hands finally reach out to touch her, rubbing slowly upward from her ankles to her thighs, taking his time before dropping his head down between her legs and inhaling deeply. Cruz and Aidan are polar opposites. Where Aidan is soft and a giver, Cruz is hard and will pillage and take until depletion. The two sharing a woman is a recipe for fucking perfection.

Pleasure and pain.

Praise and degradation.

He looks up at us as he sticks his tongue out and runs the flat of it up her slit. Emma’s legs strain on mine, already shaking. Her body is so damn responsive.

“Make our girl feel good, Aidan. Make her fucking weep for us.”

He doesn’t waste any more time, dipping his head into her and ravishing her for the first time.

“Ohh, god! That feels . . .”

“You like that,milaya devochka? You like to be spread out on my lap while my best friend eats your cunt?”

“Oh, god, Dom,” she moans out her words as her body convulses.

“Oh yeah, she likes it. She just fucking gushed for me.”

“Looks like I missed the party invitation,” Cruz announces as he walks into the bedroom and shrugs out of his leather jacket, tossing it on the chair in the corner. Emma whimpers in my arms and it takes all of my effort to pry my eyes away from hers in the mirror to talk to Cruz.

“You’re late, not our fault, asshole.”

Cruz walks up to us, kneeling down next to Aidan, feral, unhinged desire set deep in his expression.

“How does she taste?” he asks, his voice deep and husky.

“Oh, god, this can’t be happening,” Emma moans as her hands grip the sheets on either side of us.

“God isn’t here, Em, just us,” Aidan says against her wet center.

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