Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 41

Part 41

Sally tried to disembody herself from what was about to happen – to become a shell of herself, so she didn't have to think about Peter's crazy eyes seeing Wilson kissing her, but it was no use. Every time he so much as ran the pad of his finger along her skin, her whole body came alive with excitement. And now was no different.

She trusted him. She had to. Frankly, she knew no other choice. Her solutions to this problem would probably get someone killed, so she trusted in Wilson to have a better plan.

His mouth burned into hers, and her eyes stung with weird tears. Her heart always filled with love when he kissed. The tears were just the liquid form of what she felt inside.

“Don't cry,” he murmured against her lips. “Everything will be fine. You'll see.”

She hoped, but she couldn't stop the trails of saturated emotion tracking down her cheeks.

“Ah, that's so sweet,” Peter crooned harshly, “but get on with it. Take her clothes off already. I know how quickly you two can get naked. I wan to see that. Give me the fever. Make it hot.”

How about I knock you upside the head with a branding iron? she thought.

Wilson inhaled fiercely and gripped the panels of her plaid blouse. “You still trust me?”

“Always,” she vowed and flinched as he tugged, ripping the cloth at the button holes, baring her chest for all to see. She'd worn a smokey gray, lace bra for when she saw Wilson tonight. Now, she wished she'd goe with a plain, white, all-covering one.

“This is new,” Wilson commented, smiling at her. She peeked at Peter, but Wilson blocked her view. “Don't look at him. This is just you and me here, okay? Don't think about it.”

It was kind of hard to ignore the psychopath in the room, but she tried. She focused on Wil...his mouth, his eyes, the curl of his hair as it fell across his forehead. He needs a haircut...

She closed her eyes as Wilson nibbled his way down her neck, holding her by the hips and ever so slowly and cautiously, inched closer and closer to Peter. She figured out what he was trying to do, and she played her part. Her hands moved out his way, giving his arms and hands freedom for what Wilson planned. She tugged at her own belt and buttons on her jeans, gradually lowering her zipper and adding a few moans to give Peter a good show. She cracked an eyelid and saw it was working.

Flushed with eagerness, Peter's eyes began to glaze over, and his empty hand rubbed along his crotch. The gun diminished its angle, ever so slightly dropping lower and lower. Wilson tugged the shirt off of her and inched them backward. He slipped a bra strap down her shoulder and scooted closer to Peter, who failed to notice the decrease in distance.

Peter's hand dipped into his waistband, and she saw him stroking himself. A stupid smile formed on the jerk's lips, and she felt sick to her stomach again. That's when she realized Wilson kissed her with the taste of her vomit still in her mouth.

Now, that's courage. She shuddered to think what he must be thinking. But when she bumped into Wilson's body, she felt no erection from behind his fly. Thank goodness for that. She didn't know how she'd feel about him getting excited right now.

Wilson continued his ministrations on her body, and Peter worked himself to a full rosy, titillating expression. “Oh, yeah...that's what I'm talking about,” he moaned, and Sally swallowed back her gag reflex.

The fruitcake hastily tried to unbuckle his pants with one hand and grunted with frustration. Wilson stilled, which caught Peter's attention. The gun drew up to full height again. Wilson resumed his work.