In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
MY EYES ARE SQUEEZED tightly shut, and I'm panting by the time the wave of pleasure finally ebbs. It takes a few deep breaths before I work up the courage to peek through my lashes, but when I manage to lift my head, Paris is running gentle fingers through my hair. Petting me while his fingers are still inside me. I steal a hesitant glance across the room, but my anxiety seems unnecessary because Smith and Roman continue their conversation like nothing happened. In fact, In the dimly lit confines of Club Sanctum, no one even spares us a passing glance. I take a deep breath and settle back into Paris's lap, soaking up his warmth and the reassuring smell of chamomile that comes with it. I feel tiny and safe in his arms, like nothing could hurt me. A few minutes later both Smith and Roman excuse themselves and when I look up at Paris he's already looking at me, a soft smile playing on his lips. “How are you doing?"
“Me? I'm great,"
“I'm sure you are. You made Roman and Smith so hard they had to go find themselves a sweet little submissive," my eyes widen, and he laughs at me.
“And you're not.....” I start and then trail off.
“What? Jealous. No, Amore mio, I'm not. You came on my fingers, didn't you?” he says, his voice smooth as silk as he finally withdraws his fingers from inside me. A rush of colour floods my cheeks when he slides them in his mouth and sucks. His eyes closing briefly before they part to meet my gaze once more. “It was my name you screamed while you did so. Very loudly, I might add,” he says, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “And I'm the one you'll be leaving with tonight,” I lift, so I can kiss him, and he accepts it readily, eating at my mouth until I'm squirming in his lap.
“You know what I think?”
“What? “
“That you might be a little bit of an exhibitionist,” I pull away from his embrace and shake my head vehemently. He smirks at me, running his fingers through my hair that's starting to go frizzy from all the petting. “Almost everyone here is a bit of an exhibitionist, Reagan. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's okay to admit that you liked Roman and Smith sitting across from you while I had my fingers in your pussy,” he presses a quick kiss to my forehead before I can react to his statement and then stands up, taking my hands into his and leading me across the room.
“Where are you taking me?” He doesn't answer me as he carries me down a flight of stairs, but the subtle noise of the upper floor fades and is replaced by soft music and chatter. There are a few people watching something lower down through one of the clear windows going across the room.
“Come on,” Paris urges, pulling me to stand before the window, and when I catch sight of what everyone is watching, I audibly gasp, backing up into Paris, who's standing behind me. He grips my hips with one hand and uses the other to grip my chin, redirecting my face back towards the window, his breath hot in my ear as he speaks. “Look at them, Reagan,” I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the knot of tension in my throat as I muster up the courage to look out the window again, my body heating as I look at the couple who are.....well, they're not cuddling that's for sure. I squirm in place and Paris hums, his hand moving from my chin and settling across my throat.
