Читать книгу Unfaithful - Devon Scott - Страница 7

He was standing by the refrigerator, the door open and shielding his lower body from view. To someone standing across the room, one might assume he was naked. Fact is, he was wearing boxers—the Scooby-Doo ones Carly gave him for his birthday as a goof.

He was just standing there, head pounding from a night of crabs, Coronas, apple martinis, and cigar smoking. Just the last two were more than enough to make his head spin.

One-thirty in the morning, standing in the kitchen of his best friends’ home, Olivia and Miles asleep upstairs, Carly crashed on the futon in the basement below—and Ryan, his cotton mouth and tongue begging for moisture as he rummaged through the fridge searching for something to drink. He found a liter of Sprite and, not having the strength to search for a cup, tipped the bottle to his lips and thirstily drank.

As he dropped it back into the slot in the refrigerator, he stepped back to close the door.

That’s when he saw her.

She was standing motionless, observing him silently. He was caught off guard. What he saw took his breath away.

Olivia was clad in a button-down shirt—little else. The shirt hung open and he could see the dark patch of pubic hair that spread over her mound—and a large purplish nipple peeked out from the side of the shirt. Her hair hung free, locs surrounding her beautiful darkened face. Between her lips hung a burnt-out cigar. She moved forward on her toes, like a dancer; she seemed to glide toward him effortlessly. He glanced quickly toward the closed doorway that led to the basement stairs. Behind her, the back of the family room couch was sprinkled in shadows; the rest of the room was indigo.

He couldn’t wrestle his gaze from her body, which seemed to writhe as she moved near—the illusion of a serpent—and the fullness of her spoke to him. Not like Carly’s slender form, certainly not overweight. Just curvy hips, meat on the bones like his mama. Legs and thighs that spoke of substance and full breasts that hung invitingly. When she was within touching distance, her eyes never leaving his, the cigar now inches from his face, his cock swelling in his boxers with the certainty of a raging flood, he reached for her. Her legs parted; her eyes were unblinking. His fingers traced a line down the cotton fabric of the man’s shirt, past buttons, parting the halves, and resting a hand lightly on her breast. Gently, he circled the hard nipple before dipping down farther past her navel, which he traced gently with his fingernail before meandering through her dark patch of hair. Finally, after a splendid minute, he felt the rise of moistened flesh that met his touch.

She reached out and expertly slipped her hand inside his shorts. His cock came alive as she palmed the bulbous head, stroking the shaft, raking her fingers lightly over his balls. He found her opening effortlessly, slipping a finger inside.

His cock stretched out in front of him, gently bobbing beside her waist. She stroked it with her palm, then, just as she found her groove stroking him, she ceased and moved to the back of the couch that was dappled in darkness. Her hands spread lengthwise along the edge of the furniture as she bent forward and down, lifting up the shirt in the process—Miles’ shirt, the same one he had been wearing earlier that evening—and spread her legs wide, exhibiting in all of its splendor her heart-shaped, chocolate-colored ass.

He groaned contentedly, marveling at the exquisiteness on display before him. He could clearly see the lips to her sex, which glistened even in the half-darkness. He thought of the kiss they had shared months before, her intoxicating scent that night in the elevator, the way her skin felt when he massaged her shoulders in his office, the electricity that coursed between them. He gripped himself decisively, readying to impale his hardness into the wetness of her sweet cavern. Suddenly, unable to contain his hunger, he lunged forward with a purpose that surprised even him.

In that same moment, they clearly heard the rustling coming from upstairs, the weighty, uncoordinated footfalls, and Miles’ unmistakable deep voice calling out, “Olivia, baby, is that you I hear?”