The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)
“Then come,” El-Mudad taunted him. “Or try not to think about how hot and wet her pussy is. How tight it is with my cock in her ass. How you can feel me through her, feel every inch of me along your—“
“Oh, fuck!” Neil clutched at my back and lifted me up between them, spearing El-Mudad’s shaft deeper into me. I shouted in pained alarm and joy at watching him, my usually calm and in control Dom, losing himself completely. He planted his feet on the mattress, straining up to stuff as much of his long, thick shaft into me as he could. He roared his release, gushing hot inside of me with every last, hard thrust.
“You have to keep going,” I reminded him as his body relaxed.
“Not for long,” El-Mudad said through gritted teeth, and he, too, went over the edge, gripping my ass in both hands to hold me tight against him while he poured into me.
I gave them just a few seconds so they could hear above their pulses again and said, “You know...I haven’t come yet. I think it’s rude to stop until everyone has.”
“You said the two of us!” El-Mudad’s forehead was bathed in sweat when he leaned it against my upper back.
“I said everyone.” I wriggled my hips and tried to get my hand between Neil and me so I could reach my clit.
“You already had three!” Neil protested, his voice strangled as I slowly rode his semi-hard cock. I didn’t want him to slip out of my body before I could fully torment him, so I concentrated on circling my nearly numb clit faster and faster.
“Fuck you, Sophie,” El-Mudad laughed, out of breath as he forced himself to keep moving. He whimpered in discomfort, and that really only made me hotter. I’d thought I would just end up bestowing mercy upon them, but the exciting new texture of their cum lubricating my holes and the way they still pulsed and jerked inside of me, on top of the knowledge that I was enacting some mild revenge for all the times they’d tortured me the same way, took me to an unexpected but happy little orgasm. I sighed in contentment, as though I hadn’t absolutely ravaged them, and wriggled off their softening cocks.
“I wish,” Neil said, pausing to swallow against audible dryness in his throat, “that I had never shown you those post-handjob torture videos.”
El-Mudad wiped sweat from his face and grinned at me. “On the contrary, I am so, so glad that he did.”
Chapter Five
Despite us not really doing anything or even leaving the bedroom all that much, the days flew by. Christmas-Eve-Eve was upon us before we knew it, and the arrival of family and friends meant retreating, once again, into secrecy.
“I hate this,” I complained as I fastened my Cartier pink chalcedony orchid earrings. “You know, if we were Mormons, this would be totally legit.”
“Let’s not deal in stereotypes, Sophie. It would not be. And even in the circles where it might be, you’d have to be a man, and we would have to be women,” Neil said patiently, checking his hair in the mirror. We were in his dressing room, the bridge between the Gray Apartment and El-Mudad’s bedroom. It was a weird combination between a closet and some kind of lounge, with charcoal colored walls and sleek mahogany shelving, as well as a gilded trifold mirror and a pedestal on which a person could stand while getting tailored. But there was also a set of dark brown leather armchairs with high backs, grouped around a small fireplace. I supposed it would be convenient if one got tired and needed to take a tea break while selecting shoes. Neil was picky enough, that might be a real possibility.
The door stood open, and through it, I spied El-Mudad emerging from his shower, a towel wrapped around his narrow waist.
I glanced over at Neil and caught him staring, too.
“I can feel your perverted eyes,” El-Mudad called.
“I suppose that’s something we need to work on,” Neil said grimly. “Can’t be eye-fucking our ‘good friend’ during family Christmas.”
“Or during brunch with his daughters.” My stomach turned at the thought of that. I had no idea what role we would play in their lives. I couldn’t be a stepmom, owing to my utter lack of mom-ness and the secrecy of our relationship to their father. Would I be the cool aunt? The distant family friend who sent birthday gifts clearly picked out by an assistant?
I would have to hire an assistant.
Taking a deep breath, I adjusted the hem of my Dolce & Gabbana bow-neck crêpe de chine blouse where it tucked into my high-waisted black lace culottes and hoped I didn’t look too dowdy. Whatever happened, I trusted El-Mudad to set the parameters and boundaries. I would just follow his lead and hope I didn’t cross any of them.