Oh. Right. The bridesmaid again.
I watch as he takes his fingers, still wet from his mouth, and parts her pussy lips, sliding two long digits right inside her, all the way to the hilt.
The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and I can see the muscles in his forearm twitch as he finger-fucks her.
I can only imagine what magic those fingers must be working.
Yeah, that’s right. Imagine. Virgin, remember?
I mean, it’s not exactly like I’ve never had an orgasm. Like I said, I have fingers of my own.
But I have no idea what it must be like to have a man’s fingers deep inside me, stroking, thrusting, and curling to hit my G-spot just right.
Here’s the thing, babe.
I’ve worked my ass off for years, all through college, to develop my lingerie company, Wilder Lingerie, from the ground up. I started out making my own designs, even doing the actual sewing myself in the beginning.
I paid my way through college—and then some. The company has grown beyond my wildest dreams. I’m on the brink of major success, the kind that people only imagine.
So, basically, I haven’t had time to fuck around. Literally.
Not to mention, I don’t trust guys not to be out for themselves.
I mean, it’s not exactly like I’ve had a good example with my mom’s track record.
But back to the issue at hand. His hands.
I mean, how am I even more turned on right now looking at his hands? But they’re large and strong, his fingers long and skilled.
Believe me, I know. The bridesmaid’s moans and whimpers tell me all I need to know about how adept this guy’s fingers are.
And why shouldn’t they be? He looks like he’s had his fair share of women in his day.
He’s definitely older than me. Ten years? Fifteen?
I can’t tell.
His eyes crinkle slightly at the corner when he smirks at me, and there’s a trace of silver at his temples.
But other than that, he’s kind of ageless. Like some kind of Greek god or something. His body certainly fits the bill.
He’s fucking gorgeous. And he knows it.
I continue to watch him work this woman over, totally entranced as he leans over her again, his fingers still pistoning inside her, while her moans grow louder and louder.
Then, he grazes his tongue from the top of her pussy all the way up her stomach to her breasts—which by the way are bouncing away just as well as any porn star’s—and flicks it across her nipples again, taking another scoop of frosting away with him as he straightens back up.
God, it’s so wrong somehow, I just know it is, but I want more. I want to keep watching. I want to see what he’ll do next.
How the hell did I even end up in here?
Oh, that’s right, I was looking for a reprieve from people asking me where my date was tonight. After about the hundredth time of telling them I’d pretty much been stood up, I needed to find some space to catch my breath.
And instead, I found this.
Yeah, I’m catching my breath alright. Right now, I’m sucking air into my lungs in almost-gasps.
“Come for me, baby,” he growls out.