Publication date: June 30th 2023
Genres: Adult, Erotica, Romance
An adults-only couples vacation takes a surprisingly sexy turn!
Darcy and I have been friends forever, so when we plan a kid-free getaway with our husbands, we’re expecting the same relaxing, stress-free time we always have together.
What we don’t expect is a rental with walls so thin we hear everything happening in the other room.
Or how hot it is to hear Darcy and Alec get it on—to imagine the actions going along with those sounds, to try and guess who’s doing what to whom.
As the week goes on, we can’t deny our growing attraction to our best friends—I can’t stop checking Darcy out, and Rafe’s gaze keeps drifting over to Alec.
And they’re looking too.
I hate cold showers but there’s no doubt that I need one right now, so I shuck off my clothes and hop in. It doesn’t help, though, because the chill makes my nipples harden and my breasts feel tight, puckered. Goosebumps pop up all over my body and it makes my skin come alive, makes me aware of every square inch.
If I’m turned on enough that a cold shower isn’t helping, I’m really fucked.
So I turn to plan-B: slake my desire in the hopes that I can face Darcy today without imagining her naked, humping my bare thigh.
I turn the water to a more comfortable temperature and grab the handheld. Sitting down on the bench, I spread my legs, one foot on the floor and the other propped up next to me. Leaning against the cool tile walls, I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and directing the stream of water at the apex of my wide-open thighs.
My thumb is always a good place to start, strumming my clit like it’s a guitar string. And the sensation from that only reinforces the imagery: my body humming, vibrating with each stroke. I wish I had a free hand for my tits, to pluck and twist my nipples a little rough, just the way I like.
I’m out of hands though, so my imagination will have to do. The hands that I imagine touching me are smaller than Rafe’s, softer. A little hesitant at first, trying to figure out what I like and what I don’t, but I’m eager to show, and she picks up the specifics quickly.
Then she pushes my hand away from my clit, testing me there, trying me out. Discovering the secret to how I want to be touched. She’s massaging my clit, and there’s no doubt that it’s swollen, it’s swollen for her, it needs her touch. She’s the only one that can give me the release I need, and she’s up to the task, switching from her thumb to two fingers, rubbing me so fast.
“More,” I gasp, and that’s when she slides fingers into my pussy. Any hesitation she had a few minutes ago, when she was playing with my tits, is gone now. And fuck, I can’t pretend like I’m imaging some nameless, faceless woman, because obviously I’m not.
Obviously, it’s Darcy.
Darcy with her grin and her teasing laugh and that mouth I keep finding myself staring at this week. Darcy with hair that would tickle my chest as she kissed her way down my body.
I’m supposed to be taking the edge off, exhausting my sexual energy so that I don’t have any left when I’m around her, but all I’m doing is increasing it. Being around her is going to be even more unbearable, but right now I don’t care because I’m imagining myself fucking her fingers, imagining those lips around my nipple, imagining that hair in my grasp.
And Darcy’s sure now, confident, whispering in my ear. Telling me I’m gorgeous, telling me she’s imagined this moment for so long, telling me she wants to see what I’m like when I come. The fingers on my clit and those inside me are moving so fast now, and I’m getting close, and I tell her so. Gasping and telling her that I can’t wait to show her, that I’m right on the edge. That I need her so fucking much, that I’m so glad she’s here, that I can’t wait for her to see what she makes me do.
She tells me to come for her, and that’s what pushes me over the edge. I clench around my fingers but pretend like they’re Darcy’s, like the showerhead pointed at my clit is her hand, like her mouth is wrapped around my tit, sucking hard, punishingly so.
Boneless, I let out a shaky sigh. The hand holding the shower head droops. I let go of it, breathing hard as I sit and let the other five showerheads pelt me with water.
I’m so fucked. I have no idea how I’m supposed to go out there and face her today. Or how I’m supposed to face my husband.
Gemma Blythe writes stories about love, sex, and the intimacy that’s found when the two come together. Her love of romance blossomed in high school when unrequited crushes led her to seek happily ever afters in books and movies.
Though Gemma’s stories are fiction, she’s inspired by the partner she eventually found her own happily ever after with. When Gemma isn’t writing, you can find her lost in the pages of a book, cooking up a storm in the kitchen, attempting to interpret her Tarot spread, and trying to convince her friends and family that she would definitely win Survivor. (She would definitely NOT win Survivor.)
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