But God, it hurt, being all in while he was hedging his bets. It hurt …
I uncurled and undressed, changing into my pajamas—boy shorts and one of Matt’s big T-shirts. The clock read 11:04. He really wasn’t coming to bed. I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and washed my face. On my way back to our bedroom, a small sound from the family room caught my attention. I peered into the dark.
“Matt?” I whispered.
Silence.
I crept toward the family room, feeling along the wall. I jerked to a stop.
The only light in the room came from Matt’s laptop, which stood open on the coffee table. He sat on the couch, his bare shoulders and head visible. His arm moved rhythmically.
On the laptop screen—I squinted—a woman knelt on a broad bed. She was naked, her dark hair tumbling across her back and her breasts hanging down. Behind her, a male figure plunged into her body. Another man—my mouth dropped open—knelt in front of her. She licked and sucked his length eagerly; he thrust into her mouth.
“Oh,” I peeped.
Matt glanced over his shoulder. Blood rushed to my face.
“You all right?” he said, his arm still working steadily.
“Uh … um…” I inched forward, craving a better look at the screen.
“Sorry. I didn’t feel like”—his voice caught and he shifted on the couch; he glanced at his cock—“being uncomfortable … in the office. Not many options … in this place.”
I couldn’t look away from Matt’s porn. Two guys, one girl. The blush drained from my face. Tiny moans and grunts emanated from the laptop.
Hannah, I want things that …
“Is this what you want?” I gasped.
Matt gave a tense laugh. His hand stilled, then resumed, and my gaze panned over his lap. Dear God, he was rigid. This stuff excited him. A lot.
“No,” he managed. “Just something … I like to watch. Fantasy … there’s a difference.” He clenched his teeth and refocused on the screen.
Shit, I was throwing him off his game—after denying him sex.
“Sorry, I’ll—sorry!” I fled to our bedroom, my heart thumping and my skin fever hot. Two guys … I could never. I climbed under the covers and hugged myself. The image replayed in my mind. The girl had even looked like me—pale skin, dark curls, large breasts. Matt had to be thinking about doing that to me. Sharing me.
My face burned hotter.
The men in the video had been enjoying their plaything, clearly. They’d looked at her and at one another and moaned in pleasure. And she took it; she let herself be used.
I pressed my thighs together. “Just something I like to watch,” Matt had said. I struggled to believe that. Was he telling the truth?
I breathed deeply and evenly. As the minutes passed, my embarrassment cooled and my horror faded. I know that man in the family room, I told myself. He was my lover, my night owl, my Matt, and he would never force me into something I didn’t want.
I shifted on the mattress and gasped.
With my heart rate settling and my temperature normalizing, I realized I was feeling something else. I eased a hand into my panties. Whoa. Was it the video, or was it catching Matt pleasuring himself? Arousal coated my fingertips.
I was turned on.
Chapter 4
MATT
EXHIBITIONISM
I want to fuck her with an audience. I both do and don’t want to share her. I want to reveal her like a possession, to draw off her clothes the way one might unveil a painting. She is no object, and yet I want to objectify her.
I want to see her embarrassment. When I bring her out, when I expose her to strangers, I want to feel her tremble and watch her blush. The thought makes me hard. (If the thought excites me this much, what would the reality do?)