She ignores his response and yanks his pants and boxers past his knees. No pants required for this act. And then without any more preamble, she takes him in her mouth and sheaths him with her lips. I can't see his cock, but that doesn't mean I don't want to.
Really, I'm not a pervert. I'm not even the least bit kinky. In fact, I'm the opposite of kinky. I jill off with my fingers. I like sex missionary style, on a bed, at night, in the dark. And I'm not very good at blow jobs. I usually gag.
There's a dull thud against the door, and I imagine it is Cam tipping his head in pleasure despite the fact that he's mad at Megan with a B.
Why is he mad?
What did she do?
Who is she?
A random pickup?
His girlfriend?
His fiancée?
His wife?
I'm going with girlfriend. I feel like the intimacy she used to trace the letter on his chest meant something. Not fiancée or wife-I don't see rings-but I guess if they are in a fight they might have taken them off. What did she do to upset him? Spend too much money? Get tipsy at lunch? Refuse to spread her legs when he wanted her to?
The act continues. Her long, dark hair bobs. His shirttails practically cover her head. And then his tie whispers across the hint of skin I can see between the folds of fabric, and I start to feel a little overheated. None of that seems to bother her, though, as she works him with both her hands and her mouth.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
My eyes feel dry. I blink them a few times. Damn contacts. The movement of my head causes the gemstone around my neck to fall and hit the side of the floor.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Like a clock, it moves until I grab it.
Suddenly, B stops what she's doing and looks up at Cam.
Did she hear it?
I stop breathing.
"You like it when I do this. Admit it," she purrs.
Phew. She didn't hear anything.
Angry or not, I know I don't imagine the sound of laughter he makes or the hand he puts on B's hair as he pushes her head down. "In the condition I'm in tonight, sweetheart, any whore will do."
Mean, vicious words meant to hurt, or is this just their way?
The use of the word sweetheart tells me he refuses to call her by name. Megan with a B doesn't seem to mind, because soon enough the wet noise of mouth on flesh is the only sound besides my heavy breathing that I can hear.
"Fuck, that's good," Cam groans.
"I know how you like it," B tells him, looking up again.
Okay, so at least they're well acquainted. Again, I'm going with girlfriend.
Cam doesn't seem to want to look into her eyes, because he once again pushes her head down. "Who wouldn't?" he tells her, and for the first time, I hear the slur of alcohol in his voice.
Fascinated by the exchange before me, I'm more than aware that I shouldn't be watching this or listening to this private moment, but I want to know if being an asshole is how he gets off, or if Cam is truly mad at Megan with a B.
A light flickers under the table and I grab for my phone. It's another text from Maggie, same as before.
Maggie: Are you still out?
More soft, wet noises cover up the vibration. Thank God I turned my phone to vibrate earlier. With the screen covered with my palm, I try not to move or even breathe.
Cam is making a lot more noises now. Groaning. Swearing.
Why are his sounds turning me on?
Feeling a way I know I shouldn't, I close my eyes, unable to watch anymore, but soon enough another thud against the door has me opening them just in time to see Cam's back arch.
I know he's coming by the way his body is reacting-the sounds he's making, the curve of his spine, the sudden thrusts he makes into B's mouth. "That's it, right there. Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck."
Megan with a B swallows all of him to the last drop and from what I can see, she doesn't seem to have a gagging issue.
Lucky bitch.
Right now, I'm more than a little hot and bothered. I know what I'll be doing when I get home to relieve the ache I'm feeling.
Megan's arm rises and she wipes her mouth. I wish I could hand her a napkin. Soon after, she gets to her feet and I can no longer see anything but the back of her red dress.
She's the devil.
Or maybe he is?
"No," says the very male, very drunk, voice.
No.
No to what?
Oh, God, I hope she doesn't want to lay him down on the floor and fuck him, because if that happens, I'm so caught.
"No?" Megan with a B repeats in a questioning tone.
"No!"
"Wait. Let me get this straight-you'll let me suck your dick, but you won't let me touch your mouth with my lips?"
Cam's polished shoes shuffle. He pulls his shirt together. Tucks it. Zips his pants. Then he moves away from the red dress in the high heels and opens the door. "I'm done letting you do anything else, sweetheart."