Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [23]
So much softness. So much sex.
Just out there.
And somehow, that was the point of it.
Would the two young women be taking such delight in each other if they were alone? Or was it about doing it in front of their boyfriends and in public? Brenna didn’t know for sure, but she felt—to the marrow of her bones—that behaving so outrageously without going behind closed doors was a big ingredient in their desire.
A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Damon had followed her eyes and noticed the two girls, as well.
Old Brenna was embarrassed. To be caught watching something like that. And by Damon of all people. She instantly wondered if he could see how much it aroused her—her pussy felt positively huge beneath her skirt, as if, at this moment, it was the biggest part of her.
But new Brenna simply asked him, “Does that turn you on?”
God, what was she doing? After all, she’d decided it was safer not to talk anymore. Yet she couldn’t help being curious. Wanting to know what he felt, yearning to understand the way he thought about things. Sexual things.
“Yeah,” he said simply. Blunt about it, just like during their conversation last night.
She bit her lip, her breasts seeming to swell within the cups of her bra. He was aroused, too—right now, right here, next to her.
Did that mean he was hard? She suffered the urge to find out, to reach out and press her hand to the front of his pants. “Tell me why,” she murmured instead.
He watched the girls a moment more, drawing Brenna’s gaze back to them, as well—and then finally turned to look her squarely in the eye. “Two of everything. Two sets of soft female lips. Two pairs of round breasts. All those curves…moving together.”
Ah. Maybe that made sense. And maybe that explained why she was excited, too. Her gaze stayed locked on his, but she couldn’t summon an answer, so he went on.
“I like women who are free enough to follow their urges, lose their inhibitions.”
Now she found her voice, to say, “I’m not sure they have inhibitions,” and they both laughed, but it faded quickly because the mood taking over the club was pervasive.
To Brenna’s left, the couple she’d noticed dancing before were now also kissing. Their bodies moved rhythmically to the music, their mouths grinding together as sensually as their pelvises. And a goth guy now nibbled on the neck of the pink-haired girl on Brenna’s right. The girl smiled, letting her tongue slide slowly across her upper lip. It was as if sex was filling the room, floating in the very air, almost as if it were somehow being pumped into the building the same way casinos were rumored to pump extra oxygen into the gaming areas. Brenna’s skin prickled, soft but powerful sensations echoing through her body, making her want to get lost in it all.
Yet her attention was drawn back to the stage when Blush broke into a new song with a steamy, sexy beat. Unfamiliar with it, she assumed it was an original. And like the last song—like many of their songs, it seemed—it was about sex.
Through a pumping chorus, the band repeated the words “best hands” again and again, leaving Brenna to conclude that must be the title. The blonde sang about the hands easing their way across her skin, about fingers dipping into private places, and eventually about the hands reaching, reaching, for ecstasy. The whole crowd soon focused on the young woman, who began to move against the mike stand as she had before.
Brenna realized that not only was she watching the singer ease the microphone between her legs, thrusting gently with the beat of the song, but she was watching it with Damon. They were witnessing it together, experiencing it together. In fact, they were experiencing it with every person in the room. More blatant sex on display.
Yet as time passed, she grew less repulsed than she’d been last night—and more fascinated.
The whole club seemed to pulsate with the beat now, and Brenna continued moving her hips back and forth, surrendering herself to the intoxicating strains.
She should have been alarmed