You’ve already met Cody and Joe—and you’ve had a glimpse of Logan—but wouldn’t you like a much closer look?
Beware, this excerpt might be too hot for work!
Schoolteacher Amy Keating never planned to be a voyeur, but one innocent glance into deputy Logan Ross’s bedroom window has her hooked. Now she’s into a world of sexual play she never knew existed…
She raised the lens cap dangling on a string to cover the end of the telescope, then glanced back inside the room.
Logan had returned.
Her hand paused mid-air, the lens cap falling from numb fingertips. He was still completely nude, and pacing the room like a caged tiger.
Everything about him oozed frustration. From the jerky, heavy movements of his naturally graceful body to the erection that hadn’t waned.
He disappeared for a moment, and then stepped into her view again, straps dangling from his fingers.
She lowered her face to the eyepiece again. The straps were leather with Velcro tabs and metal slides. Their purpose became clear when he dropped one strap beneath his balls and laid another on top and cinched them. The next strap encircled his engorged cock. He pulled the tabs, tightening the harness.
If possible, his erection seemed to thicken and lengthen, or was his massive size just emphasized by the framing of the taut leather?
It didn’t matter; she knew he used it to arrest his arousal, maintaining it at its fullest to prolong his pleasure.
He picked up one of those short whips with the leather flanges and stood directly in front of the window again.
His gaze didn’t meet hers. It remained on his swollen sex. Widening his stance, he draped the flanges over his shaft and pulled the handle, letting them caress his length.
Over and over again, he slowly dragged it up and across his length, then dropped his arm at his side. With his free hand he cupped his balls, lifting them, drawing her gaze to their smooth hairless surface. Reddened, bulging, he caressed them gently and tugged, then let them go. Next, he lifted his shaft straight up and struck his balls with the whip.
Amy gasped. She’d always assumed the most sensitive and vulnerable part of a man could never take a blow, but there he stood, striking his balls with the whip, resettling his feet to widen his legs then striking again.
Fascinated, she had to force herself to raise the scope to his face, to see how he took his self-flagellation.
His face was tight, deep lines bracketing his mouth, his eyebrows drawn into a dark, forbidding frown. A shiver crawled up her spine at his expression, and then another shuddered through her when his gaze lifted.
He struck himself again, and she watched his mouth fall open around a groan she couldn’t hear. His eyes closed and the hand on his cock stroked up and down his shaft.
Why did he do this? Why did he seek pain when he could so easily pleasure himself?
Or was the pain part of the pleasure?
She remembered tweaking her own nipples when she’d masturbated and thought she might understand, in a very small way, what drove him now.
He tossed the whip to the side and picked up a plastic bottle he’d placed on the windowsill. Something she’d missed when she’d been staring so intently at his body.
He squirted it into his palm then smoothed the liquid over his cock, his hands skimming his length until his shaft gleamed as though oiled. And perhaps it was.
She couldn’t really tell from where she stood. She wondered whether it was scented. Whether it warmed with friction. She wished she could wrap her fingers around his satiny flesh and find out for herself.
With a tightening of his jaw, he slowly wrapped the fingers of one hand around himself and began to pump his hand up and down his shaft, while loosening the straps encasing him.
As though she was in the room with him, encouraging him, she felt relief that at last he was going to end his torture. Evenly paced strokes, smoothed up and down the thick column, and she watched the arm delivering the strokes flex, veins rising on his triceps as he labored.
His chest gleamed with a light sheen of sweat that darkened the thick curling fur clothing his skin. His breaths deepened, the heavy slabs of muscle lifting and falling more rapidly now.
Her own breaths quickened, growing shallow and ragged. Her hand gripped the plastic cylinder of the telescope, and she compared its hard metal surface to the view of his rigid, veined staff and tried to imagine the skin moving beneath her hand as she fisted him.
His belly jumped and quivered, his thighs tensed, and suddenly his strokes shortened, growing more frantic, less controlled.
She held her breath.
Thin stripes of pearlescent cum spurted from the tip of his cock, falling back to his hand, coating it, mixing with the oily liquid moistening his shaft until his hand glided in wetness.
The wet heat between her own legs shocked her. She’d felt outside herself watching him, but all along her own body had grown aroused. She shifted her stance, the friction of her cotton shorts rubbing between her thighs not nearly enough to ease the ache centered on her hardening clitoris.
Her hand sank between her legs, delving beneath the edge of her shorts and between her legs. She withdrew her fingers and rubbed the creamy fluid with her thumb, then lifted her face.
He’d watched. His hand left his cock, and he licked the back of it.
Amy didn’t know where she found the courage, but she raised her fingers to her lips and stuffed them into her mouth.
Logan’s face relaxed, warmth seeping into his expression.
Encouraged by his approval, she withdrew her fingers then slid them back into her mouth, her lips closing around them to suck the flavor of her arousal, just as she wanted to do with his cock.
She pulled them from her mouth again, and stood in the darkness. This odd communion between them felt real, felt as though they were somehow engaged in a mutual seduction, but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to continue.
He raised his hand, fingers spread.
Five fingers. Five minutes? Did he mean for her to wait? He turned and strode naked from the room while she quivered in the darkness and contemplated making a mad dash for her back door.
But her equipment. She couldn’t leave it. And she couldn’t lug it back quickly enough.
A door opened and slammed shut. A dark figure emerged from the shadows engulfing the side of his home, striding straight for her, and she groaned.
She wasn’t ready of this. What would she say?
His long strides ate up the distance between them, and then he stepped into the light spilling from his window. She saw that he’d donned blue jeans and sandals. And she felt disappointment that he wasn’t still nude.
He reached her, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks and then he was bending toward her.
His lips touched hers, and she gasped, opening beneath the gentle pressure. His tongue swept into her mouth, and she got her first taste of Logan’s cum.
Another stroke and she realized he tasted her arousal, and then he was dragging up her hand, bringing her two fingers to their joined mouths. His tongue licked her fingers and her lips, and she was encouraged to do the same, sharing her arousal with him just as she might share food with a lover.
It was the most erotic experience of her life, that kiss. Warm, wet…messy.
When he drew back, they both breathed heavily, and she swayed toward him, her knees weakening.
His arms surrounded her, supporting her weight, and he pushed her head to his shoulder. Her cheek did indeed rest there naturally. Her head fit in the corner of his neck, and it was more pleasurable then she could ever have imagined.
His skin was hot, bathed in a thin sheen of sweat. She struck out her tongue and tasted it, and his soft chuckle warmed the side of her face. “Are you okay?” he asked, his deep voice, thick and gravelly.
She shivered at the visceral sensation of his voice scraping across her skin. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s all right. This is enough for now.”