Private Investigation Read Free Page B

heard Lucien’s voice say, “Oh, John, yes!” That wasn’t the sound of torture.
    She crept closer to the closed door.
    There was a squeaking noise she recognised as the sound of elderly bedsprings protesting as someone shifted, then a low groan of pleasure that set up an unexpected flutter of sensation low in her belly.
    She hesitated. Surely they couldn’t be doing what she thought they were doing…could they? She remembered how Lucien had laid with his head in John’s lap the previous day, the casual intimacy of it, and she raised her hand to her mouth and chewed pensively on her thumbnail.
    Then, feeling that little frisson of excitement again, she crouched on the floor, careful not to make any sound, and put her eye to the keyhole.
    She jerked back at once, almost falling backwards with the shock. Her heart seemed to be beating faster and harder, and she felt hot. She was sure they would be able to hear the rapid pant of her breathing, but she couldn’t stop herself from leaning forwards and looking through the keyhole again. She held her breath as she peeped through.
    Lucien was on his hands and knees, stark naked, in the middle of the bed. His curls fell over his face in disarray, and those extraordinary, pale eyes were half-closed, eyelashes flickering as he moaned and writhed. His skin was incredibly white and perfectly smooth, though a single bead of sweat rolled down his flank and dropped onto the bedclothes.
    John ran his tongue over the dimple just above Lucien’s tailbone, flicking and tasting, and Lucien spread his legs further apart and clenched his hands into fists, choking out a ‘Yes’ that had Lilly working her hand under her skirts to press her fingers between her legs, biting her lip as she tried to ease the throbbing ache that had started up there. It was shameless of her, but… oh .
    John moved his square, blunt-fingered hands to Lucien’s hips, holding on to him hard enough to leave bruises with his fingertips, and buried his face in Lucien’s arse. As he withdrew momentarily, Lilly saw a flash of pink tongue, quick and clever.
    The fabric of her gusset was damp, and she could feel the heat of her excitement through the cotton of her drawers. She began to move her fingers, rubbing gently, trying to ease the ache—but it only became stronger, more insistent.
    She watched as John’s tongue flickered, teasing the rim of Lucien’s arse, and bit back the moan that threatened to escape from her parted lips. She felt hot and uncomfortable, restless, and she spread her legs further apart, rubbing herself harder with trembling fingers. The toe of her button boot scraped on the floor and the lips of her pussy made a lewd, sticky noise as she shifted. She froze, holding her breath again for a moment, waiting to see if they’d heard the tiny sounds.
    Lucien reached down and took hold of his cock, running his fingers up its length and over the swollen head, hissing and shuddering with the sensation. John gripped his hips harder still and plunged his tongue inside him, moaning into Lucien’s flesh. His own cock twitched, slightly curved and erect against his belly, and Lilly found that she couldn’t take her eyes off it.
    Her wrist was beginning to ache, from the weight of her gathered skirts and the rapid, frantic motion of her fingers, but a galvanic sensation was gathering in her cunt, her breathing becoming rapid and ragged.
    This was certainly not genteel, or proper, but she found that she could not help herself—nor, if she was honest, did she really want to.
    Lucien pumped his cock, shiny fluid beading on the tip, and his breathing became laboured. John gave another stifled moan and, as the sensation between Lilly’s thighs crested and surged, he gave his cock a final, hard caress. Thick, white fluid splattered the bedclothes and Lucien gave a hoarse, heartfelt cry just as, behind him, John tensed and found his own release.
    Lilly bit her lip again and squeezed her eyes shut, assailed by