Sinful Nights: A Filthy Collection of Steamy Stories
She began to stroke, her movements slow and deliberate, her grip firm.
She started with a matching rhythm, her hands moving in unison up and down their lengths. She watched their faces, their reactions. Bull’s eyes closed, his jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest. He was all physical, surrendering to the sensation. Sly’s eyes, however, remained open, fixed on her, a calculating, predatory gleam in their depths. He was trying to get inside her head, to play the game on a different level.
“Is that all you’ve got, Queen?” Sly rasped, his voice a low taunt. “My grandmother could stroke a cock better than that.”